“What makes you think he’d sleep with me?” I shot back, pressing my head into the wall so I could create as much space as possible. I didn’t want his body touching mine.
Mason’s grin went lazy again, his head tilting slightly as his eyes tracked over my face. “I would.”
“Thank you… I think.” My brows pulled together. “But something tells me, despite you sharing more DNA than most people, you don’t share the same taste in girls.”
He captured one of my curls, winding it around his finger. “You might be right. But I know Maddox’s type, and you, Freckles, are exactly his cup of pussy.”
“You’re disgusting.” I gestured vaguely toward the closed door, where the rest of the school population existed. “There must be like a dozen girls who would beeagerto help your brother with thisdilemma.”
He tightened his hold on my hair to the point it caused pain. “I love the way you word shit. And there are,” he agreed. “You have a new factor that those girls lack.”
“I’m not a damn toy,” I snapped, glancing at the clock above the door. I was definitely going to be late. I needed to go.
“Okay, truth, then.” His voice dropped a notch, the easy charm slipping just enough that I saw something real underneath it. “He needs help getting over someone, and I think you might be the perfect distraction. It could be fun for both of you. Isn’t that what senior year is all about? Making memories. If there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that sleeping with Maddox would be memorable as fuck.”
I snorted. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”
“Come on. Don’t lie,” he said, eyes bright with mischief again, practically sparkling with it. He unraveled the hair from his finger and traced the pad of his thumb along the column of my neck. “You’ve totally thought about being with twins. I can make that happen. Is that what you’re into?”
“Ew. No.” I smacked his hand away from me. “I do not want your dick anywhere near me.”
He laughed, completely unbothered. “So, you’ll sleep with Maddox, but not me. Good to know.”
“I never said?—”
“Too late, Freckles. I’m onto you. Come to Raven Night.”
“I don’t know what that is,” I said, brushing past him toward the door, my hand reaching for the handle just as the bell rang over my head.
“You will,” Mason whispered in my ear, coming up behind me.
Scoffing, I shook my head and tore the door open, rushing into the hall before he could stop me. I almost wished he’d try so I could lay him out on his back. I kept walking, my steps quickening as I prayed I was going in the right direction.
Don’t look back. Don’t you dare give him the satisfaction.
Even when I heard his warm chuckle down the hall behind me, I didn’t stop. I ignored Mason Corvo and his ridiculous offer. Even if, against my better judgment, a small, traitorous part of me found it dangerously tempting.
What type of fucking school was this? I’d been in some shitty situations, but never had I been propositioned for sex on the first day.
The house smelledsweet when I walked in, the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon hanging in the air, a comforting, lived-in smell. My backpack hit the floor by the door with a heavy thud, and I kicked off my shoes, the laces still tied. I headed straight for the kitchen.
Mom stood at the sink, rinsing off a glass. “So, tell me, how torturous was it? Who do I need to kill?”
I shot her a pointed look over the edge of the fridge door, my eyebrows raised.
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile, and she held up her dripping hands in mock surrender. “Kidding.”
The jokes in this house were preposterous. “It wasn’t what I expected,” I admitted, reaching into the fridge and grabbing the tub of cookie dough from the top shelf.
Mom opened a drawer beside her as I bumped the fridge door shut with my hip. She pulled out a spoon and handed it tome. “High school rarely is,” she said softly, leaning back against the counter opposite me.
Sometimes I felt guilty for talking about school. I knew this had been the worst time in her life. She didn’t have good memories of hallways and lockers and football games under stadium lights, and even though I knew it probably hurt to hear me talk about mine, she always asked. Always listened. Always smiled like her own past didn’t press down on her shoulders every time I mentioned anything about high school.
I scooped a generous bite of dough, the spoon sinking into the soft, grainy texture, and brought it to my mouth. “It wasn’t terrible.”
“And?” she pressed.
“And nothing.” I took another bite and finally looked at her.
