Jamie grins like a wolf. “Finally, something fun.”
We pop the trunk first. The music still blares faintly from the cracked speakers inside, some godawful bubblegum pop that makes me wince.
“What the hell is that noise?” Jamie groans, reaching in to shut it off. “Sounds like a cat in heat.”
“Her music,” I mutter, scanning the inside.
The scent hits me next, soft and sweet, curling into my lungs. Cherries. Not peaches. Not strawberries.Cherries.A bottle ofperfume tucked neatly against the side, the cap loose so it leaks just enough to haunt me. Beside it, a tube of cherry lip gloss, the same she was wearing earlier, the shine of it still seared into my brain when she cursed me out.
Jamie digs deeper, pulling free a book bag. “Jackpot.” He unzips it, holding up a sleek laptop like a trophy. “This’ll go for a couple hundred easy.”
He fishes out her phone next, the screen cracked but still functional. “And this—goldmine.”
“Leave it,” I snap before I can think.
Jamie frowns. “Why?”
“Because I said so.” My voice is sharp enough that he doesn’t argue, though he watches me with suspicion.
He turns his attention back to the bag, pulling out folded uniforms, pom-poms, ribbons. He laughs. “You really picked yourself a cheerleader, didn’t you? What is this, every teenage boy’s fantasy?”
I ignore him, rifling through the glove compartment. Papers. Gum wrappers. A pair of sunglasses. Then I freeze.
Frilly lace, delicate and pale pink, crumpled like a secret. Panties.
My pulse stutters. For a moment, the world narrows to nothing but that strip of fabric and the way my body reacts to the idea of her in them.
Jamie is still laughing at something else, distracted. Without thinking, I pocket them. Shame burns through me, hot and undeniable, but the thought of leaving them here feels impossible.
I consider taking one of her scrunchies too, bright yellow and soft in my hand, but I force myself to drop it back into the bag. Too much.
“Drive it,” I tell Jamie, tossing him the keys I found wedged between the seats. “Push it into the lake. Strip what you can first.”
He grins. “You owe me, Miles. You know I don’t work for free.”
“Fine. Add it to the tab. Just do it.”
He pockets the keys, already excited at the thought of tearing it apart. “You gonna be at practice tomorrow?”
“Hopefully, yes.” The lie tastes bitter.
We say our goodbyes, his laughter trailing as he disappears into the night with the car, music thumping again as if to mock me.
When I return to the room, the smell of food greets me first, but something’s off. The bag isn’t on the table. It isn’t in Rico’s hands. It’s at her feet.
“What the hell?” I demand, glaring at him.
Rico shrugs, biting into his burrito. “She said she won’t eat at night. Something about keeping her figure. Harder to metabolize.”
I look at her then, still tied, still trembling, her chin tipped stubbornly high even with the ropes cutting into her wrists. She won’t meet my eyes, but I can feel it. The weight of her stare. The defiance bleeding from her even as she denies herself food.
Rico chuckles, greasy fingers smearing foil. “Guess she’s one of those types. Image over everything.”
I ignore him, lowering into the chair across from her. I unwrap my own burrito slowly, the scent of chicken and guac filling the air. I take a bite, chewing deliberately, never breaking eye contact.
And fuck me if I can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching every move, her green eyes wide and burning, tracking me as though the sight of me eating is the most fascinating, most infuriating thing in the world.
I swallow hard, the food heavy in my throat.
