It's comforting, and for the first time, I allow myself to think that this will all be okay. Maybe even better than okay. It's probably better that I found out how fickle Sawyer is now rather than later…and I still don't know why Thea was hiding in his car. This could be what I need—a fresh start in a quiet place, a family. Some of the best stories start just like this—from ruin.
"Nice, huh?" Elias lies down beside me, but in the opposite direction, and I feel his hot breath against my bare legs. "You know, in a place like Aurora Cove, it isn't very often I come across someone who doesn't know me. And knowing me…comes with a lot of preconceived notions."
"Like what?" I ask hesitantly.
"Most people are afraid of me," he says, and then I feel the tips of his fingers, first on the inside of my knee, and then slowly trailing up my thigh until they reach the hemline of my black denim shorts. I hold my breath, only exhaling when they descend lightly along the same path. "Most of the time, I like it. But you don't know any better, do you? And I kind of like that, too."
The last part comes out as an almost-whisper against the outside of my calve. "Why are they afraid of you?"
But I think I know. There's a duality to him. He's beautiful, but fragile, with something more volatile lurking not far beneath that surface. He's equal parts frightening and disarming—the golden boy look that lures people in, and the callous smirk that makes them regret it.
I'm starting to regret it.
"I can't really explain it. It's not that easy," he says as those fingertips make their way to my apex once more. "What about you, Saige? Are you easy? You know, if I would have known what you looked like when you tried to run me over, I wouldn't have been so mad about it. I would have asked you to back up and do it again. Harder."
This time, he doesn't stop at the hemline and retreat; his fingertips slip underneath my shorts, stopping at my panties. My heart pounds, and wet heat pools at my core. But inside my head, an alarm goes off, telling me to run. I try to listen—really I do—but I can't move.
"Now, you're afraid of me, aren't you?" he asks. "I can feel your pulse right here—did you know that? Your heart is racing."
I swallow hard. "I—"
"Relax," he says, removing his fingers from inside my shorts. "I'm not going to hurt you; Icould, though, Saige, so you really shouldn't do things like this. It's really poor judgment on your part."
After exhaling a shaky breath, I say, "Yeah, I'm starting to gather that."
"But if you want me to fuck you, that's something different entirely. I'll fuck you so good, you'll forget all about whoeveryou were crying about in the car…so hard, I'll add some more tear streaks to those cheeks. My dick's as big as you'd think it'd be, and you look like you'd scream. I bet you like to be put on your knees and have a thick cock shoved down your throat, too. Girls like you always do."
He shouldn't be speaking to me like this; his words shouldn't make me even wetter, either, but they do, and the pulse between my legs begs for attention. Because he's right, and getting fucked into forgetting does sound pretty good right now.
But I'm going to have to see this person at school on Monday. I don't think I want to be the girl who fucked the big, scary hockey player in the woods. He's not my usual type, and with my septum ring and pink-streaked brown hair, I doubt I'm his, no matter what he says about wanting me to run him over. I've always had friends, but I've never been popular. I don't play any sports or wear designer clothes; I don't run with the jocks or the cool kids.
"What do you think, Saige?" he asks, still tracing the inside of my thigh with his fingertips. "Do you want to fuck?"
I swallow hard and shake my head. "No."
"Damn it," he sighs, using his good arm to pull himself back into a seated position before taking another swig from his flask. "I thought my pitch was pretty solid, eh?"
"It wasn't terrible," I admit.
"Probably for the best, though," he says, looking down at me. "I don't do relationships—never have. And it feels like you'd be a problem for me."
"How so?"
Elias moves until he's kneeling between my legs. I almost sit up, but a hand on my shoulder pins me in place.
He said he wouldn't hurt me.
But the way he's looking at me now…I'm not so sure. When he finally speaks, he doesn't answer the question.
"Love's not real, Saige. You're only as good to people as what you can do for them. Don't cry about guys anymore; none of us mean the things we say."
"I don't know if it's that bad," I say, feigning a laugh. I think back on the best parts, and I certainly don't want it to be true.
"It is. And if the things that they said or did in front of your face hurt that much, think about how bad it must be behind your back."
I dodge his deprecatory glare, turning my attention back to that empty space where the ceiling should be, gazing up at the stars again.
"So how bad was it?" he asks.
