“I gotta say, I thought he was gonna bet you tonight,” Trey added, stomping on the beer can to flatten it.
Nola stayed silent. Finally, she offered, “I appreciate you saying something to Hartley. You didn’t have to.”
“Eh, I was just protecting Hartley from you.”
She liked that.
“Seriously, I’m glad you’re safe,” Trey added, standing there, staring at her. “The world needs pretty girls.”
“And pretty boys,” she shot back, blinking a few times, not sure where the words came from, wishing she could take them back, but not really. “N-Not pretty boys . . . cute boys,” she corrected herself. “However you call it . . . you know what I mean.” She stared down at the trash. “You should go. There’s no more bottles to break.”
Trey grinned, the red light of his phone blinking behind him, a one-second firework. “You really think that’s why I keep coming to my dad’s lame poker nights? To play with some bottles?” he asked, his eyes locking on Nola as he stepped toward her.
Before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. He smelled like werewolf and tasted like Pabst Blue Ribbon, but as he put his mouth on hers, my God, everything crumbled and she was weightless, floating up, her feet leaving the ground.
The instant he touched her, she was tempted to push him away. It was instinct. But she didn’t. Why say no to something that felt this good?
He pulled her close, and she could feel his stiffness pressing into her. Her hand reached down—another instinct—to feel it. His fingers skated along the waistband of her jeans, setting her on fire.
That was it.
They were all over each other within seconds—she undoing the belt on his jeans, he undoing hers, the rush of hormones overwhelming. Still kissing, they stumbled together toward a nearby folding lounge chair. They were moving so fast, still off balance, they fell to the ground. She landed on her back, his full weight on top of her.
Taking a breath, he pulled away, his face lit by the moon. She could see his bones moving under his skin. His iced-tea eyes curved into a grin.
You sure? You don’t have to, he asked with a glance.
Nola froze. Years later, she’d replay this moment, knowing that this was the very last time Trey would ever speak to her. But on this night, as a teenage girl, all she kept thinking was how he tasted . . . and how good it felt . . . and how great it was to have someone look at you like that—with care and real affection, rather than anger and disgust.
Royall would kill her just for kissing him. And really, in those picoseconds when rash decisions get made, it was that thought that first motivated her. She had no deep attachment to Trey—she barely knew him. Yet as he kissed her again, his one hand gripping the back of her head, the other sliding into her jeans, skating against the edge of her panties, she wasn’t thinking of Royall at all. He was gone for once, banished from existence. All that was left was this boy with the warmest eyes she’d ever seen, staring at her, staring through her, like she was revealed and he was mesmerized by what he saw. Nola didn’t want much in life. But right now, she wanted this.
Do it, Nola said with a nod as Trey lowered his jeans.
She closed her eyes and tugged down her own jeans.
Today, Nola would say the details were lost to her, but back then, even with her eyes shut, she couldn’t avoid the beer on his breath. She thought she hated that smell, but right now, as he entered her, as weightlessness again lifted her out of her body, there was no sweeter smell or taste in the entire universe. She opened her eyes to make sure it was real and spotted Trey staring down at her, his reassuring gaze promising she was safe. At that, she closed her eyes, finally able t—
“Boy, what the hell’re you—！? NOLA!” a voice interrupted.