Playing with Fire

by L.J. Shen

Beauty was a seasonal friend; it always walked away from you eventually—and never returned when you truly needed it.

It didn’t help that West St. Claire had ticked every sex god cliché box on the list. His dark hair was always messy, and his emerald eyes had that dangerous glint that promised you your life would never be the same after a ride on his motorcycle. Six feet, four inches of golden skin and corded muscles. Broad, athletic, and unfairly gorgeous with thick, dramatic eyebrows, eyelashes most starlets would kill for, and narrow lips pressed into a hard, formidable line. He wore dirty Diesel jeans, faded shirts worn inside out, dusty Blundstone boots, and always had a green apple candy stick wedged in the corner of his mouth, like a cigarette.

years ago. I could no longer offer her this perk. “Easton Braun and Reign De La Salle, man. I’d like to be the pastrami between their buns.” She fanned herself. “But West St. Claire was the cheddar on the taco. I think he fought today.” “He didn’t look too beat up to me.” I turned off the grill, taking out the cleaning products from the cabinet next to the fridge. “That’s because he wipes the floor with these guys. Though, I hear sometimes he lets them throw in a punch or two, just so people will bet on someone else. God help me, his eyes.” Karlie sucked on the remainder of her slushie, before dropping it in the trash. “They’re, like, radioactive green. And you can forge metal with his cheekbones. Seriously, he could destroy my life, and I would literally say thank you.”

I stepped deeper into the room so I could check out Greer-Gail-Whatever’s face uninterrupted.

I spent the ride resenting my parents and Tess and Reign and Professor Addams and even Greer-Gail-Genevieve.

“Whatever your journey is, be certain you have someone to lean on when things get tough. Because they always do. Someone who is not your grandmother. Someone chosen, not a built-in family member. Someone who’d walk through fire for you.”

As I watched him there, I didn’t see the most popular guy in college. The sex god. The illegal fighter. I saw the loneliest boy I’d ever laid eyes on. Sweet, confused, and lost. And I thought, bitterly, he didn’t even know that across the parking lot sat a girl just like him.

I felt like I was my old self again, and I didn’t know why, but I thought he felt the same about himself, too. That for some reason, we brought out in each other the previous people that we were and missed terribly.

I didn’t even bother to be offended, because I knew whatever came out of his mouth was a lie. Everything we felt toward one another—good and bad—spun together into something that was bigger than us.

it was starting to feel like, in Grace Shaw’s case, I had the tendency to get very jealous and very possessive anytime someone as much as breathed her way.

“I’m grateful that Tuesday went down the way it did.” His voice was scratchy. Thick. “Because the worst day of your life gave me the best version of you.”

West didn’t scream steady boyfriend material. Heck, he didn’t even whisper it.

“Listen to me carefully, Grace Shaw. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life. When I look at you, I see a fighter. I see resilience and strength and defiance that no one can touch. You take my breath away, and no one—and nothing—will change that.”

even though forgiveness is the underdog in the battle of feelings, it should always win.

the words felt like beautiful, empty bullet cases.

“On your feet, St. Claire,” she whispered under her breath. “A king doesn’t bow to others.”

“He does for his queen.”