Their Vicious Games(9)
I gasp, arching into him as his lips find mine. I hum loudly into his mouth as his fingers drag down to my jaw, tilting my head up and just to the left. We get lost in the heat, hands tugging at clothes, pressing closer to each other. Goose pimples erupt over my shoulders and it’s too much, and not enough, as he pushes me tighter against the tree, and practically consumes me.
“Wait… wait…,” I whisper, mouth wet against his jaw. His hands tighten on my hips, but he stops.
“What?” he mutters, breath wet against my neck.
There is something in the woods. I stand on my toes, looking over his shoulder, searching, but the bonfire is only a flickering pinprick in the distance. Shoving aside my paranoia, I turn back to him, cupping his jaw, pulling his face closer to mine.
And then I hear her, far away: “Can’t believe you showed your fucking face, Toni.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, easing away from Pierce.
“What?” he asks, bewildered and sweaty, and still beautiful.
Esme’s starting in on Toni, which means time is running out. I don’t regret kissing him, but I know I will if I don’t speed this up and shoot my shot.
“I wanted to ask you about something,” I blurt out.
He blinks away his confusion. “Yeah? What is it?”
But before I can find the words, that same snide voice rings out, louder than it needs to be, loud enough to draw every eye and every ear. “You get away with a lot of shit because we like your brother, but not every invitation for him includes a plus-one or, worse, plus-two.”
“Toni,” I whisper, and I know instinctively I don’t have time. Stumbling past him, I shake out my hair, preparing for the inevitable confrontation. Before I do, though, I stop and look behind me.
Pierce stares at me with a strange sort of awe. It’s powerful and awful, all at once. I grab his shirt, tugging him in, and press one last kiss to his jaw before whispering, “Sucks that we’ll never have that Harvard-Yale rivalry tension.” Then before I can register if he gets the hint, I take off, darting through the trees, adjusting the borrowed corset and trying not to think about his hands on my skin or his nose at my ear or the way he sputtered into my curls every time they got into his mouth. I put away my devastation about the Finish for now, refusing to mourn something that, unlike my initial acceptance, was never quite mine anyway.
CHAPTER 3
RETURNING TO THE CLEARING, I cut through the crowd, shoving past the crew team at the edge, until I’m back at the car. Pen is still in the backseat, but she’s hanging out the window, her lips twisted downward into a frowning pout.
Charles is standing, one hand outstretched toward Esme and the other out toward Toni, like he’s prepared to shove them apart.
“Calm down, Esme, it’s not that serious,” Charles insists.
“What makes you think that there are no rules,” Esme spits, ignoring him, eyes only for Toni, “that I’ll let you get away this time? You made it clear whose side you’re on. You and your poor townie trash friend aren’t wanted here.”
There’s a remarkable silence as I realize that that’s me. I’m the poor townie trash.
Esme has always been a wordsmith. Each one cuts deeper, a jab directly at my Suburbia bruise meant to gut a bitch, and I feel gutted.
“That’s… that’s enough,” Toni says, but she’s crumbling like wet paper under the weight of Esme’s fury. Her gaze darts around, searching for a life preserver, and when it catches on me, she swallows.
Esme follows her gaze and finally deigns to address me directly. “Bringing this girl, who can barely afford a pack of gum let alone Edgewater’s tuition, like it’s a redemption tour. I did you a favor, Adina Walker,” she hisses. “You wouldn’t have been able to afford Yale without selling your fucking kidney.”
“You should be a little less worried about what I can afford and more about when the Feds are finally going to show up to your house. Your parents aren’t built for jail. Might cry if they break a nail,” I retort. I learned to spit venom from the best.
Esme’s mouth puckers, and I can hear her breath hitch in the back of her throat, once, then twice. I meet her eye, waiting patiently as she sputters. Esme’s acrylics look like claws, just like they did on that March day, but I don’t back down.
“Careful, Esme. I kicked your ass once,” I say quietly.
Shame spreads liquid red under her creamy foundation and she sneers.
“Esme, enough, save it,” Hawthorne says, grabbing her hand.
Esme stares, breathing heavily through her nose, but doesn’t move. Hawthorne squeezes once, and then shockingly Esme turns on her heel and storms away, tugging Hawthorne and her other lackeys after her.
Toni looks shocked. Charles is staring after Esme like he’s never seen her before, like he doesn’t want to be seen with her.
Almost against my will, my shoulders curl in on themselves, and I take a step back, as if Esme is still there, like we’re sharing the same breath still. So much for my last chance.
“Well,” Charles says, clearing his throat. “This isn’t dinner theater, assholes!”
The surrounding crowd shatters with his bark, and then the air is filled with gossip.
“Can we go home?” I ask, voice aching with my plea as I reach for Toni.