“Don’t be such a sick fuck.” He watches the way Lo’s face contorts into anger and pain, and I look for the glimmer of remorse in his father’s eyes. But I see none. He drowns it with the liquor in his palm and disappears into the darkened hallway.
Lo sits up for a second and sets his hands on his head, breathing heavily as if his father chased him around the room with a gun.
“You’re okay,” I whisper. “Lo, you’re not sick.”
“I doused his door with pig’s blood.”
I cringe. “It was supposed to be poetic, and what he did wasn’t much better.” I flush at the raw memory where I opened a package sent to my house, addressed to me. Lo sat with me on my bed, thinking we ordered a comic book we’d forgotten about. And when I pulled the flaps of the box, I screamed at the contents inside.
A dead white rabbit.
Lo found a note spotted with blood, and I pushed the box away, the smell as ghastly as the image. “Here’s something you can hump,” he read. Trent signed his name at the bottom. What an idiot, I thought with thick tears. Apparently his girlfriend broke up with him because we had sex at a hockey gamemonths ago. He was on the “away” team, driving in town a couple hours to beat Dalton Academy.
And Trent blamed me for the breakup. As though he had no part in it, as though I was a siren who seduced him.
The next day after I received the “hate” package, I spent the night at my house. Rose wanted me there since my mother’s book club usually ran late. She didn’t want to be alone with her, so I stayed. Lo got wasted, and then I heard, he was thrown in jail for vandalism and underage drinking.
All I could think:At least he took a cab. At least he had enough sense not to drive drunk.
“Maybe it was fucked up,” Loren whispers.
“I liked your note,” I murmur.
His brow rises. “Drink up, pig?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
His eyes drift to my lips. “You’re strange.”
“So are you.”
“Good.” He leans closer. “We can be strange together.”
His heart thuds against my chest while his hands fall on either side of my shoulders, pressing to the cushion. His head dips low, and his mouth hovers an inch from mine. He stays still for a moment, and my nerves prick at the way we’re melded together, the way he seems to fit perfectly against me.
My chin tilts up, my eyes closing as I fantasize about where this could head. He could take me here. Now. And never let go. He could rock until my hips buck and my thighs clench around his waist. I could be so full of Loren Hale that I’ll ache when he decides enough is enough.
His large hand caresses my cheek, holding my face with security. “Open your eyes,” he whispers.
My lids flutter, and I see him staring so intently, absorbing my tiny, sharp movements. Full of lust and power andsoul.And then I begin to wake up from my dream. He’ll see what a fiend I am. He’ll realize how needy and gross I can become, and he’ll toss me away as a friend and as a lover. If I cross the line—if he fills this need inside of me—what will become of us?
What will become ofme?
The fear washes me cold. And my breathing deepens in alarm. “Your father’s gone,” I remind him. There’s no reason to pretend anymore. Not when we’re alone.
His forehead wrinkles in a deep frown. He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. “He may come back.”He won’t, I should tell him.
But his other hand disappears between our pelvises, and his fingers touch outside my long johns, to a spot that causes me to tremble beneath him and I let out a sharp gasp.
“You’re wet,” he breathes.
“Lo…” I start, shutting my eyes as I begin to drift off again.
“Look at me,” he says.
Tension wraps us in a tight, uncomfortable cocoon, and I succumb to this one wish, opening my eyes for the second time.
His two hands hold my face again, cupping me with intensity and purpose and deep passion. My parted lips nearly meet his.
