there.
Some cooking show was on TV. I flicked the remote, amazed as always at all the crap channels.
The phone buzzed. K
I flipped the channels around to a music channel, thinking about Cyndra and her home. And mine. My eighth-grade girlfriend, Celia. And the teacher I’d punched.
I remembered the wet snap of his breaking nose.
Imagined the gun I’d buy at some pawnshop. Two bullets, each with a name.
I closed my eyes and dreamt.
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
T he shifting bedsprings woke me. I opened my eyes.
Cyndra sat next to me, her hair falling in a fluffy wave. She leaned over just a little, not on top of me, but so close I could smell the flowery scent of her hair and feel the warmth of her hip next to mine.
“You frown even when you’re asleep.”
Every heartbeat struck an anvil behind my eyes. “I have a headache.”
She traced a feathery finger around my jaw. “I’m not surprised.” She lay down, propping her chin on a hand.
Her bathrobe opened a little. She curled her finger around a strand of my hair. “I could give you something to make you feel better.”
She leaned forward, lips parted.
I turned my head toward her. She tasted like strawberries.
She pulled my shirt up, snaking a hand underneath. The kiss got deeper.
She climbed on top of me.
I pushed the robe off her shoulders and we kissed some more. I used the robe to trap her elbows and rolled over on top of her.
The room was dark except for the flickering light from the music channel. I worked a hand under the robe and pulled it open.
She was perfect.
She lifted my shirt. We stopped kissing long enough for me to pull it over my head. Her hands roamed my back and found the ridge of tissue there, but she didn’t stop and didn’t say anything.
I think I loved her.
She slid a hand into my jeans.
I kissed her mouth, her neck, moved lower.
“Stop.”
I pushed up, head on fire.
Cyndra scooted over and pulled a condom packet out of her bedside drawer.
We had sex. Because she was prepared. Because she acted like it was no big deal. Because I was stupid enough to think that it wouldn’t change anything.
When we were done, she rested her head on my shoulder, her hand across my stomach. It was nice, holding her, smelling her hair, not thinking about anything, just watching some singer scream a song about love as buildings exploded around him.
Her hand rubbed up and down my stomach. “Monique is going to be so jealous.”
The bet.
It was all I could do to hold still. All I could do to keep from shoving her off me and onto the floor. Because of course, it was never about her actually liking me. The constant teasing, trying to get under my skin, none of it for me.
But for her. Using me, taking what she wanted, not to feel good for a moment, but just to win the fucking bet.
“Mmm.” She nuzzled my ear. “I could lie here all night, but we’ve got to go to the party.”
She got off the bed and walked to her closet. Her perfect skin gleamed in the light from the TV. She slipped a short, shimmery dress over her head and pulled on high heels. She didn’t put on underwear.
“Wear this,” she said, digging a light blue shirt and dark jeans out of the department store bag. She went into the bathroom.
I pulled on the jeans and walked over to the full-length mirror. If Michael looked into these pale eyes, would they give anything away? A dark bruise spread across my jaw. Another shadowed my side.
I pulled on the shirt before sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. Put on the black work-style boots, so new they creaked.
After a while, Cyndra came back from the bathroom. Her hair was fluffier, and dramatic makeup made her look like a model.
I stood as she picked up a tiny purse and jingled her keys. “Before I forget.” She held out a folded bill. “For your”—her voice trailed off until I met her eyes—“time.”
My face burned. I took the fifty, crumpling it into my pocket. Made myself meet her eyes.
“Just kidding.”
Some cooking show was on TV. I flicked the remote, amazed as always at all the crap channels.
The phone buzzed. K
I flipped the channels around to a music channel, thinking about Cyndra and her home. And mine. My eighth-grade girlfriend, Celia. And the teacher I’d punched.
I remembered the wet snap of his breaking nose.
Imagined the gun I’d buy at some pawnshop. Two bullets, each with a name.
I closed my eyes and dreamt.
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
T he shifting bedsprings woke me. I opened my eyes.
Cyndra sat next to me, her hair falling in a fluffy wave. She leaned over just a little, not on top of me, but so close I could smell the flowery scent of her hair and feel the warmth of her hip next to mine.
“You frown even when you’re asleep.”
Every heartbeat struck an anvil behind my eyes. “I have a headache.”
She traced a feathery finger around my jaw. “I’m not surprised.” She lay down, propping her chin on a hand.
Her bathrobe opened a little. She curled her finger around a strand of my hair. “I could give you something to make you feel better.”
She leaned forward, lips parted.
I turned my head toward her. She tasted like strawberries.
She pulled my shirt up, snaking a hand underneath. The kiss got deeper.
She climbed on top of me.
I pushed the robe off her shoulders and we kissed some more. I used the robe to trap her elbows and rolled over on top of her.
The room was dark except for the flickering light from the music channel. I worked a hand under the robe and pulled it open.
She was perfect.
She lifted my shirt. We stopped kissing long enough for me to pull it over my head. Her hands roamed my back and found the ridge of tissue there, but she didn’t stop and didn’t say anything.
I think I loved her.
She slid a hand into my jeans.
I kissed her mouth, her neck, moved lower.
“Stop.”
I pushed up, head on fire.
Cyndra scooted over and pulled a condom packet out of her bedside drawer.
We had sex. Because she was prepared. Because she acted like it was no big deal. Because I was stupid enough to think that it wouldn’t change anything.
When we were done, she rested her head on my shoulder, her hand across my stomach. It was nice, holding her, smelling her hair, not thinking about anything, just watching some singer scream a song about love as buildings exploded around him.
Her hand rubbed up and down my stomach. “Monique is going to be so jealous.”
The bet.
It was all I could do to hold still. All I could do to keep from shoving her off me and onto the floor. Because of course, it was never about her actually liking me. The constant teasing, trying to get under my skin, none of it for me.
But for her. Using me, taking what she wanted, not to feel good for a moment, but just to win the fucking bet.
“Mmm.” She nuzzled my ear. “I could lie here all night, but we’ve got to go to the party.”
She got off the bed and walked to her closet. Her perfect skin gleamed in the light from the TV. She slipped a short, shimmery dress over her head and pulled on high heels. She didn’t put on underwear.
“Wear this,” she said, digging a light blue shirt and dark jeans out of the department store bag. She went into the bathroom.
I pulled on the jeans and walked over to the full-length mirror. If Michael looked into these pale eyes, would they give anything away? A dark bruise spread across my jaw. Another shadowed my side.
I pulled on the shirt before sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. Put on the black work-style boots, so new they creaked.
After a while, Cyndra came back from the bathroom. Her hair was fluffier, and dramatic makeup made her look like a model.
I stood as she picked up a tiny purse and jingled her keys. “Before I forget.” She held out a folded bill. “For your”—her voice trailed off until I met her eyes—“time.”
My face burned. I took the fifty, crumpling it into my pocket. Made myself meet her eyes.
“Just kidding.”
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