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Dylan had had total main character energy from the get-go.
She had chosen to sit with me at lunch unfailingly, and one day was even brave enough to try my tea sandwich with the liver, even though it had smelled like a whey protein fart. She stood up for what she believed in, and she believed in kindness.
sighed. “I’m not sure what came first—me having social anxiety and being bullied for it, or being bullied to the point I developed a fear of interacting with humans.”
“Why?” “Because your quirkiness is one of your best fucking features.” A delicious sensation of pride and warmth washed over my entire body.
“They were jealous.” His eyes darkened to two black holes, threatening to suck me in whole, and his mouth latched on to the vodka bottle angrily.
I called her Queen Bitch.” In my head, anyway. I was incapable of being rude, even to the most awful people.
We were both whimsically drunk. In that existential spot where the world made more sense because you’d stepped out of your point of view for a minute.
The clear liquid scorched a path down my throat. Finally, I got to the part I’d never shared with anyone. The part that had carved me into who I was today with a rusty Swiss knife. A girl who’d sworn off men forever.
Franco had been using my body and my pariah status to get his rocks off. I’d always known that in the back of my head. But fourteen-year-old me had been desperate to make a friend in the popular hockey hero.
Row hummed with hot, furious energy. I could practically feel his fury trickling into my system, hiking up the temperature in the park by ten degrees. He glided his tongue along his upper teeth, stifling a curse. “Continue.”
Head. I couldn’t say it. But I didn’t have to. Row’s nostrils flared and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the knockout confession.
My heart was about to spill out of my chest like a broken egg, I felt so raw talking about it.
“Allison.” My eyes met his across the swings. “Queen Bitch is Allison Murray.”
The silence engulfed us like thick smoke, trickling into our lungs, suffocating us. I couldn’t look at him, but from the corner of my eye, I saw the shift. Row was normally pure power. Greater than life and self-assured. Now, he fished
He smoked half the cigarette in complete silence, staring into nothing and trying to calm himself down.
“Tell me how you got to romancing my nemesis. Spare no detail. Unless she’s a better kisser than me. I really don’t want to know that.” He snapped his mouth shut, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “She was a mistake.”
“I’m saying this because she was like putting a Band-Aid on a decapitated fucking head. I’m saying this because…because…” He spluttered, running his fingers through his moussed hair, looking adorably, uncharacteristically boyish. His edges smoothed
“I. Didn’t. Even. Touch. Her,” he said, slowly now, his eyes glittering in the dark, boring into mine.
“Because.” The roar ripped from his mouth. “He would’ve hurt you, and I’d have killed him if he did that.”
My chest caved inward. Scars ran like a busy road map across his triangular back under the elaborate ink. Long, jagged, faded, roaring poems of pain. Some pink, some white. Some shallow, some deep. All told the story of unbearable pain, years of abuse, and unforgivable trauma.
put my hand on his chest. His heart was beating wildly. Our scents, heat, and breaths swirled together, and I felt closer to him than I’d ever been before. Even when we’d had sex. “You can tell me,” I whispered softly. “I want to be your safe space too.”
Row. Row. Row.
I’d always felt this kinship between us. Like our souls were a two-part friendship necklace. Now I knew why. Because we’d both tasted darkness. Looked evil in the eye and survived. We were always destined to connect. Mac and Bitchy. Row and Cal. Row’s eyes dimmed.
A ragged breath passed between us. It felt like we were sharing oxygen. Row continued, “But it was no victory. There was no happy ending. The trust was gone. Mom was scared and resentful, and Doug became a shadow. Moving around, casting darkness everywhere he went.”
A broody chuckle escaped him, and he was especially gorgeous now, bare and vulnerable, swimming in the dusk like a mythical creature.
“You never asked to be conceived.” I rubbed the edge of his neck with my finger distractedly. His erection was pressed against my belly, but now wasn’t the time to concentrate on it.
“He wanted to show the world he was more than a blue-collar drunkard.” Row sucked in his teeth. “But the truth was…he wasn’t.”
A snowflake landed on my nose. Row scooped it with the pad of his thumb, slowly popping it into his mouth. I grinned.
“What?” His forehead creased. “I wanted to see why you always taste the weather.” “Verdict?” “Tasteless.”
“And who are you?” I gulped. “A man who can’t fucking resist you.” He dragged his fingers through his mane. “But I’ll be doing both of us a disservice if I don’t state this outright—I don’t care about the consequences. I want you. And what I want, I
He removed his hand from my tummy, plastering a finger over my mouth to shut me up. The backs of my thighs crashed against the swing’s seat.
You’re funny, authentic, sassy, and have the best ass I’ve ever seen. And I’m not being hyperbolic.” Pause. “We’re going to have a brief, no-strings-attached hookup while we’re both in this shithole, and then we’re gonna go back to our respective lives. Whatever state I’ve gotten myself into after this thing is my business and my business alone. If I can’t have the heart, I’ll take the pussy.”
“We’re two passing ships.” He cupped my cheek. His hand was warm and inviting, and I wanted to press into it, to get lost in him. Did he say this to assure me or himself?
“Now that we’ve established we’re both messed up,” he threaded his fingers in my hair, tugging it slowly to extend my neck and tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “How about we make tonight interesting?”
“Remember you and Dylan had a game? You called it swingers.” “Is that what we called it?” I snorted. “Clearly, we did not think it through.” “You stood up on the swings and whoever fell first, lost.”
“What are we betting?” I probed, feeling beautiful and alluring and worthy under his gaze. Every girl needed a Row Casablancas to make her feel seen.
his vodka breath skating down my face.
Goose bumps rolled over every inch of my flesh.
“Lies.” He studied me skeptically. “What are you thinking?” “Pop-Tarts, curly fries, and soy burgers.” “Soy?” He gagged, glancing around, making sure we didn’t have an audience. He lifted a finger between us. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, can know I made those…” “Dishes?” I smiled brightly. “Culinary crimes.”
We ready, set, go-ed, then started swinging. I cheated a little, barely moving back and forth, then gained more speed and force when I realized Row was moving with so much momentum, the entire frame
He shrugged, swinging harder, looking like a boy determined to slay an imaginary dragon, the unoiled cylinders of the swing frame squeaking under our weight. “Why do you think I have so many tattoos? Pain is the only thing that reminds me that I’m alive.” I want you to remember you’re alive for all the right reasons. Through smiling. And laughing. And kissing. Everywhere. Anywhere on your body.
Without thinking about what a colossal mistake I was making, I hurled myself off the swing, landing face-first on the cool, snow-sprinkled sand. My face was pressed against the ground. The cold felt good on my forehead wound.
He rolled me over to my back and covered me with his entire body, lying flat on me, pressing himself against me. His bulging muscles warmed me, his erection nestled between my thighs. Desire shot up my belly like an arrow straight from my center, making my breasts swell, nipples stand on point, and mouth pool with saliva.
