by Jenni Sloane
But Ian’s gaze slowly tugged that illusion from me like a cloak. I felt naked before him, and not in a good way.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I have the room after you. You ran a little over, but…I didn’t mind.”
I walked over to the wall and picked up my blouse. Held it over my chest, as though for protection. Why didn’t he leave, and wait outside? I couldn’t change in front of him.
He was still looking at me like I was a fascinating museum exhibit. He worried his lip rings for a moment, then said. “That was brilliant. Seriously.”
I stared down at my blouse. “Did you tell Archer to steal my bike?” No answer. I eventually looked up to find him still just…staring. Heat crept up my spine. He looked so fucking beautiful. The skin that showed above his collar was smooth and pale. His collarbones were perfectly defined. Even the stubble on his jaw was clipped so cleanly it looked like art. His attractiveness was different from Cole’s primal athleticism. From Bennett’s cold, broad beauty. From the quiet mystery of his brother’s stoicism. There might be something artificial about him—with the makeup, the tattoos, the wardrobe choices. But there was a frankness in his movements and expression that made him seem dangerously open. Available. Like if I went to him right now, I could have him, the way some part of me wanted desperately to have him.
The flush must have been turning my cheeks bright red. He smirked. At my discomfort, or at my irritation over the bike, I didn’t know.
He poked his lip rings with his tongue again. “He took your bike? It that why you clobbered him? Good job on that, by the way.”
“Did you tell him to?” I repeated.
He sat on one of the desks that had been pushed to the sides of the room.
“He must have thought of that all on his own. He’s a bit clever, sometimes. Total knob, but not without his moments.” He shifted, making the desk squeak. “I want to talk more about your voice.”
“And I want to talk more about why you want to be Cole Heller 2.0.”
He made a face. “No thanks.”
“Don’t any of you have an original thought in your heads? Or do you all just blindly follow each other?”
He grinned. “Harsh.” He’d pulled his feet up onto the desk, his arms draped over his knees. There was a rip in the denim over his inner thigh that was…distracting, to say the least. Pale skin dusted with dark hair. A furrow of muscle barely visible.
“Not letting me eat is Cole’s thing. You should come up with something else.”
“You’re probably right.” His fingers twitched against the side of his knee, as if to a beat in his head. “Just, sometimes when Heller gets a new toy, I want to play with it too.”
“I’m not a toy.”
He shrugged. “Everybody’s somebody else’s toy.”
“Is that supposed to be philosophical?”
“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” He stared off at some point beyond me. “I suppose that’s fair.”
I didn’t answer.
His gaze found mine once more. “Sing for me again.”
A bitter ache built in me. A lump in my throat grew, and I had to will my eyes not to tear. He had taken this moment that was mine—the moment I’d finally let go and sung with my full heart—and turned it into some fucked up Phantom of the Opera thing. I didn’t want to sing for him. I wanted to sing to drown him out. Him and all the others.
And he was looking at me so sincerely—that artlessness again, that open need that I recognized from the way I felt when I watched others create. When I watched them perform with such passion that it seemed the world might break around me like one giant heart.
Was that how I’d made him feel?
It wasn’t a gift I wanted to give him.
Somehow, that one order had been worse than anything else he’d done to me.
“No,” I choked out, grabbing my stuff. “You can go to hell.”
I fled the room.
Chapter Eleven
Rominsky’s trophies had apparently been polished nearly to dust by hordes of disobedient students over the past few weeks. So Monday night found me organizing the storage closet in the natatorium. Rominsky seemed disappointed that there was no way to guarantee physical damage to my person through the work. The best he could hope for was that one of the precarious stacks of kickboards would fall on me. Or that I’d trip on an errant pool noodle and whack my head on a shelf.
I enjoyed being in the natatorium. I’d always liked the smell of chlorine, and as a child had longed to swim in the community pool. My parents had never signed me up for lessons though. I still had no idea how to swim. But I liked to imagine how it would feel to be ensconced in that turquoise water—the noise around me muffled to almost nothing. It seemed as close as I might get to disappearing.
The work was mindless, but not too intense. I started when I heard the door open, but was oddly unsurprised when Cole Heller sauntered in. I’d gotten used to seeing my tormentors every time I turned around, like I was trapped in some sick farce.
I entertained a short-lived hope that he wouldn’t notice me in the storage closet. But as he passed by, I heard his footsteps pause. “TT,” he called, as though we were old friends. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I didn’t answer.
“I get to scrub mold off diving blocks.”
I didn’t look at him.
“Not feeling very friendly tonight, huh?”
“Get to work,” Rominsky hollered at us.
I heard Cole start on the diving blocks farthest away from me. Good.
As the evening wore on, he worked his way closer. I had the kickboards perfectly stacked. The buoys scrubbed. The goggles organized by size. My stomach was growling—all I’d been able to smuggle out of the cafeteria tonight was a small, dry, foil-wrapped baked potato.
I kept getting distracted by thoughts of Ian. The fury I’d felt at him trying to lay claim to my voice had ebbed into something almost wistful. What if he’d meant it? That I’d really sung that beautifully? That I’d really moved him to want to hear it again? Ian was a musician. He might actually have some industry connections that would help me.
But he also thought of me as a “toy.” And the quest to make me suffer as a “game.” I owed him nothing but a swift kick in the dick.
But we were both creators. Both admirers of talent. And the intensity with which I’d wanted to touch him, kiss him, last night…it scared and electrified me.
“I can’t believe you punched Kemp Two,” Cole said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Don’t rise to the bait.
He kept scrubbing, but I could tell he was gearing up to say more. “We’ve still got another forty minutes here. We might as well amuse each other.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“But plenty to say to Kemp last night.”
I turned before I could stop myself. How the hell did he know Ian and I had seen each other last night?
“Are you into him, or what?”
The nerve of this asshole! “No,” I replied grimly, shoving an errant kickboard on top of the stack, nearly knocking the whole thing over. “Not that it would be any of your business if I was.”
“Jeez, I was just asking.”
“Trying to control my love life? Like you’re trying to control when I eat?”
I snuck another glance and saw him grin, which only added to my fury.
“It’s nothing personal, TT.” He’d stopped working and was staring at me with that shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s just fun to see you cave. Every. Single. Time.”
I stepped out of the storage closet so I could stare right into his stupid, smug face. “I’m not even half the coward you are. And I never will be. It must be a really lonely life, knowing that nobody actually likes you—they only fear you. You act like you don’t care, but I’ll bet it bothers you, deep down. To know you couldn’t even get someone to like you if you wanted to.”
&
nbsp; He clutched mockingly at his chest. “Wow, shot through the heart. You know all about my secret pain.”
“I know that there’s someone you want to see—badly. And Callahan won’t let you. I know you lost your captainship. There are things your Stepdaddy can’t buy you, Cole. And I think it’s making you crazy.”
His whole expression changed. His gaze clouded, and his jaw set. A flush appeared on his cheeks. I watched, my heart beating faster. Had I actually hit a nerve?
He dropped his rag on the tile and stood, running both his hands through his hair. He began to pace. “Fucking Callahan,” he muttered. “She’s killing me. Fucking killing me!”
“Cole, calm down,” I said automatically. He was growing increasingly agitated, and I didn’t want Rominsky to come out here and decide we needed two more weeks of detention.
“I can’t.” Cole raked his hands through his hair again and clenched his eyes shut. “It’s all too much.”
“What’s too much? Cole, you can tell me, just quiet down so Rominsky doesn’t hear, okay?”
This seemed to break through his state, at least somewhat. He came over to the closet. My heart was pounding now. He was blocking my exit, but I wasn’t afraid, exactly. This might be it: the point where I learned something real about Cole Heller. Something that would help in my battle against him.
He dropped his head, his hands on either side of the doorframe, making his powerful arms bulge. “You won’t tell anyone, will you TT?” His voice sounded piteous. “You won’t tell anyone my secret?”
“I won’t,” I promised.
He dipped his head even lower. “I’m so scared,” he whispered.
Cole Heller, scared? Maybe this was more than a temper tantrum over being denied something he wanted. Maybe Callahan really had done something terrible to him. I wouldn’t have put it past her.
He was close. So close that I could have put my hand on his head to steady him, comfort him, feel that coiled energy that was so enchanting and dangerous. There was a pull between my legs at the thought that nearly took my breath away. “Cole,” I whispered.
I heard a low, staccato sound, and it took me a moment to realize Cole was laughing. He lifted his head, and I could see the wicked grin, the gray eyes lit with their usual malice. My heart sank. “You’re so easy, TT.” His tone was a mix of disgust and glee. “I can’t believe I had you going for that long.”
My face threatened to burn with embarrassment, but I pushed the feeling back. He was the one who should be ashamed. Not me.
He kept his hands on the doorframe and leaned into the closet. “You actually thought I was some scared, lost little boy, didn’t you?” He shook his head, still grinning. “A word of advice? This is why the lions pick you out of the herd.” I jolted at his use of a metaphor I’d used myself on several occasions.
But hell if I was going to let him convince me it was true. “My concern for other people isn’t a weakness. And if you see it that way, then I feel sorry for you.”
He grinned again, but this time his expression held the heat and longing I’d only seen in flashes over the past few weeks. “Keep telling yourself that, TT.”
Then, so fast I barely had time to process what was happening, he grabbed the closet door and started to swing it shut.
I acted on instinct, reaching out and catching his wrist in an iron grip. I didn’t know what sort of adrenaline overload my body had produced in order to give me a strength that matched his, but I was grateful for it. He pushed against me for a moment, then fell still. I could feel his pulse against my palm. The heat of his skin. The shifting bones of his wrist. His grin grew. “There you go,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Rominsky’s voice boomed across the natatorium. “What are you two idiots doing?”
I let go of Cole’s wrist. He stepped back. Rominsky strode toward us. “I’ve finished the closet, sir,” I said.
“No you haven’t,” he barked, gesturing to the pool. “There’s a ring in there.”
I looked at the deep end where he was pointing, and saw, on the floor of the pool, stark against one of the broad black lines, a neon green ring.
“I…don’t have any way of getting that, sir.”
“You have two arms and two legs, don’t you?” He looked at Cole. “And you! Half these diving blocks are still covered in mold. Unless you want to be here all night, get to work!”
He strode back to the athletic office.
I stared into the pool, almost forgetting about Cole in my sudden panic. This end of the pool was eight feet. I had no idea how to swim. It seemed like one of those common-sense things that anyone could figure out how to do…but what if I couldn’t? People drowned all the time—even people who knew how to swim. Plus…I was just supposed to get my clothes wet? I didn’t know why that demand surprised me, when only a few weeks ago Rominsky had forced me to put corrosive chemicals on my skin. But it was weird all the same.
I could feel Cole staring at me, though. I couldn’t allow him to see another weakness in me. I was still riding high on the adrenaline from thwarting his attempt to lock me in the closet, and I wanted to hold onto that.
My heart thumped as he stepped right up to the edge beside me and stared into the bright blue water. “You’d better get in there, TT.”
I ignored him and concentrated on the water gently lapping against the side of the pool. I could do this. I slipped off my shoes and stood on the smooth edge, letting the water slide over my bare feet. Then I removed my school sweater, revealing the short-sleeved white blouse I wore under it. I ignored Cole’s whistle. Could I swim in a skirt? Granted, my school issue skirt was shorter and less bulky than my “Mormon” skirts, but it still seemed like a bad garment for swimming. But no way was I taking it off in front of Cole.
I crouched down, focusing on the ring. How hard could it be to swim down there? But the longer I stared, the more the image of the ring distorted, and the deeper the water looked. I could feel panic rising in my throat. I’d drown doing this. I could feel it. And Cole would stand there laughing as I did.
No way. I’m not doing this.
I straightened and turned, stepping away from the water. But my left foot slipped on the slick ledge and I found myself falling backward.
I didn’t have time to scream. My heart plummeted to my stomach, and I gave a startled gasp, flailing blindly, bracing myself for the moment I hit the water. But before I did, something caught me.
Cole’s arm.
It didn’t even seem to require any effort for him to hold me there in an odd dip as my feet scrambled for purchase on the ledge. I was panting, too terrified to speak, staring into his dark gray eyes.
He was going to let me go. He was going to watch me fall.
“Can you not swim, TT?” He sounded curious, but not mocking.
Mutely, I shook my head, aware that I was handing him the ultimate weapon. I forced my eyes closed and waited for him to let me fall.
Instead, I felt myself lifted and then set on firm ground. Then I heard a splash behind me. Turning slowly, I saw Cole’s strong form kicking downward toward the bottom of the pool. His dark hair fanned around his head. His arms stroked powerfully, seemingly unhindered by his clothes. He retrieved the ring and then stroked upward. I stood there, mesmerized, until he broke the surface. He inhaled, water dripping from his hair into his eyes, off his nose. He pulled himself over the edge and stood, dripping everywhere. And held out the ring.
“Here.”
Too stunned to do anything else, I took it.
He shook himself off like a wet dog. Then he turned and headed back to the diving blocks, gesturing at the wall as he did. “There’s a pole right there,” he called back. “In case you ever need to retrieve stuff from the pool.” I looked at the long pole with an attached net. Then down at the neon green ring in my hand. Then at Cole, in his soaked khakis and sweater, crouching by the diving blocks.
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or j
ust throw myself into the water and let myself drown.
Instead I focused on what I’d seen in his eyes as he’d held me there, just above the water. An expression I couldn’t put a name to, but that had struck a match of certainty inside me, created a flame that still burned in my core. I’d seen a different iteration of it when I’d grabbed his wrist as he’d tried to shut me in the closet.
I knew something that I wasn’t sure even Cole knew—at least, not consciously. He might enjoy humiliating me. Seeing me vulnerable, suffering. Even his rescue act had been intended, on some level, to embarrass me.
But there had been a lie in his voice, and in his eyes, when he’d said he liked seeing me cave. And while I might not understand for sure what he was really thinking, I was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t my surrender he enjoyed. It was watching me get back up.
Every. Single. Time.
Chapter Twelve
“I want your help,” I told Kayle. “I want to humiliate them, just a fraction as much as they’ve humiliated me. I have to do something.”
Kayle chewed her lip. We were playing a game of tetherball that had started off as a halfhearted attempt to get the rec monitor off our backs, but had turned surprisingly competitive. Now, however, she held the ball and stared at me, all thoughts of serving apparently forgotten. “So let me get this straight. He finally does one nice thing for you…and that’s when you decide to fight back?”
“He didn’t do it to be nice! He did it to humiliate me. The pole was right there, and he was gonna watch me dive in and probably drown.”
I’d given her the rundown of my detention with Cole last night. And then I’d spilled about Ian and the rehearsal room. I hadn’t gone into detail about my strange, wildly inappropriate attraction to both of them. But I’d noticed her eyes widen when I’d told her about grabbing Cole’s wrist before he could shut the door. About Ian asking me to sing for him again.
