She’s insinuating a lot more in those words, like she has a secret. My stomach fills with knots.

“What’s he like?” Lyla asks in a hushed voice, suddenly interested.

“Like an animal.” Katelyn grins. “I’m surprised I don’t have any bite marks.”

“Mmmm.” I hear Lyla’s soft coo.

Jesus Christ.

Katelyn walks away, smiling, and I do my best to act like I’m not sitting here, shattering right now. I want to believe she’s lying. He wouldn’t go for her. He’s not after a quick thrill, is he? He wanted me in the library. Me. He wouldn’t forget that. Not so soon.

But… He did say he knows where to go to get what he wants.

Like an animal. The biting, the roughness, the way his eyes and hands and mouth take what they want… She described him perfectly.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I feel nauseous.

“Well, I guess there’s something to be said for the bad ones,” Lyla muses, watching Masen climb into his truck. “And that piercing? I’ll bet it feels good. Everywhere.”

Ten squeezes my shoulder from behind, and I snap back into focus, uncurling my fingers from the wheel. My knuckles are as white as snow.

“Let’s go eat and raid my mom’s liquor before the drive-in,” he tells me.

“Lyla’s driving tonight, so I’m getting wasted.”

Yeah, I don’t think I can eat.

But watching Masen take off out of the parking lot, probably going to do who-knows-who, I might just take a drink.

Friday nights at the drive-in are just an excuse for every teenager with a car in Falcon’s Well to hang out in one place. Especially since it just opened back up a few weeks ago in time for spring. The weather’s nice, there’s a concession stand with food, car stereos blast music, and I doubt even a quarter of the people here are even watching the movie tonight.

One of those stupid nouveau slasher flicks with lots of gritty pain and an ambiguous ending, I’m sure.

After dinner, I’d gone home and changed into some jean shorts and a tank top before Lyla and Ten swung by to pick me up.

Trey arrived with J.D. just as we got here, all of us parking up in the front row. They started making the rounds, going off to talk to different people and hang out, while I headed for the concession stand. My mom doesn’t let us drink our calories, so the movies is one of the only chances I get to have a Coke.

I walk inside the concession area and move down the line, grabbing a cup and filling it with ice.

“You dropped this the other night,” a smooth voice says.

I jerk my head up to see Masen, standing right at my side. Butterflies take off in my stomach.

I look down to see him holding out my inhaler and then quickly glance around, making sure no one is watching. I snatch it out of his hand and slip it into my pocket. Shit. I must’ve left it on the library floor after we…

I turn back to the soda machine, not saying anything as I fill my drink up and secure the lid.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

But I refuse to engage. I take my drink and move down the line, grabbing a straw and flexing my jaw in anger. Images of Katelyn, half-naked with her legs wrapped around him as he lies on top of her on the backseat of his car, flood my mind. I tap the straw on the counter, trying to unsheathe it from its wrapper, but it snaps and breaks instead.

I toss it in the trash can and grab another. How could he look down at her and want her over me? How could he kiss her? Does it even matter who it is? I thought he was different.

“You heard, didn’t you?” he says, following me as I pick out candy.

“I’m glad. I wanted you to hear.”

I bend down and pick up a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “No one cares what you do, loser.”

He takes a step closer. “You have a boyfriend,” he points out, shrugging.

“Katelyn’s got a hell of a body, she’s good in bed…”

My fingers curl around my paper cup, the lid pops off, and Coke overflows, spilling all over my hand.

Dammit.

He snorts, and I scurry, grabbing napkins and cleaning myself up.

Good in bed? The thought of him enjoying her—touching her—makes me want to shove a rubber dick up his nose.

Asshole.

And I do not have a boyfriend. I have a prom date.

He leans in, his voice full of self-satisfaction. “You’re jealous.”

I fix the lid back on the drink, throw the soiled napkins away, and turn to him, my eyes burning. “Rocks?” I bark, changing the subject completely to avoid the one we’re on. “Dumb as a box of rocks? Are you kidding me?”

He breaks into a laugh. “It took you long enough.”

“Don’t you ever call me that again!” And then I dart my eyes to the side, seeing a couple of girls from school cast us curious glances. I lower my voice. “And I’m not jealous. I just don’t appreciate you filling me in on all your sleazy bullshit.”

He takes a step closer, putting us chest to chest with both hands on the counter at my sides, caging me in. “And I don’t like him touching you.” He scowls down at me.

He must be referring to the parking lot today when he saw Trey kiss my forehead.

I reach over and grab a popcorn box, tipping it over and shaking it to show that it’s empty. “Here you go.” I shove it at his chest. “All the fucks I give.”

And I push through his arm, taking my drink with me.

“Hey. Everything okay?” someone asks.

I look up, seeing Ten as I approach the register. I pause, seeing his gaze flash between Masen and me as he holds his silver water bottle, which I know is filled with rum and Coke.

Ignoring his question, I glance back at Masen. He tosses the popcorn box to the counter and walks toward me, holding my eyes as he glares

down. I feel the heat coming off his body, but I stand tall, daring him to even try to pick another fight. He’s a jerk whose only kick in life is to make mine miserable.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and keeps walking out the doors.

After he’s gone, Ten exhales a long sigh and turns back to me. “In case you’re still trying to figure it out,” he says, “he wants you bad.”

I turn away, unable to shake the desire to go pick another fight. He wants me bad? Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s suffering with need.

Not at all.

I pay for my drink and candy and head out of the stand with Ten. He heads for a group of guys at a convertible, while I walk through the cars toward Lyla’s BMW up front and try not to look for Masen. The sky is black now, but the screen is shedding lots of light, and I hear the crickets buzzing in the grass out in the distance. I spot Trey standing by his car, flirting with some girl.

Awesome.

I keep walking, but I stop when I pass a big, black truck. Masen’s.

I glance around, finding him over by his new friends, including J.D., talking and laughing. People loiter about, caught up in their conversations, and no one is looking at me. I stare at the truck, suddenly feeling inspired.

Holding back my smile, I set my drink and snack on the ground, next to the tire, and open the back door on the driver’s side, quickly climbing in. I shut the door and immediately notice how dark it is inside. I hadn’t noticed that the afternoon at the car wash. The windows must be heavily tinted.

The leather interior shines black, just like the paint on the outside, and it smells heady and rich, intoxicating, like him. I lick my lips, leaning up and opening his console between the front seats, looking for something to write with.

I sift through change, a few receipts, and some tools. I see a pen and pull it out, clicking the top to load it and scribble on my hand.

Black.

Everything in here is fucking black. Anything I write won’t show up. I dig back inside the console and my fingers curl around something long with a grip on it. I pull it out, seeing that it’s some kind of pocket knife.

My heart starts beating faster. He’s a prick, but I’m not quite sure I want to get that destructive. Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” starts playing in my head.

I pinch the groove on the dull side and unsheathe the blade, jumping when it snaps out. The curve is scary and intense, and I hold it up, studying it and wondering if I really want to leave him what’s sure to be a very expensive message.

And then I think about Katelyn straddling him on this very seat, riding him, and I want to do a lot more than just cut up his truck.

But the door suddenly opens, and I jump, seeing Masen step up and come right for me, slamming his door shut.

I gasp, tossing the knife up to the front and twist around, yanking the handle of the other door.

It opens, but he grabs it and pulls it closed again, pushing down the lock.

The truck is dark again.

His arms come around me, and I gasp as he hauls me back against him, holding me as I struggle.

“Get off me!” I yell, trying to get free.

“Were you jealous?” he growls in my ear, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Were you mad you could be so easily replaced? Is that why you’re in here, trying to do some shit to my car?”

I jerk, trying to twist out of his hold.

“Get over it,” he says. “A pussy is a pussy, after all, and if I don’t get it from you, I can get someone else with a lot less hassle.”

Dickhead. Of course I’m no one to him. I’m not even surprised.

I struggle loose, but he pulls me tight again, taunting, “If it doesn’t bother you, then you shouldn’t want to run away.”

I breathe hard, a cool sweat breaking out on my neck. I stop struggling and calm my breathing, forcing my tone even. “Let me go now.”

His arms relax around me, and I slide away from him, reaching for the handle.

But he reaches out and grips the door, holding it closed. “I didn’t think about you at all when I was in bed with her last night,” he tells me. “She was hot, she turned me on, she liked my hands on her, and I liked how she felt…” His breath falls across my hair, his words cruel and unforgiving.

“She wasn’t average or boring or stuck-up. She excited me.”

My bottom lip shakes and tears fill my eyes. But I tense every muscle in my body, trying not to let him see. Stuck-up. Average.

Boring.

“Tell me you’re jealous,” he demands.

“If it doesn’t bother me, why would I be jealous?”

He leans closer, and I can feel his body at my back and his lips next to my ear. “Tell me you’re trying not to think about how much I loved fucking her. Tell me something true, and I’ll let you leave.”

Something true? Tell him what? What does he want to hear? That this hurts? That I loved kissing him the last time we were in here and every time after that? That I don’t want anyone touching him? Screw him. I’m not saying any of that shit.

“You can’t, can you?” His voice is quiet and almost sad. “You can’t talk to me.”

And then I watch through blurry eyes as he leans up and exhales on the window in front of me, fogging it up to draw a word with his finger.

FEAR.

I shake my head.

Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear… What is he doing? What does that mean? A tear spills over, and I growl out a breath, wiping the word off the window.

“You’re a prick. Just stay away from me.”

I go to open the door, but he grabs my hand.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

I freeze, turning my head just an inch. What?

“I lied,” he tells me. “I asked her out for food yesterday to make you jealous, and today, when she insinuated shit that didn’t happen, I let her. But I didn’t touch her.”

The heat of his breath hits my neck, and I can tell his head is bent to my hair.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want anyone else. I only think about you.” He pauses, his voice shaky.

“I think about you all the time, Ryen.”

Me.

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I had to push you. I wanted to know.”

I turn my head, glaring at him through my tears. “You didn’t touch her?”

He shakes his head.

I swing my hand to hit him, but he grabs it and pulls me into his lap, taking my face in his hands. “I had every right to,” he bites out, “especially

since you’re still letting Fuckface drool all over you while making me hard as a rock for a damn week.”

I bite my bottom lip, trying not to cry. I never cry in front of them.

“You turn me on.” He cups my face, brushing my hair away from my eyes and a tear off my cheek. “God, you turn me on. You’re driving me crazy. I want you to need my hands on you. Do you?”

I hold his eyes, seeing the pleading in his. Seeing, for the first time, the need. He’s desperate to hear me say it.

And I know right then and there I want to be the only girl he ever looks at like that.

“You’re not boring,” he says softly. “You’re not average, and you’re not stuck-up. You piss me off, but you excite me.”

His face is shrouded in shadow, but I can feel him everywhere. He puts his forehead to mine, his whisper thick and heavy, spinning like a cyclone inside me. “They don’t get you and me. I know that’s what you’re afraid of.

You’re perfect. I’m never in line. You’re beautiful, and I’m bad, right?”

His breath hits my lips, and I reach up and touch his hand on my face, sliding my cold fingers between his warm ones.

“They’ll never matter to us, Ryen. No one knows how this feels.”

Tears ache behind my eyes, and I breathe hard, giving into it. I slide my thigh over his lap and straddle him. I fist his T-shirt, our lips inches from each other. “If you touched her,” I cry softly, “it’s not going to be pretty.”

He nods. “I know. I’ll keep the knife in here for you.”

I laugh and kiss him, his hands falling to my hips as I press my body closer. I hold the back of his neck as I deepen the kiss, the heat of his mouth sinking to the end of every limb in my body.

But I pull away, turning my head toward the front windshield. Shit.

People walk about, and I can see a couple guys in the car ahead of us, as

well as a couple next to us.

Masen buries his lips in my neck, kissing and biting. “The windows are blacked out,” he mumbles against my skin. “So tinted it’s illegal.”

I turn back to him and dive into his mouth again, hearing their music and laughter only feet away, all around us, and not giving a shit. I catch a glimpse of someone passing by the truck, and I let out a moan.

He moves from my mouth to my neck again, getting greedy, and I close my eyes, holding onto him.

Coming up, he cups my face again, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “Tell me something true.”

I lick my lips, hungry and wanting his mouth back, but his eyes are holding mine. He’s not letting me off the hook.

I lean in and put my forehead to his again. “I don’t like cheese on my sandwiches,” I admit, chewing on my lip. “Bridge to Terabithia is my favorite book.” My fifth-grade teacher read it to us, and it always stuck with me. “I make jalapeno bagels sometimes, because my mom told me once that they’re my dad’s favorite.” I glance up at him to see his eyes still open and on me. “He left when I was four, and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t make them when she’s around, though.”

I press my teeth down on my lip harder, but his thumb nudges my lip back out, probably seeing how nervous I am.

“I don’t get along with my sister,” I admit, “and I don’t feel close to my mom anymore. I know a lot of it is my fault. My armor got too thick, and I stopped letting people in.” I pause and add, “Most people.”

New tears spring up, and a small sob escapes. He kisses me and pulls back just enough to rub my mouth with his. “I can’t get enough of you.”

I smile a little.

“And sometimes,” I keep going, snatching his lips in another kiss.

“Sometimes I want to vomit on Lyla when I see her.”

He suddenly snorts, breaking into laughter. A wide smile spreads across his face as his whole body shakes. I kiss him again, our lips melting together.

“And last Friday night,” I whisper, nibbling on his bottom lip as I grind on him, “after the car wash…”

“Yeah?” He lowers his hands to my hips, grunting as I rub harder.

“I thought about you,” I whisper in his ear. “I thought about you when I was in bed that night.”

I feel his fingers dig into my hips, and he growls low as he kisses me again and again, breathing hard.

His lips move down my neck, and I barely notice the strap of my shirt being slipped down my arm as the heat of his mouth covers my shoulder.

He grabs the back of my neck, holding me in place as he runs his nose and mouth back up my neck, inhaling me. “Do you feel me?” he whispers, pressing my hip down hard into him. I whimper as I rub against his thickness between my legs.

“Yeah.” But then I notice something is loose and air is caressing my skin where it didn’t before. My bra. He’s unhooked my bra at the back.

The straps fall down my arms, and the side where my shirt had fallen off exposes my now bare breast. I quickly bring up my arms, covering myself. “Masen, no.”

But he comes in, kissing me, and grabs my ass, pressing me to him. “I can’t stop.”

“But people will see.”

He looks up into my eyes, nibbling my lips. “No one sees you, baby.

Just me. And I want to kiss you.”

“You are kissing me.”

He gnaws my lip, his whisper thick and hot. “I want to kiss you in other places.”

Oh, Jesus.

My chest caves and heat swirls in my belly, making my clit throb and my body crave him so badly. I’ve never been this turned on.

He stares at me as he gently pulls my arms away, and he slides the other strap of my shirt off my shoulder, my loose tank top and bra falling to my waist.

“Masen,” I say nervously, trying to bring up my arms again.

I twist my head and look around me, seeing two guys stand right next to the front of the truck. But Masen takes my hands, guiding them away and shaking his head with a slight grin on his face.

Fear races through me, making my heart pound, but I’m excited, too.

“God, look at you,” he breathes out, his eyes feasting as they fall down my chest and stomach. “You have a hell of a body.”

Chills spread down my arms, and I feel my nipples tighten and harden under his gaze.

“Take me somewhere,” I say, leaning into him, “and I’ll let you kiss me anywhere you want.”

“Sounds enticing,” he says. “Maybe next time.”

Grabbing my waist, he brings me in close, forcing me up higher on my knees so that my breast is level with his mouth.

“Masen,” I gasp as he grabs my left nipple between his teeth, sending shocks through my system and right down between my thighs. “Oh, my God, we can’t.”

But he sucks the whole damn thing into his mouth, and I grip his shoulders, my eyes flutter closed and not giving a damn that half our class

is right outside.

“Yes,” I whimper, losing my breath and wrapping one arm around his neck, holding him closer.

His tongue, hot and wet, comes out and swirls around the pebbled flesh of my nipple, teasing me, and his fingers dig into my skin as he goes back for more, nibbling the whole breast.

I hear laughter outside, and I try to turn my head, but Masen leans into me, forcing me to arch back as he switches to the other breast, kissing and dragging the nipple out by his teeth.

I moan, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back. “Masen, we’re going to get caught.”

But my plea is pathetic, and he knows it. He sucks hard, stretching my skin, and I want to grind on his dick so badly, but it’s difficult from this position.

His mouth and teeth explore, tugging and sucking until I’m sure I’m red, and I lean back up, letting his mouth trail to my neck and back to my mouth.

I roll my hips, rubbing on him as he kisses and nibbles down my jaw. I want to feel every inch of him through his jeans. I’m so wet.

He suddenly pulls away from me, and I look to see him pulling his shirt over his head. I briefly see the rest of the tattoos trailing up his arm and over his shoulder, as well as the few across his chest and stomach.

He pulls me to him again, pressing his chest against mine. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

He palms my breast with one hand while slipping the other down the back of my shorts and squeezing my ass.

I gaze into his green eyes, both of us breathing hard, but I see him pause, as if he’s suddenly not sure about something.

And all of a sudden, I’m not worried about getting caught. I’m worried about him stopping.

Don’t stop.

My eyes burn with tears, and I’m so tired. So tired of holding back everything I feel and want to say. So tired of being someone I’m not and making mistakes that I didn’t have any fun making.

I want to feel this. I want to get lost with him for as long as I can.

“Masen?” I put my hand to his face and lean my head into his, speaking low. “Can I tell you something true?”

He nods.

I slip my hand between us and press my hand into his cock. “I want to get fucked.”

His eyes widen, and I bite his bottom lip.

Yeah, he wasn’t expecting that.

He expels a breath, sounding shocked, but he doesn’t need to be asked twice. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he flips me onto my back on the seat, and I let out a small gasp, not sure if I’m excited or nervous. He stands up as much as he can, and hovers over me, gazing down at my body. I bite my lip, trying not to smile as much as I want to.

Reaching up, I hold his eyes as I unfasten his belt, but when I go to unbutton his jeans, he stops me.

“I said I needed to kiss you everywhere,” he reminds me, eyeing my shorts. “Take ‘em off.”

I cast a nervous glance out the window above me, seeing someone walk by. The slickness between my legs gets wetter, and I can’t help the rush of heat under my skin.

God, this is so bad.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I unbutton my shorts and slide them over my ass and down my legs. Masen gazes down at my lacy, red thong and slowly slides a finger up my thigh, under the hem of the panties, and pulls them aside, baring my pussy.

I groan at the feel of his eyes on me. Please touch me.

“Do you keep it bare like that all the time?” he asks, still staring at me.

“Do you want me to?”

He smiles and meets my eyes.

I run my hand up his chest and wrap it around the back of his neck. It’s weird. Sometimes I feel like I know him. Like, really know him. We engage so easily, and even when we’re angry, it still feels like it’s familiar. And then it hits me that I really don’t know anything about him.

“Where do you come from, Masen?” I ask. “Where are your parents?

What are you hiding from?”

He stares at me, his expression turning wary. The he reaches out and runs his fingers gently down my face, forcing my lids closed. “Close your eyes. There’s nothing to see out here.”

What?

But then I feel his tongue gliding up my slit, and I gasp, my entire body tensing. “Oh, God.”

He licks me up and down slowly, dragging his tongue up my pussy and over my clit, and then latches onto my nub, sucking it hard into his mouth.

I arch my neck up, breathing hard as I watch him. He groans, swirling his tongue around me, and then tugging my clit out between his lips and going back for more—licking, sucking, and nibbling.

The pulse between my legs throbs, and I feel warmth at my entrance as I get wetter and more ready for him.

He pushes up one of my knees, opening me up and starts going at me harder and faster, more greedily. His tongue licks, his teeth grab and tease, and then he covers me with his mouth, sucking and working my clit until I cry out.

“Please,” I moan. “Ah…”

He reaches up and clamps a hand over my mouth, still eating me, and I shoot my eyes up, seeing Trey right above me.

I stop breathing for a second, my eyes widening. He stands right outside the rear passenger side door, calling to someone.

Oh, shit.

“Damn, Trey,” Masen says, smirking up at me and flicking out his tongue to lick me. “Your girl’s pussy is so tight.”

I pull away from his hand on my mouth. “Shut up!” I whisper.

He licks and sucks me again. “Thanks for letting me borrow her, man.”

And then he dives in, finally sliding his tongue inside me and penetrating.

I suck in a breath, whimpering, and he covers my mouth again as he moves his tongue inside and works my clit with his other hand.

I roll my hips, trying to meet him—trying to get deeper—as my breasts sway back and forth with the small movements. I grab the back of his neck, holding him to me, feeling the tingling where his tongue touches build and build until every muscle in my body contracts so tightly it burns.

“Yes!” I cry out behind his hand.

My orgasm explodes, spreading up through my stomach and down my thighs, and I throw my head back, staring in horror at Trey and some guy standing right there above me. I slam both of my hands over Masen’s on my mouth, moaning into them and hoping no one can hear me through the doors.

My chest rises and falls, the incredible feeling wracking through my body, up to my head and down to my feet.

Masen lowers his hand, palming my breast before letting go. He rises up and leans over me, putting a hand on the door behind me to hold himself up as he unbuttons his jeans. My heart picks up pace again.

His hard eyes stare down at me, filled with lust. “Take off the thong, or I’m ripping it off.”

I glance up nervously, afraid of getting caught. What if the truck rocks?

He reaches into the pocket on the back of the front seat and pulls out a condom, tearing it open with his teeth. He has condoms back here?

I narrow my eyes, glaring up at him.

He meets my stare and just laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re the only girl I’ve had back here.”

Then why do you keep condoms in the backseat of your truck? Just in case?

He reaches into his jeans and pulls out his cock, hard and ready, and I lose my breath, watching as he rolls the condom on.

I put my hands on his chest, not sure if it’s because I want to touch him or because I’m scared. I’ve only done this once, and it was two years ago. It was a mistake.

But it feels like the first time again, and I’m nervous.

He stops, looking at me. “Take it off,” he whispers. There’s pleading in his eyes.

I lick my lips, breathing hard and my pulse racing.

I reach down slowly, a nervous shake to my body as I slide my panties off and let them drop to the floor. I want him. There’s no harm in letting him feel me for just a little bit, right? I’ll make him stop and take me somewhere else soon.

“Just for a minute, okay?” I plead, reaching back up and caressing his chest. “And then we have to stop.”

A smile curls a corner of his mouth as he lifts my knee, his thick cock pressing between my legs.

“Just for a minute,” he promises. “And then I’ll stop.”

Thrusting his hips slow and steady, he reaches down and works his cock inside me. I groan, feeling myself stretch as he sinks into me, going deeper and deeper and burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, his face twisted in pain as he stills. “Ryen…”

He breathes hard, lowering his body, my nipples brushing his chest. I shudder, savoring the feeling of his tip rubbing my spot, and without thinking, I bend my knees up more and spread my legs wider.

Just for a minute.

He kisses me, and I barely have time to adjust to him before he pulls out and thrusts back in, stretching me so good.

“Oh, God.” The sounds of the movie play in the distance, and I hear the muffled voices of people not far off.

But all I see is him. His lips hovering over mine, his breath warming my skin, his fucking that’s getting harder and faster as he thrusts between my thighs.

I look up, seeing his hand still gripping the door, the muscles in his arms bulging and tight.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

I drop my eyes back down as I lick his piercing and hear him growl under his breath.

The truck creaks with our movement, and I whimper, digging my fingers into his hips as he moves in and out of me. “The truck will rock,” I say, worried. “We have to stop.”

But he just groans, fucking me harder. My breasts bounce back and forth, and I gasp at the pleasure of him filling me. I pull him deeper with every thrust, rolling my hips to fuck him back.

“Masen,” I beg, licking and biting his neck and feeling myself coming again. “It feels so good.”

He slides a hand under my ass and nestles in deeper, grunting as he fucks me rougher. I hear a noise underneath us, from the truck, and I cast a worried glance around. “Go slow!” I plead. “The truck…”

But he growls and comes down, kissing and biting my lips. I slide my hands down, gripping his ass and keeping him close, and he thrusts his dick inside me again and again.

“Yes, yes,” I moan over and over, feeling another orgasm crest as I taunt him with quick, little kisses.

“Masen, is the minute over yet?”

“Almost, baby.” I hear the humor in his voice.

His cock nudges me deep inside, and I cry out, breaking loose and coming as my pussy clenches around him, holding him too tight.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, putting a hand over my mouth and thrusting inside of me faster.

He pushes in one more time and stops, his body shuddering under my hands, heavy breaths and groans fanning my ear.

I run a hand up his back, feeling his sweat as I close my eyes. My head is in a fog, and the inside of the truck is spinning.

The orgasm seeps down every limb, and I feel tired and happy and sad.

I don’t want it to be over.

But holy shit. We shouldn’t have done that here.

He relaxes on top of me, his hand still holding the door and his head bent to my shoulder. I stay there, still and quiet.

I don’t even want to look outside to see if anyone noticed. Like I really thought we could stop once we started?

He raises his head finally and looks down at me. I smile small, wishing we were parked in the forest somewhere. Somewhere we could stay all night and do that some more.

His eyebrows pinch together, and he looks like he’s searching for words. “Ryen, I…”

“What?”

But he remains silent.

I touch his face, but he just shakes his head and looks away. “Nothing.

It’s fine.”

Fine? A chill brushes across my skin.

What’s fine?

I sit in the front seat, pulling my hair over my shoulder and smoothing it down. After we finished, he climbed in the front and drove us out of the drive-in, while I stayed hidden in the back, getting dressed.

I chew on the corner of my mouth, worry setting in. The truck was definitely moving.

Anyone could’ve seen me climbing in before that, and everyone knows it’s his truck. Not to mention, he’s being quiet now, driving and not even looking at me.

Typical guy. Say all the things you need to get into her pants, but all those strong feelings and hot whispers fade when you get what you want, doesn’t it?

Whatever.

I fasten my seatbelt. The drive-in is behind us and the road ahead dark and empty. “I left my purse in Lyla’s car,” I say more to myself. “I’ll have to make up something for why I left and how I got home.”

“Well, good thing lying’s not hard for you.”

I shoot him a nasty look. But then I see him give me a joking smile, and I immediately relax a little.

Maybe I don’t need to lie at all. Just tell her I let Masen Laurent take me home. What could happen?

I catch sight of the screen on the radio, seeing the name of the song playing from the iPod, and break out in a smile, turning it up.

Masen glances over at me, probably wondering why I look happy.

“What?”

I gesture to the radio where Eminem’s “Without Me” is playing. “I have a friend. He hates my taste in music,” I tell him. “I sent him this song once.

It led to a life-long argument that still hasn’t been settled.”

“He?”

I lean back in my seat. “In elementary school, our teachers set us up as pen pals,” I explain. “When the school year ended, though, we just kept writing, and we haven’t stopped. He lives in Thunder Bay, but we’ve never met.”

Masen stares at the road ahead, his chest rising and falling steadily. He’s not jealous, is he? Misha and I aren’t like that.

“Do you tell him everything?” he asks, still not looking at me.

I narrow my eyes on him. Maybe he suspects Misha is important to me.

Or maybe he wonders if my pen pal is more important than him.

The truth is, Misha is irreplaceable. But even with him, I don’t say everything.

I turn my head to look at the window. “I tell him more than I tell anyone else.”

“Do you lie to him?”

“Yes,” I reply honestly. “He gets the version of me I want to be.”

For some reason, I feel no shame in admitting that to Masen. With my mom, my sister, my teachers, and my friends, I feel like I’m judged. Like there’s something I need to live up to.

Even with Misha, I feel guilt for never putting my money where my mouth is and hoping he never finds out how awful I can be sometimes. I want him to think the best of me.

But with Masen, I almost feel like nothing I could do could make him want me less. Like my imperfections entertain him, my issues complement his issues, and two negatives make a positive, and all that.

“Are you going to write to him and tell him about tonight?”

I turn to him, a slight smile on my face. “Probably. Would you care?”

He shakes his head, watching the road.

“You wouldn’t be jealous?”

“You’ll need your friends,” he replies.

I arch a brow. What the hell does that mean?

He pulls into my driveway and follows the circle around to the front door and stops. I unfasten my seatbelt and glance at his right hand sitting on his lap. Not even a half hour ago that hand was on my ass.

No one knows how this feels.

I close my eyes, feeling lonely now. Why is he being so distant? I’m not dumb enough to think we’re a couple now—I never have unrealistic expectations when it comes to people—but this is awkward. His vibe sucks, like tonight was a mistake or something, and it hurts a little.

Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

“Well…” I sigh, opening the door. “I guess I’ll see you.”

I climb out and slam the door behind me, walking toward my house. I hear another door slam shut, and I turn around to see Masen jogging toward me.

I stop.

He touches my face, coming in close and looking down at me.

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

He hovers close, his lips an inch from mine. “Your pen pal.”

His breath lingers on my lips, and I open my mouth just a little in anticipation for him. God, he smells good.

“Misha,” I whisper.

He kisses me, his lips sinking into mine as I close my eyes.

“What was that?” he teases, nibbling my lips. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Misha,” I gasp before diving into him and brushing his tongue with mine. I press my body into his, feeling the bulge in his jeans rubbing me.

He finally pulls away, breathless and turned on again, just like at the drive-in.

“Thank you.” He kisses me one last time on the lips and turns around, heading back to his truck.

What the hell?

I watch, confused again, as he starts the engine and drives away, his taillights glowing in the darkness as he pulls out onto the street.

I know him very little, but after every encounter, I feel like I know him less.

I didn’t see Masen all weekend. Saturday came and went. My friends and I spent all day on the football field, orientating the incoming freshman cheerleaders for the next school year, and Sunday I was locked in my room, playing music, doing homework, and writing Misha.

Three letters.

Two of them were just full of boring, stupid crap, and the third—the one about Masen—I crumpled up and threw away. I’m not sure why. I don’t even know why I wrote it in the first place.

Walking down the hallway at school Monday morning, I stop at my locker and start to key in the combination, but I see black writing on the front, and I stop.

Anything to not need you,

Anything to not fall for you,

Anything to look at a girl who’s not you,

But baby, there’s nothing but you.

I smile. Masen.

At least I hope he’s the culprit. My cheeks warm, hating how happy that just made me. Why does it feel so good to know he was thinking about me this weekend when he snuck in to write it?

I try to force away the grin, but it pulls at me still as I open my locker and stuff in my bag, taking out what I need for the morning.

I walk to Art and enter the room, immediately shooting my eyes over to his seat and relieved to see him sitting there. I don’t know why, but I’m afraid any moment could be the last I see him.

He talks to Manny seated next to him, and as usual, he either doesn’t notice me or acts like he doesn’t.

I walk up to my table and turn to set my materials down, but someone bumps into me, and I lurch forward.

“Sorry,” a deep voice says, and something is shoved into my hand.

I straighten and turn my head, seeing Masen brush past me and head to the front of the room, smirking back at me as he tosses his gum into the

trash can.

I curl my fingers around the small piece of paper and sit down, acting like nothing happened. He returns and takes his seat again, resuming his conversation with Manny.

I hold the paper in my lap and look down, unfolding it and reading it.

I can’t wait to kiss you.

Tingles spread underneath my skin, and I stuff the paper into my pocket, trying to appear like romantic crap like that doesn’t do it for me. Nope. Not at all.

And I totally didn’t replay the drive-in in my head a thousand times this weekend, remembering how awesome his kisses really are.

But then I look up and see Trey walking into the classroom.

My stomach sinks. I was looking forward to having Masen close, but Trey’s the rain on the parade again. I should just cut him loose.

“I think you really like art,” I say as he pulls out the chair next to me.

“People will start talking.”

“They’ll forgive me when they find out I only sit here to look down your shirt.” He rests a hand on my chair behind me and lets his eyes fall to my loose T-shirt. He can’t see down the top, but a sliver of my belly is showing at the bottom, right above my tight jeans. “You’re a nice view.”

“Yeah, okay—”

But I stop, hearing a scratching sound. I turn my head, seeing Masen rotate a protractor in one hand, the sharp needle digging into the wooden table and slowly slicing a circle as he grinds it. I dart my eyes up to his face, seeing that he’s focused ahead, but when I look back down, I notice the black finish of the table is now marred, revealing the tan wood underneath.

I feel a smile pull at my lips. He’s not happy.

Good. If he wants me to find a new prom date, then he can man up and ask me.

“Well, then,” I continue, pushing the envelope and looking to Trey but talking loud enough for Masen to hear. “You should see my prom dress.

You’re going to love it.”

“Can’t wait.” He grins back.

I open my sketch book and continue working on my project while Ms.

Till starts drifting around the room to check on students and how they’re coming along.

“Hey, Manny.” I hear Trey call in a whisper. “You won’t have your guard dog in P.E. today.”

I hood my eyes, agitated. Manny remains still, shrinking almost entirely from view on Masen’s other side.

“You see, Laurent?” Trey calls over my head to Masen. “You can’t watch him all the time.”

I continue hearing the scratching of the protractor and look up, scanning the room. Till needs to get Trey out of here. Masen attacking him won’t go unpunished if it happens again.

“When you sucker punch someone, that shit doesn’t go un-checked,”

Trey threatens, “so don’t turn your back, either. I won’t be alone next time.”

“Jesus, I’m bored,” I mumble at Trey. “Go to Chemistry, would you?”

He arches a brow.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” I say, pushing him to take the hint. “I have to work now.”

He snorts like he’s wondering what possible “work” I could have to do in Art. He finally rolls his eyes and gives me a peck on the cheek, getting up and walking out of the classroom.

I reach down, pretending to get something out of my bag as I whisper to Masen. “Tell me you’re jealous.”

I say the same words to him as he said to me at the drive-in. I don’t want to go to prom with Trey. I don’t want to even talk to Trey.

But Masen has given me nothing, and I’m not putting my life on hold in the meantime.

“Tell me I’m yours,” I say.

He lets the protractor fall to the table and looks down, keeping silent.

My jaw aches, and I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I feel like you’re going to disappear any minute. Like you’re not really real.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispers back. “I promise. Just not yet.”

I wipe away the wet at the corner of my eye and clear my throat. I like Masen. A lot. But he has no roots here, and once the year ends, nothing is keeping him here. I’m nervous.

A low growl catches my attention, and I turn my head, realizing it’s coming from Masen’s stomach. He shifts in his seat, looking a little embarrassed.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I just didn’t feel like gas station food again.”

I watch him, the realization of his situation hitting me. Does he just go to the Cove after he leaves here? Is he alone all the time? How much money could he possibly have to eat and get gas and do laundry?

Sadness creeps in. No one’s taking care of him.

He must sense me watching him, because he jerks his chin at my drawing, changing the subject.

“What is that?”

I swallow, gazing down at my third try at the coal sketch which looks more like a Rorschach ink blot.

I suck.

“It’s an album cover,” I tell him. “That friend I told you about? Misha?

He writes music. I was making him a surprise for graduation.”

His eyes narrow on it, and his breathing turns fast and shallow.

“What?”

He turns away, blinking rapidly. “Nothing.”

I let out a sigh and turn back to my work. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I might lie a lot, but at least I say something.

I reach into my bag and pull out a granola bar, tossing it in front of him before I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

It’s only eight o’clock in the morning, and I think I’ve already had enough boys for one day.

Squeezing out the packet into the cup, I replace the plastic lid and shake the salad inside. The Caesar dressing mixes and coats the contents, and I grab a plastic fork and a bottle of water, moving down the cafeteria line to the cashier.

“You’re eating?” Lyla steps up next me and reaches over, taking a cup of fruit.

“Yeah.” I hand my lunch card to the cashier, and she swipes it. “Spring fever. Might as well eat. I can’t concentrate on schoolwork today.”

Or at least not at school. My mind is on Masen all the time. Is he here?

Is he close? Is he going to push me into a classroom, touch me, and kiss the daylights out of me?

Please. God. Yes?

“You know, I should tell you,” Lyla says, giving the cashier some money. “You leaving the drive-in with Masen Friday night was pretty

shitty.”

I stop and turn my eyes on her, my heart catching in my throat. I don’t really care if she knows I left with him, but does she know what we were doing in his truck at the drive-in?

She smiles sarcastically. “Him pulling out of the drive-in right in the middle of a movie, and you nowhere to be found? It wasn’t hard to figure out, and I’m willing to bet Trey’s figured it out, too.”

I exhale, relaxing a little. Okay, she doesn’t know much else then.

“You know what?” I say. “You actually shouldn’t tell me anything. You didn’t see me leave with him, you have no clue what’s going on between us, if anything, and you’ve given more guys a ride than a bus. When you’re perfect, then we’ll talk. Got it?”

Her eyes flare, shooting me a nasty look as she opens her mouth to speak again.

But I cut her off. “You’re done,” I tell her. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

I turn around, but I see Trey and J.D. approach and stop.

Son of a…

“You wanna have some fun?” Trey comes in, placing his hands on my hips.

What? I breathe out a laugh, a little exasperated. I can’t keep up with the intrigues right now.

But I blink, trying to focus myself again and find my quick wit. “Sure.”

I give in. “I was wondering when you’d start getting interesting.”

J.D. laughs, and Trey cocks an eyebrow, half-amused and half looking like he wants to teach me how to keep my mouth shut.

“Laurent can’t seem to take his eyes off you,” he says.

He turns his head over his shoulder, and I follow his gaze, finding Masen sitting at a table full of the worst delinquents in school. He leans

back, his long legs stretched out, and his hands locked behind his head, laughing with the guy he’s talking to.

“So?” I look back at Trey.

“So I think he wants you,” he answers. “I want you to use that for me.”

And then he leans in, holding the other side of my face and whispering into my ear. “Get him to come to my house next week for the party.”

I pinch my eyebrows together, vaguely remembering him mentioning his parents being out of town soon. And he wants me to bring Masen. So you can do what? Beat him up after I’ve lured him into the trap like in that 80’s movie?

Yeah, no.

Trey pulls away, and I force my tone even. “That doesn’t sound like any fun to me.”

Trey hoods his eyes, clearly getting aggravated with my lack of cooperation. He turns to Lyla, giving her a sexy smile. “Lyla, baby,” he says, and I see J.D. tense. “You got some balls, don’t you?”

Lyla grins back coyly, and I shake my head.

If I don’t do what he wants, Lyla will. I catch J.D.’s sneer shoot between Trey and Lyla, and then to me before he looks away.

I heave a sigh. “Masen’s not stupid, Trey. He’ll see right through her.”

I shove my salad at Lyla and brush past the boys, walking toward Masen’s table.

Stepping up, I stop next to him. All of his buddies cease their conversation and look at me, but Masen doesn’t spare me a glance.

“Hey.” I put my hand on my hip, knowing he’s aware of me.

A smile curls Masen’s lips, and his friends’ eager glances dart between him and me.

“Princess,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

Oh, please. I slide in between him and the table, hopping up and planting my hands behind me, leaning back a little, well-aware my shirt is riding up as his eyes flash to my stomach.

A few snorts sound off from his friends, and I taunt him with my eyes.

“Your prom date’s watching,” he says.

“He sent me,” I reply. “He seems to think you’ll let me bring you to one of his parties.”

I hear a few mumbles around the table, while Masen simply looks amused. We both know what Trey has in store, and I can feel my own friends watching us.

“You don’t want your friends thinking you’re a chicken, do you?” I play.

Masen’s smile widens, and he glances to his side, probably seeing if Trey is paying attention.

Not that either of us probably care. I kind of like this game. No one would believe we’re actually into each other. I can play them as long as we’re not playing each other.

He looks up at me and slides his hands under my knees, pulling me off the table and slowly lowering me into his lap, straddling him. Quiet laughter sounds off around the table and a need is suddenly building between my legs.

Leaning into him, chest to chest, I whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to go,” I admit. “He won’t be alone.”

“Why do you care?” he speaks low, keeping his tone flat. “You’re still taking Machismo-Dick to prom, aren’t you?”

“Has anyone else asked me?”

“Would you say yes?”

I brush his ear with my nose, feeling his soft skin there. “Ask and find out.”

“Trevarrow!”

I jerk, hearing my name called. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s the principal. Great. I move to get off his lap, but he presses his hands down on my thighs, keeping me there.

“Masen,” I urge. He’s going to get me in trouble. In public.

“Get off his lap,” Principal Burrowes orders me. “Now.”

I put my hands on Masen’s shoulders, moving to get up, but he grips my hips again, keeping me down.

“She gets off my dick when I tell her to get off,” he tells the principal.

My mouth falls open, and I widen my eyes. What the fuck?

Burrowes’ expression turns furious, and I hear various laughs and snorts around the table behind me.

“I beg your pardon?” she exclaims.

But Masen just leans into my ear. “I’ll see you later.”

And then he stands, carefully letting me slide off his lap and onto my feet.

He doesn’t spare anyone a second glance and walks out of the lunchroom with Burrowes’ heels clacking after him.

Somehow, though, I doubt she’s going to be able to stop him.

I’m going to hell. I’m pretty sure she’s going to drag me there herself.

Ryen has a nasty temper, and it’s the one thing about her I didn’t know but was happy to find out.

It excites me.

I tilt the flower pot and pluck out the key that’s hidden underneath.

Unlocking her front door, I replace the key and enter the house as the grandfather clock chimes to indicate it’s five a.m. Hopefully, everyone is still asleep.

I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’ll take her to my father’s house—my house—

and show her…

No, I should write her a letter. Something where I can get my words out right.

No.

Fuck! She won’t accept it. She won’t be able to get past it. She’ll hate me and cut me off, and my life will be empty without her. I have to tell her, or I have to leave.

And the possibility that I’ll do just that, punk out and cut and run, is the only reason I don’t claim her. The only reason I don’t knock Trey’s fucking hands off her and put a dent in his stomach.

I can’t rob her of prom and friends when I know I won’t be here to pick up the pieces. I’ll either be gone or she’ll make me go.

How do you tell your friend—your best friend—that you’ve been right here, under her nose, playing with her like a puppet? That she had no idea the guy who was fucking her Friday night was the boy she grew up with?

It all just got so out of hand.

I close the door, gently releasing the knob to keep from alerting anyone who might be awake that someone’s breaking into their house.

Looking around the downstairs, I don’t see or hear anyone, so I jog upstairs, careful to keep my steps light and quick. Veering to the right, I twist the knob to Ryen’s bedroom and open the door.

But I hear a gasp and look up to see her scrambling on the bed, pulling the sheet over her chest as she sits up.

I narrow my eyes, shocked she’s awake already as I close and lock the door. I was just planning on lying down next to her, savoring the feel of her for a little while.

Our days might be numbered.

“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells. “How’d you get in here?”

“Same way I got in last time,” I reply, walking toward the bed. “There’s a spare key under the flower pot outside.”

She rolls her eyes, probably at her moms’ stupidity.

I let my eyes fall down her body, noticing her bare leg arched up, but as I drift my gaze back up again, I see the curve of her hip, completely bare, and the side of her torso, visible in her half-shirt.

What the hell?

Reaching down, I left the sheet up, seeing that she’s completely bottomless. No sleep shorts, no underwear…

She snatches the sheet back, covering herself, a rosy blush crossing her cheeks.

“Why are you naked?” I straighten, suspicion crawling my skin.

I don’t wait for an answer. I walk to the closet and throw open the doors, wondering who the fuck she has in here. She was obviously awake and scared when I opened the door.

“There’s no one here,” she says. “I’m alone.”

I look around the room, noticing there aren’t any other hiding places.

Except…

I kneel down and throw up her bed skirt, peering underneath the bed.

Nothing.

Why the fuck is she naked then?

I stand up, cocking an eyebrow at her as she shifts nervously.

And then it occurs to me.

Taking the sheet in my hand, I yank it off her, her little whimper falling on my deaf ears as I lock eyes on a small black bullet vibrator.

My pulse speeds up, and I feel my cock instantly swell.

She places her hands behind her, holding herself up with her knees arched up, and chews on her lip, turning her embarrassed eyes away.

I can’t resist an amused smile. I lean down and hook the cord with a finger, picking it up, the black egg dangling in the air. “Thinking about me, were you?”

A little snarl mars her fresh, morning face. “You wish, loser.”

My chest rumbles with a laugh. Dropping the sex toy, I slide my hand between her legs, all the doubt and fear of a minute ago falling away as I slip the tip of my finger into her wet heat.

“Did you come yet?”

She tosses me another scowl, still looking away.

Leaning into her ear, I whisper, “Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

Her breathing hitches, and she finally turns her face to me. I run my hand up her pussy, over her smooth, toned stomach, and just under her half-shirt, grazing the underside of her breast.

“Show me what you do with it,” I beg.

Her eyes flash up to me, worry and nervousness written all over her face.

I glide my fingers over her hard nipples. “I’ll love everything you do. I promise.”

She shakes her head.

I grip her breast harder, a little whimper catching in her throat.

“Do it now,” I growl, demanding.

Her head falls back, and she squirms a little, clearly turned on, and I moan in her ear, my dick fucking solid.

I hear the clank of the vibrator and remote, and stand up, backing away, so I can watch her. I expect her to lie back, stick the ball between her thighs, and start rubbing it on herself, but she doesn’t do that.

Instead, she slowly turns over onto her stomach and slides the egg between her and the sheet, all the way down to her pussy.

I sit down in the chair next to her bedside table, not blinking even once.

I don’t want to miss a second.

Bending a knee to spread herself open, she positions the ball right where she needs it, and I let my eyes fall down her body. The sexy little white T-shirt that ends halfway down her back, her perfect ass, her sexy, tanned legs, and when the buzzing begins…

I groan, my cock straining against my jeans.

She turns her head to me, her body supported up on her elbows, and I see her hips start grinding into the bed, her pussy rubbing against the hard little vibrating ball underneath her. I can barely breathe, I’m so fucking mesmerized.

Her ass moves, rolling in little circles as she pleasures herself, and I hear her breathing get heavier. Looking up, I meet her eyes, one nearly hidden behind her hair.

Her stare is hard as if her imagination has taken hold and it’s me she’s fucking instead of the toy.

“You fuck that little ball a lot?” I ask, my voice husky.

She nods slowly.

“I like watching that ass move, babe.”

“I can tell.” Her amused eyes fall to my groin, probably noticing how hard I am.

She arches her neck back, running a hand up her thigh and over her ass, moaning and grunting faster as she starts to hump harder. Oh, fuck. The sexy movement of her hips, the way her ass thrusts in and out is the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

Her heated eyes fall on me again, luring me in. “I’ve fucked a lot in this bed. Just never with someone else.”

Well, it’s time to pop that cherry.

“Oh,” she moans, her face twisted in pleasure. She grinds her pussy harder, digging into the bed and trying to rub her clit to orgasm.

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, hypnotized.

“I’m so wet,” she whimpers. “I can feel it dripping over my clit.”

I fist my fingers.

“I like it when you watch me,” she whispers. “It makes me want to suck your cock.”

My eyes go wide, and I stand up, walking over to her. Cupping her chin, I lean down, forcing her head back and her eyes up to me. “You’re a hot little brat,” I growl over her lips. “But only for me, you got that?”

I grab her breast, squeezing it roughly and making her moan. This is mine.

She darts her tongue out, flicking my lip ring. “I can feel you down my throat already.”

I groan under my breath, the blood rushing to my cock. That’s it.

I reach underneath her, pull out the vibrator and fling it onto the floor.

“Wha—” she protests, but I kneel on the bed behind her, grab her hips and pull her up onto her hands and knees, smacking her ass.

She yelps but follows it with a moan, inching her knees wider apart and arching her back, welcoming me. I pull my shirt off and over my head, tossing it to the floor. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a condom and unfasten my jeans, pulling out my cock and sheathing it.

Is she on the pill? God, what I wouldn’t give to feel her bare right now.

I roll the rubber on and guide my dick into her, thrusting once and hard, burying myself deep inside her.

“Ohhhh,” she groans.

I close my eyes, her tight heat wrapping around me and filtering through my whole damn body.

Gripping her hips, I thrust in and out, pulling her heart-shaped ass into me hard and fast. “Damn, you feel good.”

She holds herself up on her hands, her long hair spilling down her back and bouncing as I fuck her. Running one hand up her spine, I feel her body

move and back up into my cock, eager to meet me halfway every time I enter her.

I slide my hand up her neck and thread my fingers through her hair, fisting it. Pulling her back, I turn her head and kiss her, her tongue teasing me as she pulls away and comes back for more.

I thrust harder, and the headboard starts hitting the wall.

“You have to go slow.” She tilts her head back, closing her eyes in pleasure. “My mom and sister will hear.”

“Fuck that,” I growl in her ear. “I’m not holding back again.”

Last Friday night was agonizing, and while I enjoyed it, it was torture trying to contain myself so the truck wouldn’t rock and no one would hear her moaning.

I pound into her, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room as I grunt and tense every goddamn muscle in my body. I know I’m hitting her deep, because her moans are getting faster and higher.

“I’m going to do something a little illegal tonight,” I tell her, tugging at her ear lobe with my teeth. “You game?”

“What is it?” she breathes out.

“It’s a surprise. Don’t you trust me?”

She scoffs. “Why would I trust you? The only thing I know about you is that you’ve got a nice body and you get me off good.”

I can’t help the stupid, fucking pleasure that swarms my chest. I don’t want to be just a fuck to her, but I’m glad I please her in that area. She owns my head and my body. When she finds out who I am, will she remember how perfect we are?

“You know more than that,” I whisper. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re my tribe, Ryen.”

She pauses and looks me in the eyes. “What did you say?”

Every part of my body tenses.

Fuck. Tribe. She wrote that in a letter.

Why did I say that?

I deflect as quickly as I can. I lean forward and come down on her, pushing her down to the mattress and thrusting deeper and harder.

“I said I won’t put you in danger.” I reach around and cup her face, turning her head and kissing her. “Come with me while everyone is at the game tonight.”

She whimpers, her eyes falling closed, and I can feel her tightening around my cock.

“Come on and make some trouble with me,” I say.

“And get an insight into who the hell you are?” she shoots back, her breathing turning shallow and hard.

“Maybe.”

She nods, her eyebrows pinching together and looking like she’s about to come. “Okay.”

I push into her, fucking her relentlessly, as electric shocks course through my stomach and stream all the way down to my dick.

“Yeah, yeah,” she pants, arching up her ass to meet my thrusts.

I cover her mouth with mine, our moans drowning out as we both come, her pussy squeezing like a vice grip around me. I thrust a few more times, wishing I could spill inside of her as pleasure washes over my whole body, and I eventually still.

Damn, she’s perfect.

I gnaw at her mouth in short, gentle nibbles. I love her lips, and the light sweat I can taste on her skin.

A door closing sounds from out in the hall, and I gather her family is starting to wake up. My eyelids are suddenly heavy, and I breathe hard,

trying to come down.

I better get out of here.

Looking down, I see her face resting on the bed, her eyes closed, looking very content. I slip my hand between her and the bed and squeeze her breast, placing one last kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Pom Poms. I’ll see you at school.”

She makes a little growl in her throat, but her eyes remain closed, and I laugh to myself as I clean up and get dressed.

“Do you think anyone will guess we got this shit from the bakery?” Lyla asks, holding up a stack of wrapped cookies.

I take the clear plastic bag from her, tied with a red bow, and set it back down on the long plastic table. “It’s not shit. Because it’s from the bakery.”

School ended four hours ago, but the parking lot is packed full of cars as we stand behind our table, greeting people before they enter the ball park. The sun has already set, and the field lighting overhead shines down, brightening the area as the last of the crowd filters through the gates.

Lyla and I were picked by the coach to work the bake sale tonight, and as a requirement, we have to wear our cheer uniforms. Fundraising is one of our many duties, and since we’re not busy rallying the crowd during the baseball game that’s about to start, we’re trying to earn some money for the team and acclimate some of the new girls coming in next year.

Technically we were supposed to bake the goods we’re selling—with the help of the team moms—but we’d dropped the ball, not planning ahead.

It’s spring, school’s almost over, and I’m already swamped as it is. So we

raided Lieber’s Bakery during school today and got dismissed from final period to package everything in our own bags with ribbons of the school’s colors.

“Come on, freshmen!” Lyla claps her hands. “Smile. It’s your new thing. I promise.”

I laugh to myself. I don’t envy them at all. The will to plaster a smile I don’t feel on my face has very nearly left the building.

I push the packages of cookies and brownies up to replace what has already been sold. Looking up, I see Masen standing near his truck with a group of guys from school. My stomach somersaults.

He’s watching me with an amused look on his face. I’d told him about the bake sale during Art today, so we agreed to meet afterward to do whatever it is he’s got planned, God help me.

After sneaking into my room this morning, catching me with my vibrator, and damn-near waking up the whole house—because he needed to get laid—the rest of the day passed relatively calmly. Everything else was easy peasy compared to that.

I resist the urge to pull out the huge-ass black bow on top of my head that we’re required to wear as part of the uniform. I can feel the laugh he’s holding back all the way from here.

I see him and his friends approach.

“Jesus, it’s like the Disney channel puked all over this table,” he jokes, scanning the array of polka-dotted plastic bags and the flowery tablecloth.

I put my hands on my hips.

“Nice bow.” He jerks his chin, eyeing the top of my head. “If I pull it, does it have a string that makes you talk and move?”

A snort breaks into a laugh, and I shoot a glare over to Ten, standing behind Lyla. He hunches over just a little, his body shaking.

He glances up at me, sees my stare, and tries to hold it back. “I’m sorry, okay? It was funny.”

I arch an eyebrow and turn my eyes back to Masen. He cocks his head, looking delighted with himself.

I grab the collar of his black hoodie and pull his face close, leaning into his ear and covering my whisper with my hand. “You left bruises all over my tits this morning,” I tell him, “and if you’re not nice, I won’t let you kiss them better later.”

He sucks in a breath.

“Now buy some cookies,” I order, pushing him away.

A smile pulls at his mouth, but I raise my chin, watching him pull out his wallet.

He hands Lyla a hundred-dollar bill, and I blink, trying not to look like I’m taken off guard. Okay. I guess he’s okay on money, after all.

Where’d he get that much cash? An unnerving feeling settles in my gut.

“How much will this buy me?” he asks her but keeps his eyes on me.

She takes the bill and stares at it for a moment. But then she takes a package of ten cookies and shoves it at him. “Here.”

A laugh catches in my throat. That stack of sweets costs five bucks, but I don’t care that she’s hustling him. He deserves it.

He gives the package a look, clearly knowing he’s being swindled, but he keeps quiet and tosses it to a friend behind him. Slipping his wallet back into his pocket, he holds my eyes briefly before walking away, his crew following.

“Nice.” Lyla waves the hundred in front of me. “What did you say to him?”

“I forget.”

I don’t fear Lyla’s judgement about Masen, and part of me wants people to see him touch me, but for some reason, Masen still feels like a fling, and I don’t want to try to explain it to others. I’m still trying to figure him out myself.

And part of me likes the sneaking around. I love having this one thing that makes me happy that I don’t have to share with anyone else.

Kind of like Misha.

Misha. Why do I feel like I’m betraying him? He abandoned me.

After the national anthem and the first pitch, Lyla, Ten, and I call it a night, sending the other girls home and then packing up. Lyla grabs the rest of the snacks, saying we’ll just give them to the baseball team when they’re done, and Ten heads into the game, probably to find J.D. and the rest of our friends.

I hook my bag over my shoulder, grab my water bottle, and walk for the parking lot instead of the ball field.

“Where are you going?” Lyla asks, turning with the box of cookies in her arms.

I gesture to my bag. “Taking this to my car.”

I walk away, not waiting for a response, and head straight for my Jeep, seeing that Masen’s black Raptor is parked on the other side of the aisle.

His eyes are on me as he leans against his door and two of his pals stand in front of him, their heads turned and watching me, too.

Tossing my bag into the back, I reach up and unclip my bow and pull out the rubber band that held the top half of my hair back. I comb the strands with my fingers and fluff it up, letting it hang loose down my back.

Turning around, I lean back on my Jeep and hang my elbows over the edge of the car, looking straight at him.

“I don’t know, man,” Finn Damaris muses, smirking. “She looks like she wants something. What do you think?”

“Yeah.” The one with the Mohawk whose name I don’t know nods and bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes fall down my body. “She definitely wants something.”

Masen watches behind them, amusement in his eyes.

“She’s so clean,” Finn comments, turning to his friend. “I’ll bet she likes to get dirty, though.”

Mohawk laughs. “Oh, yeah.”

I roll my eyes, waiting. I’m sure they’re loving this. The stuck-up girl playing with one of their own…

“You guys take off,” Masen says. “I got this.”

I walk over, fall gently into his chest as his friends disappear, snickering.

“So where are we going?” I hover over his lips.

He inhales a deep breath and plants a quick peck on my cheek, standing up straight. “Come on. Get in.”

I cross my arms over my chest to keep from fidgeting. “I should’ve changed my clothes.”

Masen peers over, driving past my neighborhood and deeper into the countryside. “Why?”

“Because if we’re seen doing whatever it is we’re doing,” I explain, “I won’t be hard to identify in a Falcon’s Well cheer uniform.”

He smiles to himself and looks back at the road. “You won’t be seen.”

I take in a deep breath and reach over and turn up the radio, trying to drown out the worry in my head as Breaking Bejamin’s “So Cold” plays .

I try to act like a badass, but honestly, I’m nervous as hell.

I should’ve told him no this morning. I’d stopped writing on the walls, and doing anything more illegal would be risking too much. I have acceptance letters to NYU, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Like I’m going to jeopardize that simply because I’m infatuated with him and will use any excuse to be close to him.

Actually it was hard to refuse him anything while he was inside me. I would’ve told him I’d tattoo his name on my neck if he wanted.

He’d probably love that. I glance over at him, laughing inside at the idea. His brown hair, wispy and sticking up a little, is pushed forward, and I stare at his mouth, remembering the warmth of the smooth metal ring grazing the dozens of places he’s kissed on my body.

I suddenly want to know everything. What he was like as a kid. What his favorite kinds of music are. Where he goes when he wants some peace and quiet and whom does he go to when he needs to talk.

Who does he love? Who’s there for him? Who knows him best?

Who knows him better than me? I can’t help the jealousy I feel at that thought. He has an entire life and history with people who aren’t me.

I chew on the corner of my mouth, feeling so many things I know I shouldn’t say.

But I want to.

“I like you,” I tell him, looking down, my voice quiet.

I see him turn his head toward me, not saying anything.

“You said some nice things last Friday night,” I go on, “and I wanted you to know—in case you don’t already—that I actually kind of like you.” I raise my eyes, seeing him watch me with something I can’t read going on in his eyes. “I know I can be…me. I don’t get sappy, and I don’t give up

what’s going on in my head a lot. It’s hard for me.” I pause, feeling a little more resolute. I want him to know. “But yeah, I like you.”

I know it’s not much, but it’s a lot for me, and I hope he knows that.

Admitting I like him makes me vulnerable, and that’s not usually a card I ever give up. Not anymore.

Because, to be honest, I don’t just like him. It’s more than that. I think about him.

I miss him when he’s not around.

It’ll hurt if he has to leave as suddenly as he appeared.

He’s quiet, and the heat of embarrassment blankets my skin. Awesome.

Good going, Ryen. Maybe all he liked about you was that you weren’t clingy, and now you’re acting like you’re in love with him.

“When are we going to be there?” I ask, my tone curt as I try to change the subject.

I watch as he slowly pulls over to the side of the road and parks next to a wall of trees.

“We’re here now,” he answers.

I peer around the hedge, taking a better look, and then dart my eyes around, taking in the quiet, spacious neighborhood.

“This is Trey’s house,” I point out, my guard definitely up now.

He nods, taking off his seatbelt. “There’s something of mine in there. A family heirloom.” He gestures to Trey’s house on the right. “And I need it back.”

“What are you talking about? Why would Trey have something of yours?”

He shakes his head. “Not Trey.”

“What?”

He takes my phone out of my hand and punches some buttons on the screen as I try to figure out what the hell’s going on. There’s something of his in there? Something he wants back? Trey and his entire family are at the baseball game, so no one’s home.

Are we breaking in?

“Masen, I’m not breaking into his house.”

“You don’t have to.” He hands my phone back to me. “I programmed in my number. I think it’s about time you had it anyway. Call me if anyone comes home or you see anything weird.”

What?

I stare at him, appalled, but he just climbs out of the truck and jogs for the house.

Excuse me?

I push open the door, jump out, and slam it behind me, chasing after him. “I can’t believe you!” I whisper-yell, catching up to him in the middle of Trey’s lawn. “You won’t tell me anything, and now you’re breaking and entering, and you’re involving me? I could get into trouble, and yes, I don’t mean to seem like a hypocrite, being Punk and all, but I don’t want to do this.”

He stops, and I clutch my phone in my hand, kind of wanting to throw it at him. Where the hell does he get off? He has friends. Why not ask them?

“Why would you ask me to do this?” I demand.

“Because it’s important.”

He glares at me, but I don’t think he’s angry.

Letting out a breath, his expression softens as he approaches me.

“Because I need what’s in there, and because…you’re the one I trust.

You’re the one I want here.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious, Ryen. Trust me, would you?”

“I trust people who don’t deliberately put me in danger,” I shoot back.

“I thought we were doing something at the Cove or climbing a water tower or something. Not breaking into the principal’s house.”

“You break into the principal’s school,” he points out.

I twist up my lips, folding my arms over my chest. Jerk.

He regards me for a moment and then drops his eyes. Taking my hand, he places his keys in my palm. “You’re right. Go ahead and take the truck to your house. I’ll meet you there,” he tells me, relenting. “It’s only a mile away. I can walk it.”

What? No—

But he turns around and walks for Trey’s house, not giving me a chance to protest. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I don’t want him getting in trouble, either.

Something of his is in the house. So we’re not taking anything that doesn’t belong to them then. Okay.

I let out a sigh and run after him.

Just go. Don’t think.

I wonder how many people who got prison sentences said the same thing when they committed their crimes.

I see him head for the front door, digging something out of his pocket, but I eye the doggy door on the garage and then look around me. Anyone could drive by or a neighbor could possibly spot Masen at the door, trying to get in.

“The doggy door is a better idea,” I tell him, knowing Trey’s parents probably took the Husky with them to the game.

He jerks his head, eyeing the rectangular hole in the door. “I can’t fit through there.”

Of course not. Their dog is big but not that big.

I shake my head, hesitating for a moment. But then I heave a sigh and move toward the door.

I can try to convince myself that I know this house, having been here before, and I can get him through it and try to find what he needs a lot faster than he can. But the truth is, I want to know what he’s looking for and why.

So far he’s been like a ghost, and I’m curious.

Crouching down, I push my hand through the doggy door, listening for feet to come running or a bark. But all I hear is leaves rustling in the wind.

Mason comes up behind me, and I stick my head through, seeing only the inside of the pitch-black garage. Sliding my arm in, I turn on my side, maneuver my shoulders through the tight space, and put my hands down on the cold cement floor, wiggling my body through the small hole.

I inhale the musty air and make out the little, green dot of light by the kitchen door, guessing that must be the opener.

Stepping cautiously in the dark, I hold out my hands and move toward the door, trying to avoid the pool table, couch, and other furnishings I know are in the converted man-cave.

“Don’t turn on any lights,” Masen calls.

“Duh.” My foot hits the step, and I reach out my hand, pressing the button for the opener. The motor starts turning, and the garage door begins to lift up. Masen bends down and slides in under the door, and I press the button, lowering it again.

I twist the handle to the kitchen door and open it, immediately seeing moonlight streaming through a large kitchen window. Masen comes in behind me, closing the door, and I inhale, smelling Trey. It’s funny how people smell like their houses. Or vice versa.

Combinations of leather and wood furniture, Febreeze, laundry soap, the different colognes and perfumes your parents and siblings use, the food your family cooks…all coming together to create a single, solitary scent in your house.

Except Masen. He smells like the leather from his truck with a hint of soap. That’s it.

“Let’s go.”

He leads me through the house, looking around as if figuring out where to go, which I could tell him if I knew what he was looking for. But rounding the stairs, he jogs up, and I follow.

“Are you going to Trey’s room?” I ask.

“If so, I’ll find it,” he bites out. “I don’t need to know that you know where it is.”

I smile to myself. “I don’t. I was just asking.”

He opens a door, and I peer into the darkness, seeing pink walls and toy hot air balloons hanging from the ceiling.

It must be Emma’s room. Trey’s half-sister. I know Principal Burrowes married Trey’s dad when Trey was about four. Even though he calls her Gillian and doesn’t treat her like a mom, she practically raised him and then gave birth to a daughter several years younger than Trey.

I look at Masen, wondering why he’s not closing the door. What he needs can’t possibly be in here. Emma is only like six. She didn’t steal anything from him.

But he just stands there, letting his eyes drift around the room. His chest moves with his shallow breaths.

“Masen?” I prompt.

But he doesn’t answer.

I touch his arm. “Masen?” I say louder. “What are we looking for? I want to get out of here.”

He blinks, turning away, almost like he’s angry. “Alright, come on.”

He leaves the room, and I shut the door again, catching a flash of movement. The shadows of the leaves outside the hall window dance over the carpet, and my heart skips a beat.

Walking to the next door, Masen strolls in and stops for just a moment, looking around. Heading for the armoire, he pulls open a drawer and takes out a small flashlight from his pocket. He clicks on the small light and starts inspecting the jewelry case.

“You can’t be serious?” I bark in a whisper, stepping up to him. “Did the principal steal your favorite string of pearls?”

“It’s a long story, babe.” He pulls open drawer after drawer, quickly scanning the contents and shuffling items around, searching for what? I don’t know.

“And I’m fascinated,” I retort. “But if you steal anything, I’ll make you bleed.”

“Hold this.” He shoves the flashlight at me. “I won’t take anything that’s not already mine.”

“What’s yours? What are we looking for?”

“A watch.”

A watch? “Why would the Burrowes have your watch?” I ask, confused.

“Later,” he says. “Now hold up the light.”

I purse my lips, growing impatient. But I hold up the light and shine it on the drawers he’s sifting through. I follow him when he moves to the dresser, dipping his hands in sweaters and shirts, feeling around.

“So do you want to take a shower tonight?” He glances up at me.

I frown. He’s flirting? Really?

He chuckles. “I don’t really need one, but I’d love to wipe that little scowl off your face, and I’ll bet you’ll feel good wet.”

I shake my head, trying to look unamused at his shitty choice of timing for dirty talk.

Although a hot shower with him, kissing and touching him, sounds really good.

“Just hurry up,” I whisper, wiggling my legs underneath me, getting anxious.

He searches the rest of the room—some small boxes in the closet and the bedside drawers—while I hold the light, waiting for him to give up, so we can just get out of here. But he pauses briefly, standing at the foot of the bed, thinking.

And then, before I have a chance to push him again to get us out of here, he whips around and heads out of the room and across the hall.

Trey’s room. Finally. I expected him to search there first. I don’t know why Trey would have anything of his, but he’d be a hell of a lot more likely to steal something from Masen than the parents.

Glancing around the principal’s bedroom, I make sure everything is put back in place—closets and drawers closed—and shut the bedroom door, hustling across the hall and following him into Trey’s room.

I brave a glance around. I should feel guilty that I’m sneaking around the room of the guy I’m going to prom with, but I let my gaze fall on his queen-sized bed, a navy blue comforter with gray sheets, and I feel a shiver crawl up my arms instead.

There’s no way I ever want to lie in there with him.

I watch Masen open the bedside drawer and pick up a box of condoms, flashing it to me over his shoulder.

“What do you think?” he teases. “Is he stocking up for prom?”

Oh, whatever. “You know, you keep bringing up prom,” I point out, stepping up behind him and whispering in his ear. “If you’re that worried about what might happen with those condoms, maybe you should do something about it.”

I feel his body shake with a quiet laugh as he tosses the box back into the drawer.

“Ask me,” I whisper, running my lip over his lobe. “Ask me, and I’ll say yes.”

He leans into my mouth, looking at me. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I push away, displeased. “Douchebag.”

He chuckles behind me. I flash the light around the room as Masen makes his way over to the dresser and opens the left drawer, mussing the socks as he digs.

But I notice something in the dark and pinch my eyebrows together, coming over and reaching in, touching his hand.

“This drawer should be deeper,” I tell him, my fingers hitting a plank of wood. I’d noticed his hand and wrist in the drawer when the depth should’ve eaten up half his forearm.

We both feel around, and Masen narrows his eyes, finding something and pulling on it.

He lifts up the piece of wood, the clothes fall back, and I see another compartment underneath.

Masen reaches in and pulls out what looks like a stack of cards. He turns them over and looks at them, but then he drops his hand back into the drawer, stuffing the cards back into the compartment.

“What?” I prod, reaching in and trying to grab the stack away from him.

“It’s nothing.” He tries to replace the board. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

But I force my way in and rip the stack out of his hand.

Shooting him a joking little scowl, I turn the cards over and look at them.

My chest caves. Oh, my God.

They’re not cards. They’re pictures. Four by sixes by the looks of it, and I stare at each image, shuffling the cards one after another, my stomach churning.

Lindsey Beck, a senior who graduated last year.

Fara Corelli, a senior in my class this year.

Abigail Dunst, another senior.

Sylvie Lanquist, a junior.

Georgia York. J.D.’s older sister. He probably doesn’t have any idea about that.

Girl after girl, naked and in a variety of different poses. Some of them are selfies, some of them taken by someone else, and in one of them, Trey has a girl straddling him. His face holds a sleazy smile.

Disgusted, I curl my fingers around the pictures.

Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and takes the picture.

My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…

I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.

My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to

all of them? And Sylvie’s the sweetest kid. How long did he sweet-talk her to get what he wanted?

“I’m sorry, babe.”

I scoff, tossing the pics on the dresser. “You think I don’t know what he’s about?”

“Well, you are still going to prom with him.”

I shoot a look over to him, aggravated he keeps bringing that up.

No. I’m not going to prom with Trey. Not anymore. If he treats girls he’s able to get naked like that, how will he treat someone he can’t get into bed?

But I won’t tell Masen that. He’ll just gloat.

I look down and see another picture in his hand and inch forward.

“What is that?”

He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.

Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.

Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.

But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.

I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?

I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?

I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”

I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.

No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.

Just like before.

I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.

What fun she must have had, standing next me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.

Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey.

It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

“You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”

I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”

Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a reason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”

I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.

I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.

“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”

Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.

He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.

“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”

I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.

“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.

Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.

“What are you going to do with those pictures?”

“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”

But Masen shakes his head. Taking them out of my hand, he makes a U-turn and opens the parents’ bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.

But then I see him throw out his hand, sending the pictures flying all over the room, falling to the floor and even the bed.

“Oh, my God.” I choke out a laugh and cover my mouth.

“Let the parents sort him out,” Masen says, taking my hand and closing the door behind us.

I laugh quietly, but I still laugh. I can’t stop. The Burrowes will definitely know someone was in their house tonight, but judging from the photos, they’ll probably just assume it’s a disgruntled girl pissed at Trey.

We leave the house, going out the same way we came in, and hurriedly hop into his truck, looking around to make sure there’s no one around.

The street is dark and quiet, and Masen starts the engine, getting us out of there.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”

He gives me a weak smile. “I got what I want.”

Flutters hit my stomach, and I bring up my hand, running my fingertips over the top of his hand that’s resting on the console.

After a couple minutes, he pulls up in front of my house and puts the truck in Park, leaving the engine running.

I sit up and lean over to him, not wanting to say goodnight.

Never wanting him to leave, actually.

“There’s a tree house in the back yard,” I look up at him teasingly. “You game?”

He smiles. “I would love to. But I have something to do right now,” he tells me, whispering in my ear.

I feel disappointment, but I brave it and plaster on a flat expression like I always do.

“Do me a favor, though?” he asks, kissing my cheek slow and soft.

“Make sure the key’s under the pot. And don’t touch yourself tonight. Save

it for the morning when I can watch.”

My body warms with excitement, and I smile. If it weren’t so dark in the truck, I’m sure he’d be able to see me blush.

“Be early,” I beg. “I might not be able to wait.”

He kisses me, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. Climbing out of the truck, I look back at him once and then unlock my door, entering the house.

As soon as the door’s closed, I hear him pull away.

How easy it is to get lost with him. A few minutes ago I was crying, and now none of that seems to matter. I want friends, of course. I want to know Ten will stay by my side, and I want Misha back, but…

Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around.

Almost like none of my fears matter as long he’s there.

Tomorrow he said he would tell me everything, but honestly, part of me isn’t sure I want to know anymore. Of course the more I know about him the more I’ll feel like he’s real and the more I’ll be a part of his life instead of him just being a part of mine, but I like him. A lot.

I walk up the steps and down the hall, entering my room. Switching on the lamp, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, hanging my head off the end and staring upside down at all my chalk wall scribbles.

My eyes feel heavy with exhaustion, but I’m not tired.

Misha’s words and my words mix together, running into each other along the wall, and I can’t even remember whose are whose anymore. His thoughts and lyrics, my dreams and musings, his anger, and my confusion about everything in my life… Misha is everywhere, and I miss him. For a long time, he was my savior.

But Masen makes me feel courage, too.

I don’t need him to fill the void Misha left, but I like how he pushes me and expects more. He’s a reminder of what I want to feel every day, whether it’s with him or on my own. He’s taught me that who I am when I’m with him feels too good to sacrifice for the approval of everyone else. The way I dress, the guys I talk to, the games I play…it’s all plastic, and when I’m with him, I’m gold.

My eyes fall on the list of words I drew over the past couple of weeks.

Alone

Empty

Fraud

Shame

Fear

And below it, I’d added the line he spoke to me in the back of the truck at the drive-in.

Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

I’d loved that line. As if everything we needed to know, we couldn’t see. It was all inside of us.

I blink at the list, reading them over and over in my head.

Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,

Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

Hmm. I read them again in my head and once more out loud.

It rhymes. Like a song.

Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,

Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.

I flip over and study the words again. It’s kind of weird how they fit together like that.

Of course he’d given the words separately, and he never indicated a connection between them, but I knew there was some kind of meaning other than what he was telling me. The first word was at the Cove, not meant for me, after all. I’d had a feeling the words were coming from somewhere specific.

Hopping off my bed, I pull out my desk chair and have a seat, waking up my laptop. Typing the words into the search engine, I hit Enter and wait.

Pictures and YouTube videos immediately load onto the screen, and I sit back, scanning the hits to see if it’s from a song, and if so, which one. One of the YouTube videos is titled Pearls, and I click on it.

The video is grainy and dark, but I can see the stage and lights of the small venue, and I hear a crowd shouting and calling out.

And then I peer closer at the guys on stage, not blinking and my heart picking up pace. A band with their drums and guitars, and…

Masen?

I breathe harder and faster. What?

Everyone is positioned, one guy sitting behind his drums, two others flanking Masen with guitars, and Masen looking casual with a hand in his pocket and no instrument. My blood runs hot, and my chest aches. What the fuck is this?

The song starts, hard and loud, the drummer pounding in steady beats and the crowd jumping up and down as Masen bobs his head. I dart my eyes down, underneath the video, and see the band name.

Cipher Core. He has a band?

The scavenger hunt. Oh, my God. I’d thought he was just a guest that night. Some random guy hanging around, but he wasn’t. That was his band’s event.

My hand shakes as I move the cursor and click on the Show More section. The lyrics are written there, and I see Masen close his eyes and hold the microphone on its stand as his smooth, deep voice starts singing the words I’m reading.

A picture is worth a thousand words,

But my thousand words slice deeper.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,

Fuck that. I’ve become a hide and seeker.

Treat others how you want to be treated,

But what if tonight I want to be burned?

You told us it’s better to be safe than sorry, And little sister listened, but I was the one who learned.

Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know,

All you did suffer is what you did sow!

Necessitate, medicate, eradicate, resuscitate.

Swallow your Pearls, but for me it was too late.

Do better, be more, too many, too much,

I’m about to fucking choke, I can’t force it down.

So string up the little Wisdoms and wrap them ‘round my neck, I’ll strangle myself with your Pearls of Wisdom and die a wreck.

The lyrics ring a bell. I repeat them in my head. Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know…

Misha and I put those lyrics together. The entire fucking song is Misha’s. I remember it, and something terrible and hard curls through me as I stop breathing and read the short bio at the bottom.

Cipher Core is an American rock band based out of Thunder Bay.

A band in Thunder Bay. No… I swallow, acid bile rising in my throat.

Members:

Dane Lewis—guitars and backing vocals

Lotus Maynard—bass

Malcolm Weinburg—drums

Misha Lare—lead vocals, guitars

“Oh, my God.” I crumble, sinking out of my chair and to the floor, sobbing and shaking my head. “Oh, my God,” I cry.

I run my fingers through my hair, holding my head and my chest growing heavy. I suck in short, shallow breaths. I can’t breathe.

Masen is Misha. “What the fuck?!” I yell.

The whole time. All this time I’ve been missing him, worried about him, wondering where the fuck he is and why he hasn’t written, and he’s been right in front of me the whole time!

I scream, slamming my hands down on the floor and curling my fingers into the carpet.

I can’t believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t make a fool out of me and play with me like that.

Shooting up, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and glare at him on the screen. He finishes the final note, long and languorous, into the microphone, and from the distance in the crowd, I can see him dip his head as if still lost in the song after it’s over. People cheer, the last chords of the guitar ringing out, and I hear a couple girls call out for him.

Calling for Misha.

Everything is shaking, and the room is spinning as my mind races.

Masen. Mysterious, quiet Masen who no one knows anything about and who came out of nowhere. The guy who knew I’d loved Twilight, where I lived, and exactly what to get out of my backpack when I had my asthma attack without me telling him.

Oh, my God, how did I not know? I close my eyes, angry tears streaming down my face.

Misha, my best friend who got me into bed and fucked me with a lie.

You have a friend, he’d said earlier.

“No,” I whisper to myself, rage building as I slam my laptop closed and leave the room to get my sister’s car keys.

I have no friends.

Everything is dark, not a single light shining through any of the windows.

My dad has to be home, though. It’s pretty late.

I slip my key into the lock, always nervous that I’ll find it doesn’t work.

Of course, my father wouldn’t have any reason to keep me out—he never told me to leave, after all—but I’m not really sure he wants me here, either.

Stepping inside, I close the door behind me and stick my keys back in my pocket. A pungent odor hits my nostrils, and I wince, gazing around.

Trepidation creeps in. The house is a mess. My dad was always a neat freak, and with my sister and me helping with chores, we kept a nice house.

But I look around, seeing mail and newspapers on the floor, some laundry on the stairs, and I smell something that’s a mixture of old food and dirty clothes.

Walking past the sitting room, I notice a light coming from the living room and peer in, seeing the TV playing. The sound is low, and my father is lying on the recliner in his pajamas and robe. A table full of coffee cups, napkins, and a barely-eaten plate of food stands next to his chair.

I walk over and gaze down at his sleeping form, guilt weighing on me.

Dane was right. My dad is an active guy. Even after Annie, he still took care of things around here. But I can see the sallow tint to his cheeks and how rumpled his clothes are, like he’s worn them for more than a day.

My eyes start to burn, and I suddenly want Ryen.

I need her. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do right now.

I couldn’t get back what I needed from Falcon’s Well, but I’m not sure I care anymore.

But I don’t want to leave yet, either. I want Ryen, but I also feel like if I walked out now and left my father for good, Annie would truly be gone.

Any semblance of the life we had before would be a memory.

I lower myself to the ottoman, watching him. His head is turned to the side, and I spy a pill bottle on the table.

I don’t have to look to know it’s Xanax. My dad’s kept it around for years, something to take the edge off when raising two kids by himself got stressful. Honestly, though, I think he started taking it because my mother left. He’d loved her, and she skipped out. No notes, no calls, no contact. She left her kids and never looked back.

I dealt with it, my father buried himself in his kids, work, and hobbies to not think about it, and Annie waited. She always seemed to think our mom would come back and want to see us eventually. She’d be ready for her.

I still feel my sister in this house. As if she’s going to walk in the door, sweaty and out of breath from exercising, and barking orders, reminding me that it was my night to cook dinner and telling Dad to throw the clothes in the dryer.

“I miss her, Dad,” I speak low and quiet, despair overtaking me. “She called me that night.”

I look up at him, wishing he was awake but also glad that he isn’t. He knew she’d called me, probably only a minute before she collapsed on the road, but he wouldn’t hear any more. He’d fly into a rage, because he knew this was my fault.

“I didn’t answer, because I was busy,” I continue. “I assumed it was something little. You know how she always got on my case for not washing my dishes or stealing her chips?” I smile to myself at the memories. “I thought it was something unimportant, and I’d just call her back in a minute, but I made a mistake.”

I let out a breath and close my eyes. If I’d answered…I might’ve gotten to her in time. I might’ve gotten an ambulance to her before it was too late.

“When I called back she wasn’t answering,” I say, more to myself, reliving the night in my head as tears build. “I still wake up, frightened out my mind, and for a moment I think that it was all a nightmare. I grab my phone, scared that I missed a call from her.”

I bury my head in my hands.

In the weeks that followed Annie’s death, my father and I either fought or ignored each other. He blamed me for not being there when she needed me. She’d called me, after all, not him.

And I blamed him, too. If he’d just stopped pushing her and convinced her that our mother was never coming back, she might not have been destroying her body to try to be the perfect student, the perfect athlete, the perfect kid… And then her poor body might not have given out on her on that dark, empty road.

If he hadn’t popped Xanax when it was convenient then maybe Annie would never have gotten the idea to put herself on amphetamines to give herself the boost to do more than she should handle and be perfect.

Annie was going to be great. She fought for what she wanted in life. So much wasted talent.

“Sometimes I wish it was me instead, too.” I look up, seeing him still asleep.

He’d said that to me one night when we’d gotten in each other’s face, and I’d been hurt, despite how I acted like I wasn’t. I knew he didn’t mean it, but I do know he’d be happier still having the one child of his he had a good relationship with.

With me, what does he have?

But I can’t let him go. Annie is in him, she’s in this house, and we’re her family. We have to stay that way.

“We’re never going to have a relationship like you and she had, but I’m here.”

I stand up and quietly start clearing off the cluttered table, heading to the kitchen to do the dishes.

“Hey,” Dane calls, and I look up, seeing him walk back out of the gate at the Cove and head toward me.

“I’ve been texting you,” he says.

“Yeah, I saw.” I slam the truck door and reach into the bed of the truck, taking out some boxes.

After cleaning the kitchen at home, I’d opened some windows to air the house out while I threw in a load of laundry, sorted through the mail, took out the garbage, and cleaned up my bedroom. Which is pretty impressive, because I never do that.

I’d covered my dad with a blanket, and hopefully, when I bring groceries home tomorrow, he will be okay with me being back.

I guess I’ll find out.

“I’ve been going over this song you gave me with the guys. We were up until three last night,” he tells me. “I think we really got something.”

I nod, not really that invested in that right now. My head is in a million other places. I still have no idea how I’m going to fess up to Ryen.

God, she’s going to kill me.

Dane walks with me as I head through the parking lot for the gate entrance. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Are you moving back?”

“I’ll be home soon,” I say. “I just have some stuff to clear up here first.”

“Do you need help?”

I jerk my head over my shoulder. “Go grab more boxes if you want.”

He runs back and collects the rest of the boxes I’d taken from my garage at home, and we walk through the old park.

I didn’t bring much with me when I decided to hide out here, so it won’t take long to pack my stuff, but I’m not in a hurry.

I don’t really want to leave, but I can’t stay here as Masen Laurent anymore—a name I picked out of thin air a month ago when I asked my cousin to help me get my fake driver’s license and forge some school records. I just kept my same initials.

Once people—two people, in particular—find out I’m Misha Lare, the jig is up.

And I can’t lie to her anymore. Things were never supposed to get this far.

I don’t have any friends. Hearing her words and seeing her eyes tonight, that moment when she broke, I hated myself. What is she going to think tomorrow when she finds out her best friend stabbed her in the back and looked her in the eye doing it?

Dane and I climb down the field house stairs, and I head over to the opposite wall, throwing some switches. Lights spark to life, illuminating the long hallways as we make our way straight, to the room I’ve been using.

“I don’t know how you slept down here,” he mumbles. “It’s like a horror movie.”

I give a weak laugh. It’s definitely creepy, but… “I wasn’t really thinking a lot back then.”

I figured because it’s close to Falcon’s Well, I probably wouldn’t be discovered—or so I thought—and I have good memories of coming to this place with Annie when I was a kid.

I swing into the room, Dane following behind, and I walk the short distance to the bed table and switch on the light.

“Whoa,” Dane says.

“What?” I look up and follow his gaze, but I quickly notice what he’s referring to, and I stop breathing for a moment.

Wha—

“What the hell have you been doing in here?”

I turn in a circle, seeing the flood of papers scattered over nearly every inch of the room. Posters are ripped off the walls, my clothes are strewn about, and a table with some candles is tipped over, all of my personals laying on the floor.

I suddenly feel the pulse in my neck throb like the vein is trying to punch through the skin.

“I didn’t do this.”

I lean down and grab a fistful of the papers off the floor, seeing my name at the bottom of every letter, a couple of them a year or two old, and one from grade school. I can tell, because I signed my name Mish during an asinine spell to sound less girly.

These were all letters that were sent to Ryen. She’s had them. How did

—

Something tightens around my stomach, and I wince, knowing there’s no other way these letters got here.

“What’s that say?”

I sway off balance, but I look up, following where he points. On the wall, written with a can of black spray paint are huge letters glaring down at us.

You trick me? Watch your back, wait, and see.

“Oh, shit.” I can barely fucking move. It’s a lyric from one of my old songs Ryen helped me write.

I dive down to the shelf on my bedside table, seeing that the few items that were stashed in there are pulled out. I grab the pocket folder where I kept some of her letters—my favorite ones that I reread—but as soon as I pick it up, I already feel the weightlessness of it.

“No, no, no, no…” I flip open the top and look inside.

“What is it?”

“Fuck!” I growl. Every single one of them gone. I fling the folder away from me. “Shit!”

“What? Who?”

Jesus Christ. I shoot up and run my hands up and down my face. She knows who I am, she found her letters, and she took them back.

I spin around and run out the door.

“Misha!” Dane yells.

But I don’t stop. I race for the stairs, run up to the main floor, and dash outside, speeding through the park.

She’ll listen to me. She’ll understand. All this wasn’t meant to happen.

I dig in my jeans for my keys and climb in my truck, charging out of the park and onto the highway.

The letters. Goddammit! Knowing Ryen’s temper, they’re probably shredded at the bottom of a garbage disposal right now. Fuck!

I grip the steering wheel, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. The road is blurry, and I try to calm my breathing.

Those letters are everything. They’re her and me, kids just trying to figure themselves out and going through all our growing pains. They’re where I first started to fall for her and need her. They’re my fucking songs and a part of me.

Our history is in those letters. Every beautiful thing she ever said to me to tilt my world on its side.

My stomach rolls. If they’re gone, so help me God…

And if Ryen won’t hear me out, I don’t know what I’ll do.

After ten minutes, I’m finally parking on the street in front of her house.

I kill the car and jump out, running up to her front door.

The house is dark and quiet, which is expected at one in the morning.

But when I lift the flower pot, the key is missing. I curl my fists.

I round the house, checking windows to see if they lift, but then I spot a ladder propped up on the side of the house and stop. Gazing up, I see no light coming through Ryen’s window.

Fuck it. If she’s not there I’ll wait.

I start climbing.

Making my way up the ladder, I step onto the roof and walk over to her window. The room is pitch black, but I hear music, “True Friends” by Bring Me the Horizon playing, and I don’t hesitate. Lifting the window, I swing a leg in and bow down, sliding in.

And I immediately feel her.

Standing upright again, I hear an intake of breath and turn, spotting her dark form sitting with her knees bent up in the corner of the room.

She shoots off the ground and charges for me. “Get out.”

I take in her red and wet eyes, her rumpled sleep shorts and tank top with tear drops soaking through the pink fabric, and her hair hanging in a mess around her. She looks like she’s been crying for hours.

But still, that temper of hers is there.

I step toward her. “Where are the letters?”

“Get fucked!” she bursts out. “I burned the letters!”

I whip around and slam my hand into the wall.

“Stop!” she whispers. “My mom will hear you!”

“I don’t give a shit,” I say, turning around and getting in her face. “You belong to me more than you ever did to them.”

She shakes her head, eyes filling with tears again. “How could you do this? I was supposed to trust you, and this whole time, you were right here, watching me. You ruined everything!”

“I didn’t come to Falcon’s Well for you,” I shout back, bearing down on her. “But believe me, I’m not sorry. What a waste of time you were all these years. Now I know.”

She chokes on a sob. “Get out.”

But I can’t leave.

I never thought I’d make Ryen Trevarrow cry, but both times I have, it’s been in the past two weeks.

We kept writing because we needed each other, because we made the other one’s life better. But even after knowing her for years, it took no time for me to break what we had.

We were perfect for each other.

Until we met.

I realize now as I’m staring into her angry eyes that hold a pain she’s trying to shield from me, that there is so much more to her than what was in her letters. And so much in her letters that she let me see and no one else. I want it all.

“You’re so selfish,” she cries softly. “You take and take and take, and you didn’t even think of me, did you? I was never real to you.”

The despair in her eyes comes through, and hatred winds its way under my skin. I hate that she’s looking at me like I’m one of them.

Walking toward her, I force her back against the wall and pull my shirt over my head, clutching it in my hand.

She stares at me, confused. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Look.” I hold her eyes, willing her to look at my body. We were too consumed at the drive-in, and in bed this morning I was behind her, so she hasn’t gotten a good look.

I light up my phone and hold it up, illuminating my skin.

Her eyes drop, looking hesitant, but slowly she starts letting her gaze drift over me. And I know exactly what she’s seeing.

Her eyes fall over the cassette tape high on my torso, musical notes stringing out of it, and the label on the tape reading The Hand That Rules the World. It was a play on words from a poem Ryen quoted in a letter once when she was encouraging me to start a band.

Her gaze trails down to the small black birds taking flight on the side of my stomach and over my hip. Words float along with the art, reading, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. It’s from Hamlet, Ryen’s favorite Shakespeare play. I got the tattoo after Annie died.

She takes my phone and slowly circles me, shining the light and taking in my chest and back, the Pearls of Wisdom down my arm—another letter

about our parents—the decaying heart on my shoulder, stitched up down the middle and reconnecting the words You’re My Tribe— inspired by her words which even led to a song I wrote. And then there’s the countless other little quotes and designs, the scenes of things we talked about, dreamed of, and laughed over.

I wasn’t covered, and I didn’t have full sleeves going on, but it was a lot to take in. And almost all of it, she was the root of.

She comes around my front again, her breath shaking and her eyes glistening with tears.

“You were the only thing that was real to me,” I tell her.

She looks at me like she has no idea how to process all this. I mean, really. What did I expect? Even tomorrow, when I meant to tell her everything, how was I planning on doing that? Was there any way for her to find this out in a way she was going to understand?

“Misha?” she whispers, and all of a sudden she’s scanning me up and down, looking at me like she’s finally seeing me.

I take the phone from her and slip it in my pocket. Moving in, I bring my hands up to hold her face, but she flinches.

I immediately drop them. “You have to listen.”

“Ryen?” someone calls, knocking on the door.

It’s a woman. Probably her mother.

“Get rid of her,” I whisper.

Ryen blinks up at me, wiping her eyes. “Ye…yes?” she stammers, calling out. “I’m in bed.”

“Okay,” her mom says. “I thought I heard the TV or something. It’s late.

You need sleep.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

I pull the shirt back on and lower my voice, hearing her mother’s door close.

“I never intended to let it get this far,” I explain. “I had business here, and I wanted…” I trail off, searching for the right words, because I’m scared. “Part of me couldn’t resist being this close to you. I think part of me needed you. I never thought we would speak again after the scavenger hunt.

I didn’t want to ruin what we had, but then I came here and...”

She runs her hands up and down her face, starting to cry again, and I can tell I’m losing her.

“But then you steal my shit,” I keep going, “and I see you harassing Cortez. And then you try to fuck with me in the lunchroom, and one thing leads to another, and we were constantly in each other’s faces. It was like…

It was like, even if we’d never been pen pals, we still would’ve found each other, you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she cries. “At any time you could’ve said,

‘Hey, I’m Misha!’” She shakes her head, glaring at me. “I kissed you. I went to bed with you! The whole time you knew me, and I had no idea. You humiliated me! You’ve been right here in front of me this whole time. Do you have any idea how fucking creepy that is?”

“I had no reason to tell you!” I growl in a near whisper “I didn’t even know if I liked you anymore that first day! And I definitely had no reason to trust you. You were a snotty, little brat, and you know it. Why did you lie to me?” I scowl. “Why did I think, for seven years, that you were strong and fucking nice? Someone who has balls and stands up for herself?”

Her shoulders shake, and little gasps escape as she struggles to breathe.

I quickly look around, angry and guilty at the same time. Seeing an inhaler on her desk, I grab it and hand it to her, but she knocks it out my hand.

“I lied about the people in my life and the parts of me I fake for others,”

she explains. “Everything else was true. The movies and the music, my ideas and my dreams, everything else was true. The rest wasn’t important.”

“I trusted you, too,” I point out. “I believed in you.”

“I’m everything I said I was.”

“You can say whatever you want,” I retort. “Doesn’t make it true.”

Her head falls, and she inhales shaky breaths through her nose, clearly trying to calm herself and get her body under control. The inhaler lays on the floor. I wish she’d just take the fucking thing. She’s making me nervous.

“I was the real me when I wrote you those letters,” she says quietly. “I was everything I wanted to be.”

And I can understand that. There are definitely some minor things I haven’t told her, because I wanted to be free with her, like I can’t be at home. But she has to know that, even though what I did was crazy and things got way out of hand, it hurt me, too, to be tricked. To find that the person you care about and hold on a pedestal is shallow and mean to the rest of the world.

“And when you would write me,” I ask her, “telling me to stand up to my dad, believe in myself, stay true with no regrets… Why would you tell me those things when you didn’t follow them yourself?”

She looks away, but I don’t back off. I stare at her, holding her hostage.

Why preach to me all the things you didn’t have the courage to do yourself?

“Hmm?” I prod, dipping my head down to meet her eyes.

“Because…” she whispers, avoiding my eyes. “Because you want good things for the people you…”—she breathes fast, barely whispering

—“love.”

I suck in a sharp breath. God, what is she doing to me?

I’d give anything—anything—to have her in my arms right now.

I reach for her, cupping her face, my mouth less than an inch from hers.

“Ryen, please…”

The tears and quiet sobs start again, and I try to comfort her, but she pushes me away. “Oh, God, get out,” she cries, holding up her hands to keep me away. “I can’t look at you right now. I can’t wrap my head around this. I feel sick.”

“Ryen, please,” I beg, feeling the ache in my chest spread. “I love you

—”

“Oh, God!” she cuts me off. “Get out!”

I wince, my eyes burning with tears. I feel like my heart is ripping apart.

I watch as she buries her head in her hands and stands there, breaking in two.

There’s no way I can go back and change this. While she may have been vile to others, she was always a good friend to me, and I can’t say the same. She aggravated me and pissed me off, but I broke this. I’m responsible.

I bend down and pick up the inhaler, putting it on the desk in case she needs it.

And then I climb back out through the window and head back to the Cove. I’m not going home.

I’m not going anywhere until she’s mine.

“Where were you this morning?” Ten asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Lyla said you skipped practice.”

I walk down the hall at school with him beside me, having left myself barely enough time to hit my locker and race upstairs to Art before first period starts. He walks at my side.

“I was tired.” I pull my baseball cap down a little farther to shield my red eyes.

“You slept in?” His tone is confused. “Coach is going to make you run laps for that.”

I’m sure he’s right. But I can’t bring myself to care right now.

While I showered, blew out my hair, and put on make-up this morning, my brain kept drifting back to Misha, and I started tearing up again. I couldn’t keep mascara on, so I gave up and grabbed a hat.

My eyes burn, and my lids just want to close forever. I blink hard at the shot of pain digging into my skull between my eyes and clutch the strap of

my bag tighter, hoping against hope that he isn’t here today. If I can’t think about him without crying, I certainly can’t look at him.

Veering toward my locker on the right, I spot a group of students ahead, some pausing to read something on the wall and some taking pictures of it. I look up, immediately recognizing the Eminem lyric.

Needles prick my throat, and I look away. He can go screw himself. He doesn’t like that rapper, and even though I do, quoting his songs isn’t going to get on my good side.

“Well, well, well,” Ten muses. “I thought he got caught or something.

He’s been slacking on the messages.”

I walk up to my locker and start dialing in the combination. Ten follows, fiddling on his phone.

“‘ Love the Way You Lie’ by Eminem,” he says. “Hey, he’s speaking your language now.”

I force a little smile for Ten’s sake. He’s the only one in my life who’s easy, and I don’t want him to know anything is wrong. Our friendship is uncomplicated.

And in all honesty, he’s been good to me. I may not be sure where his loyalties truly lie, but he’s here now. I’m grateful for that.

I empty my bag, stuffing in the books I took home over the weekend and pulling out what I need for the morning. I haven’t seen or talked to Misha since our fight, and I’m still in shock. I’m angry, but I’m sad, too. I would’ve thought that the reality of Masen being Misha would’ve set in by now and crystallized into hatred.

But it hasn’t. I’m hurt.

“Are you okay?” Ten asks, hovering close, his eyes on my face. “You look like you were up all night, not sleeping in.”

“I’m fine.”

I finish getting my things and close my locker, Ten and I walking farther down the hall. But then I glance up and notice more writing on the wall.

Everything was real.

I suck in a small breath, feeling my chest shake with a sob. It’s in large black paint, surrounded by messy paint streaks of blue—my favorite color

—and purple. I stop and stare at it, my shoulders feeling heavy.

He broke into the school this weekend and did this.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ten whispers, this time sounding more concerned. “Tell me the truth.”

I wipe away a tear before it has a chance to fall. “Nothing,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “My sister’s just harassing me about mixing whites and colors in the wash again, so you know…”

He scoffs, but I can tell he doesn’t buy that excuse.

I make a quick right into the stairwell. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“Ryen?”

But I keep going, jogging up the stairs and pausing briefly when I see yet another message written on the wall, reading it as I pass by.

I didn’t mean to lie, but I meant every kiss.

Damn him. I break into a run.

I shouldn’t have come to school today. I hoped he’d gone back to Thunder Bay, but he must’ve painted those messages last night. There are too many people in the school over the weekend and too much of a chance the staff or janitors would’ve gotten all of it taken down by this morning if he’d done it earlier than that.

No. He was still in Falcon’s Well last night.

I want him gone. I can’t help my heart and what it wants despite the pain, but I can help what I do with those feelings. Everything I told him—

about Misha and how he didn’t like my music and the stuff at the drive-in and all the things he wanted to know that were true—he already knew all of that shit from my letters. What a kick, to sit there and humor me to get my clothes off.

I approach the door and arch up on my tiptoes, peering in the window.

He’s sitting at his seat, one earbud in his ear while he twirls a pen in his fingers and stares at a notebook.

I slump back down.

Great. You would think he could back off, at least for a while. It’s not like he needs to be at school anymore anyway. Misha had written me last fall and told me that he had enough credits to graduate early, so if he didn’t come here for me, then why the hell is he playing student when he doesn’t need to?

Why is he really here?

I whip open the door and make my way down the aisle, trying not to look at him but already feeling his eyes on me.

He’s all I’m aware of, and the memory of the Physics lab suddenly hits me, the feel of my legs wrapped around his body and his piercing between my lips.

He can’t be here. I can’t do this. Tears spring to my eyes.

But then someone standing in the aisle suddenly turns toward me, and something wet and orange slams into me, covering my hands and T-shirt.

“Ugh!” I growl, inspecting my hands and clothes.

Manny Cortez scurries backward, taking his freshly-painted clay bowl with him. “I’m sorry!” he exclaims, looking scared.

“You’re gonna be,” I threaten, pointing behind him. “The kiln’s that way, moron. Do you need a map?”

He winces, his eyes dropping as others around him laugh. My stomach rolls, and I grind my teeth together to hold back the sob as I push past him and charge toward my seat in the back.

He walks away, diving into the supply room.

Dropping my bag, I sit in my seat and pull out my sketch pad and pencils. Misha’s presence is heavy next to me.

“Yeah, I know,” I bite out, not looking at him. “I’m a vile bitch, right?”

“No,” he says quietly, staring ahead. “Just weak and stupid. And I’d tear you apart in front of this whole school if I wasn’t so sure you already feel like a pile of shit inside.”

I crack, my chin trembling.

“Alright, let’s get started!” Ms. Till says.

But my stomach is shaking with sobs I can’t let out. He’s right. This is who I am.

And we both know it.

“Ryen, are you ready to talk about your project and where you are on it?” Till asks.

But I just pick at my thumbnail as my hands rest on the desk in front of me. Everything on the table is turning blurry.

I lashed out at Manny because he’s an easy target. Because he’s weaker than me. Because he’s the only thing weaker than me. Everyone else sees through me, and Misha is disgusted by me. He hates me.

“Ryen?”

Who I am and how no one likes me isn’t Misha’s fault. I did this. I’m stupid, weak, and a waste.

I feel tears welling, and I choke on a sob. Reaching down, I grab my bag and hook it over my shoulder as I walk through the class, avoiding stares and hushed whispers as I leave the room.

“Ryen?”

But as soon as I hit the hallway, I let the tears loose and run to the bathroom.

“Where have you been?” Lyla charges as she walks up to my side in the lunch line. “You weren’t at practice this morning, and Ten said he saw you before first period, but then no one’s seen you since then. And rumor has it you broke down crying in Art?”

Her tone sounds disgusted, and I don’t spare her a look as I grab a salad shaker and a packet of dressing. I’m not hungry, and my limbs are tired and heavy, but I can’t hide out in the library anymore. I feel like I’m losing everything, and I need to stand the fuck up and get over it.

“Trey got in major trouble this weekend,” she says as if it’s my fault.

Well I guess it is, although she can’t know that.

“All of us, including the whole team,” she continues, “went to his house after the game Friday night. His stepmom went upstairs, came back down, and kicked everyone out.”

Her voice grates on my ears.

But she keeps pushing. “Which you might’ve known if you were ever around anymore.”

“I don’t care,” I grit out, turning to her, unable to control myself. “You got that? And I’m sick of you thinking that I should. Now leave me alone.”

She rears back, giving me a WTF look and then narrows her eyes, looking angry. “You want to be left alone?” she asks. “I can do that. We can

all do that, because we’re sick of your shit.” Her eyes fall down my body, surveying me like I’m a piece of crap. “Always disappearing, treating Trey like crap…and don’t think it’s escaped anyone’s attention all the little looks you and Masen Laurent are giving each other. If you want to play with that piece of trash, do it quietly, because I’m not going to act like I like it.”

I squeeze the plastic shaker in my hand and take a step, advancing on her. Bitch.

But then a guy steps between us, Misha’s friend with the Mohawk, and grabs a grape out of a fruit bowl. He pops it in his mouth, looking at Lyla.

“Hey, baby. Wanna fuck?”

She grimaces, and I nearly snort. What the hell?

Her mouth falls open, staring at Mohawk guy, but then she spins around

—probably having lost her train of thought—and storms back to wherever she came from.

Mohawk guy turns to me, winks, and then leaves.

What was that about?

I run a hand over my eyes, adjusting my baseball cap, and feel a sudden need to crawl in a hot shower and sit there for a year.

Turning back to the lunch line, I see Misha on my other side and jump, my heart skipping a beat.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

I move around him and continue down the line. “I don’t want you here, Masen.” And then I stop, correcting myself. “Misha. Just go home. Go back to Thunder Bay.”

“I can’t.” He comes up behind me, placing his hands on the counter, blocking me in. “I have no life there if you’re not in it. You’re part of everything good I’ve ever done, Ryen. Please.”

People come up in the line and veer around us, continuing down to the cashier. I want to push away from him, but I can feel eyes on us already, and I don’t want to make a scene. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I know better. Lyla is taking note of everything I do.

“You’re in the music.” His low voice falls across my ear. “You’ve made me strong. I won’t do anything with my life if you’re not there. I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this—”

“You broke my heart,” I cut him off, turning around and looking up into his eyes. “I look at you, and I don’t see Misha.” Sadness burns my eyes, and I don’t care if he can see. “All the years, all the letters, it’s getting further from my memory now. Like Friday night clouded everything.”

His stare narrows.

“You tainted it all,” I tell him. “All the history. And soon, I’ll barely remember you or how we used to be friends.”

I leave my food and push his arm away, walking over to where Ten sits.

I don’t know if everything I said to Misha right then was true, but my head is in a constant fog. My feelings are clouded, and maybe I just need a long nap, a long swim, or a long drive to clear my head.

All I do know is that I can’t look at him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at myself right now.

I sit down at the table and snatch one of Ten’s fries, nibbling just so I can do something.

“What about your parents?” J.D. asks Trey, obviously in the middle of a conversation.

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

Trey looks at me, and I can feel the chill in his body language. “I’m having a party, remember?” His tone is clipped. “My parents are out of

town for the night, but they didn’t say I couldn’t have people over. I don’t suppose you’ll still be able to make it.”

He says it as if he already knows the answer, and I hear Lyla and Katelyn snicker.

A party. I look over my shoulder, seeing Misha plop down in a seat with all of his friends, and I don’t miss the glare he shoots my way.

“Will there be drinks?” I ask, turning back to my table.

“Of course. Lots of drinks.” Trey smirks.

“Well, then. Maybe that’s just what I’m looking for.”

He smiles, and Ten slaps the bill of my cap, joking around. “Hells, yeah.”

Ten and I tread over the Burrowes’ lawn, past the driveway and the street that are already packed. Visions of the last time I was here make my heart pick up pace, and I feel a little weird walking into the house.

Why did Misha need to search this place the other night? Why is he in Falcon’s Well? I was so consumed with the revelation this weekend and dealing with my bullshit meltdowns that I didn’t actually think about why he’s here. I was too busy feeling betrayed.

What had he said? Something about coming here for something and then we were in each other’s faces constantly, and things just got out of hand, one thing led to another, blah, blah, blah…

Yeah. Ten and I took his things at the Cove, and I was the one to go up and harass him in the lunchroom that first day, but he was still here in the first place. Knowing I was here, too. And hiding in plain sight. The second I kissed him in the truck at the car wash, he should’ve come clean.

“Shit, look at all the people here.” Ten laughs as we walk in.

The floor is flooded with our classmates, crowded into the living room and trailing up the stairs, and I look beyond, out onto the patio, and see the pool and deck packed, as well. People are dancing and drinking, and music blares from speakers set up around the room.

Lots of distraction.

I wear my bikini under my jean shorts and shirt, even though I’m not really planning on getting in the pool. But Ten said he might, and I’m not leaving his side, so...

I’m trying not to think about Trey being a piece of shit pervert or about Lyla and how she would be thrilled to see me fall off my pedestal tonight. If I stay with Ten, maybe I’ll have a drink, dance and laugh, and get sedated long enough to forget the last few weeks for just five damn minutes. I need this. I need to do something to feel normal again.

“I doubt he’s going to make it to prom, girl,” Ten tells me. “If his parents haven’t taken it away already, they will after this.”

“I’m not worried.” I don’t even know if I’m going anymore, and I’m definitely not going with Trey.

We trail outside and hook ourselves up with a couple of beers from the keg, but when Ten lifts a bottle of tequila, I push it back down.

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Why?”

“I’m driving,” I remind him. “You go for it. I’ll stick with a beer.”

He shrugs and pours a dram into the little plastic cup. I wince, smelling the pungent odor. I’ve done tequila before, but that isn’t chilled. How can he do that?

He licks the salt off his hand, tips the shot back, and gives a little grimace before sticking a lemon wedge in his mouth.

I laugh. I’ve known him long enough to know he usually likes his liquor mixed with Coke or juice or something.

“Come on!” He pulls me along. “Let’s dance.”

I smile, taking my beer and feeling a little better already as he leads me over to where the music is. “Dirty Little Secret” plays, and the warmth hitting my stomach from the beer filters through my limbs, as I sip my drink and join everyone else, getting lost in the noise and excitement.

Over the next hour, we do nothing but dance. He replaces my empty cup with a water bottle and another beer, and I double check to make sure he’s the one who poured it. The slight buzz I had from the one has smoothed away the edges, but I think it’s more the music and the energy of everyone around us that’s intoxicating.

We jump up and down, laughing and dancing, and Ten leans into my ear. “You feel better now?”

I nod, shouting over the music, “Yes! A lot more relaxed, actually.”

“Yeah, they say alcohol isn’t the answer, but it’s nice to be able to turn off your brain for a little while.”

I finish my drink and toss my cup away, grabbing a bottle of water to drink for the rest of the night as Ten joins me at the bar.

“Another one?” I chirp, pouring him a shot.

He smiles, shooting it back without the salt and lemon this time.

I lean into him, smelling his heady cologne. It feels kind of good to be there for him for a change.

I keep everyone—my friends, my sister, my mom—at a distance, because I started to believe that no one could really like me for me. That’s why I had to change. And any attention my family or Ten gave me was simply them pretending.

That’s why I loved Misha so much. It wasn’t distant. It was close and real, and it felt good.

But good things are still around me, despite what I’ve done to keep them at arm’s length. They’ve been around me the whole time.

Ten pulls away and picks up the bottle again, grabbing the shaker and turning around to look at me. He studies me up and down, twisting his lips to the side.

“What?” I ask.

He jerks his chin at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Spread your legs.”

Huh?

“Come on,” he teases, shaking the salt. “I want to see what you taste like.”

I snort, widening my eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Pleeeease?”

“No!” I burst out, nearly laughing at his sad face.

No way in hell! I am not doing that.

Not a chance.