Page 130 of The Cheerleader

When she disappears, I sigh in relief. Taking a shuddering breath in the silent dark car, I take a second to appreciate my aloneness. I’ll go back to my room and put the Beatles’ White Album on my stereo, eat M&Ms, and cry until I fall asleep.

I’m almost content with my plan, determined to unblock the sadness, to let it all out, to squeeze every last ounce of heartbreak from my chest, to wring it all out of me in one night and move on.

Until I realize Judy took the keys with her.

Shit.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Bryan

Susie looked upset when she left the party. She wasn’t out of my sight for more than a few seconds since she walked in the door. I could swear it was something Liz said to her.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” the girl standing in front of me whose name I don’t remember—if I ever knew it—says to me.

I glance at her, but I’m keeping my attention on Liz as she winds her way through the crowd in my direction. It’s easy to track her by the trail of smiles she leaves in her wake. What the fuck did she say to Susie? As much as I want to know, I don’t want to confront Liz.

“Excuse me,” I say to the girl with no name, and I move her out of my way as I stalk out of Liz’s path and out of her line of sight. Then I duck out of the room and head to the back door.

As I escape the crowded party and go around the side of the cottage to find Susie, I spot Judy trotting up the driveway.

She sees me and breaks into a run right at me. “Bryan, Susie doesn’t feel well. She needs you to drive her home.” She’s breathless as she holds her hand out, dangling some keys at me, sounding like it’s urgent.

“What’s wrong with her? Does she need a doctor?” I stay calm, but my heart pumps faster as my adrenaline surges.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a little dizzy, and you’d be better at helping her walk or maybe carry her to her room if she needs it. Liz’s car is on the street.” She points over her shoulder and to the left.

I snatch the keys from her hand and take off.

“You’re welcome,” she shouts at my back.

I raise a hand in acknowledgment because I’m in a hurry. I feel a sense of urgency to go to Susie, even though I know she’s most likely okay. Something compels me to protect her as if she needs protection. Fuck. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one she needs protection from.

When I get to the car, I find her slumped against the passenger side door as if she’s sleeping.

“Susie?” I whisper as I get in the car and touch her shoulder. She turns and sits up. “Bryan.” Her voice is like a sigh. “Take me home.” She gives me a wan, encouraging look, and I nod.

I drive her back to her dorm and carry her upstairs to her room, still unsure what’s wrong with her, as she protests.

“It’s nothing. Exhaustion,” she says. But I can see the signs of recent tears, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Finals just ended, and maybe she is exhausted from studying late. Or maybe there’s something more.

I carry her into her room and lay her on her bed. I lie down beside her and take her in my arms.

“You’re all right, Susie. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. I’m here,” I murmur into her ear as she leans against me, wrapping an arm around me and holding on tight. I kiss her temple and the soft, creamy skin of her cheek, making my way to her lips.

She kisses me back. Her pillowy mouth gives against mine and responds so perfectly. The taste of her entices me to deepen the kiss, and I automatically move my hands under her shirt to touch her warm skin, sliding them up her ribs to caress her soft, plump, bare breasts until she moans.

Then, as if she’s snapped my spell, she pulls back from me. “Bryan, you can’t—we can’t.” She puts her hands on my chest to hold me away from her. “You have to leave.” Her voice shakes.

“I want to stay so fucking badly.” I rest my forehead against hers, gulping down my need to ravage her as I admit my weakness, making myself more vulnerable than I ever have to anyone.

“I know. I feel the same way. But you can’t stay until I talk with Liz and let her know that we’re-…”

She trails off, and my heart stutters because I’m not sure what she’s going to say, and I want to hear it, want to know what she thinks we are, want her to tell me what we are to each other, how she feels about me.

But she doesn’t. She clears her throat and starts over. “Finals are over, and I can’t be with you until I tell her.”

“Let me talk to her with you.”