“Fine. She can come.” This time, it’s me who smiles. A small victory, but a victory none the less. Laura inhales excitedly, her hands tugging at my hoodie sleeve until Everest quickly lifts a hand in midair. “But she stays near you at all times.” I suck in a breath, freezing in place.
“She doesn’t need a babysitter,” I counter, despite the way Laura is currently clinging onto my arm. She wanted this, now she can put her big girl pants on and deal with it. Everest tuts softly.
“She stays near you,” he repeats. “And she doesn’t drink anything she didn’t open herself.” Without consulting me, Laura nods quickly, clearly willing to accept any terms that secure her entry. She releases my arm, blurts a quick thank you and promptly runs out of the main door and across the courtyard. Her backpack sways on her back, her skirt bouncing around her thighs. I shake my head before returning to glare at Everest.
“Why—” I start, the question forming on my tongue, but I flinch mid-word when a hand suddenly appears in front of my face. Everest steps into my space without warning, close enough that I catch the clean, expensive scent of his cologne, and before I can lean back, his thumb presses against the bridge of my nose. He drags it upward deliberately, until it reaches my forehead, pushing hard between my eyebrows like he’s smoothing out a crease in fabric rather than touching my skin.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I slap his hand away, pointedly ignoring that he smells too freaking good for this time of the morning. Everest doesn’t look remotely apologetic. If anything, he looks amused. He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug, fingers flexing once like he can still feel the shape of my face there.
“You need to stop scowling all the time. You’re going to age faster.” I stare at him disbelievingly, my pulse thudding in my throat. Somehow I’ve found myself in the exact position I’ve spent all morning swearing I’d never be again. Pressed up against Everest Calloway.
“You need to stop touching me without my permission,” I bite back, pushing against his chest to create a barrier between us. Except, Everest presses his hands over mine and holds me there, his eyes searching my face too closely.
“Why don’t we drop the pretense. You’re pissed about the articles. I thought you’d be happy.” I reel back as far as his clamped hands will allow, a mocking laugh escaping me.
“Happy?!” I repeat, the fight in me warring with shoving him away and stepping closer to seethe right in his face. I opt for the latter option. “Have you seen what they’ve printed?” Everest doesn’t retreat. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, bringing our faces that little bit closer as he studies me.
“Have you seen what theyhaven’tprinted?” he asks slowly, dripping with condescension. The question catches me offguard. I was under the impression Everest’s love life was simply more appealing than my trauma, but thanks to the eyebrows being raised in my face, I’m realizing nothing happening around here is by chance. “My parents threatened every newspaper with financial suicide if they wrote about your…past.”
I blink at him, the anger in my chest shifting into something far more complicated. Suspicion coils in the back of my throat, tasting like ash and pity.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” I flex my fingers against the solidness of his chest, testing his hold on me. Shifting forward, I drop my voice to hide the confusion. “Why would they do that for me?”
This time, the bark of a short, disbelieving laugh comes from Everest. Releasing me, he reaches up and tugs a strand of my hair behind my ear. His hand turns, stroking his knuckles back down my cheek, fingertips lingering on my jaw.
“My parents only act on their own agendas. This is the narrative they want spun.” He gestures vaguely between us, as if the invisible headlines are floating in the empty space. “It’ll be easier for us all to just go along with it.” The hallway presses in, pieces of the chessboard being moved around me. I drop my hands at last, letting them hang stiffly at my sides.
“You expect me to pretend to date you?”
“I expect you to be civil to me in public settings,” he growls with a sense of warning. I open my mouth to argue but he beats me to it. “I’m sacrificing far more in this situation, trust me.” I scoff, looking up at the arched ceiling for a trace of pathetic humor.
“What does Everest, the Golden Boy, know of sacrificing? You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” Everest’s gaze sharpens at that, his jaw tightening until there’s a pulse ticking beneath the skin. He exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair in an effort to regain his composure. Iabsolutely do not track the stretch of his t-shirt sleeve against his bicep, which judging by the relieved smirk that creeps back across Everest’s face, was definitely intentional. Charming bastard.
“I have a class to get back to, and since there’s no practice this evening, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Everest winks as he turns away, his hand braced on the door to look back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Meg. If we aren’t looking for history to repeat itself, don’t drink the punch. Or do. We both know what you’re like for self-sabotage.”
He bobs his brows and chuckles as he pushes the door wide open, the image of cocky control. I scowl at his back as he enters the lecture hall, hoping it both burns a hole in his back and ages me twice as fast. Talk about self-sabotage.
Chapter Twenty
“I really don’t have a good feeling about this,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time, dragging a hand down my face as Meg pivots her phone slightly so I can see both outfit options properly. Unbeknownst to her, I have a panoramic view given that her webcam is secretively streaming onto my computer.
I’ve been watching with rapt interest since the cream envelope was slipped beneath her door this morning, triggering the motion sensor before she’d even woke. Then, once a sleepy-eyed Meg had torn it open and groaned the words, ‘Damn Fresher Frenzy’, I’d taken to the internet pulling up every reference I could find related to Hollowbrook Academy. I’ve regretted doing so ever since.
This isn’t some stupid frat party. It’s a massacre led by the King of Fuckery himself. Every year seems to follow the same pattern. Too much hype, an air of exclusivity, the actual carnage of the event, and then a thorough digital sweep. Anonymous forum posts detailing unconfirmed substance use and minor hospitalization are quickly shut down, the comments locked and the threads buried beneath filtered images of fairy lights and red cups.
And I haven’t forgotten about the redacted file I found last week when doing a deep-dive on Everest. The words female, altercation, injury and on-campus party have been circling around my mind all afternoon.
“Are you going to choose or shall I?” Meg brings my attention back to the hangers she’s holding.
She stands in the middle of her room in nothing but black shorts and a fitted bralette, her hair falling loose around her shoulders as she presents two options that are a far cry from the pajamas and headset I wish she would put on. On the desk, out of view of the phone but picked up by the webcam, is a half empty bottle of pink gin she’s hiding from me. Hence, I can’t comment on it or her already-tipsy state.
“I’d rather you didn’t go at all,” I mutter, though I know she hears it. She ignores my comment, lifting one hanger higher. A cropped, strappy top that would absolutely have half the lacrosse team forgetting their own names. The other option is safer. Still figure hugging, but safer.
“The tank top and high waisted jeans,” I sigh, forcing my tone to lack the possessiveness that’s trying to bleed through. “And wear your leather jacket. I heard there’s an early winter frost rolling in tonight.” Meg eyes me skeptically, an easy smile on her face.
“At the beginning of September?”
“Global warming and all that.” I shrug, leaning back in my chair and swiveling slightly. “You’d better put on a scarf for good measure.” Her laugh, as delightful as it is, guts me.
