I clear my throat, nod once. “Yup.” Pretty sure what I just did with her is a far cry from what he means by that.
Once he and Thomas leave and I’m left standing alone in the empty foyer, I allow myself to feel like shit. The sensation lingers, coils around me like tar, while I trudge up the stairs. Each step weighs me down a little more, and by the time I’m halfway up the staircase, Isaac’s words ring in my head.
Take care of her.
If he only knew.
By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I’m so lost in thoughts of Eva that I almost miss it—the sobs coming from behind my parents’ cracked door. Brows furrowing, I narrow my eyes, peer inside. The room looks empty at first, but then I spot the top of my mom’s head. She sits on the floor, her back to me as she leans against the bed. Her hair is a mess, shoulders heaving. And she cries.
She cries for so long I almost forget how different we are.
Eva
Ifumble blindly through the stack of textbooks in my locker, my attention fixed down the hall.
Easton is outside the boys’ locker room, surrounded by his teammates. Partially hidden by my locker door, I watch as he lazily tosses the football to Zach and laughs at something one of the guys says. His hair is messier than usual, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning, and his eyes are so drained I doubt he slept at all last night.
By the time I went downstairs this morning, he was already gone. The house might as well have been a Wild West ghost town while I crammed in some extra study time then got ready for school. Maria was the only one present, but even she was oddly quiet, not a single reprimand about my crop top and so-tight-they-look-painted-on jeans. I have no idea what happened between Bridget and Vincent after the party, but the broken picture frame of their wedding I spotted in the hallway tells me it was probably not good.
I force myself to turn back to my materials. No matter how sated my body was last night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept picturing Easton, alone in his room, and imagining what he must have been feeling. I should have gone to him. I should have made sure he was okay. I could have easily done something to make him feel better, the way he did for me. I bite down on my lip.
I still feel the heat of his hand between my thighs, his breath on my neck. His rough whisper in my ear, full of grit, honesty, and words I never knew could exist for me. Somehow, last night’s intimacy carved a bottomless void in my stomach. A void that’s aching and starving for more, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.
Gritting my teeth, I hug my books to my chest and shut my locker. I need to talk to him. I won’t be able to focus on anything else until I do.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I whirl around. My books crash to the floor as pure shock crushes my throat.
Black hair.
I can’t—
Snake eyes.
I can’t breathe.
Slow, thin smile.
It’s him.
It can’t be.
He found me.
The shard of porcelain burns my hip bone, and the feeling kicks my feet into action. Three lockers whiz by before the row ends, and I duck around them, concealing myself behind the corner.
Vaguely noticing the looks students shoot my way, I squeeze my eyes shut. My nails dig into the wall behind me, and the distant sting of pain grounds me.I try to breathe, but the oxygen hits a barrier at the base of my throat. All I can manage are small, pathetic pulls of air.
Don’t panic, Eva.
Bracing myself, I shut my brain off long enough to open my eyes and peek around the corner. I scan the littered hall—students, students, more students.
There’s no sign of him.
But ... I saw him. Didn’t I? Panic crawls over my skin like tiny talons. He looked so fuckingreal.
“Creep much?”
I jump, and my eyes snap to Whitney. She opens her locker and snickers.
