But I refuse to engage. I take my drink and move down the line, grabbing a straw and flexing my jaw in anger. Images of Katelyn, half-naked with her legs wrapped around him as he lies on top of her on the backseat of his car, flood my mind. I tap the straw on the counter, trying to unsheathe it from its wrapper, but it snaps and breaks instead.
I toss it in the trash can and grab another. How could he look down at her and want her over me? How could he kiss her? Does it even matter who it is? I thought he was different.
“You heard, didn’t you?” he says, following me as I pick out candy. “I’m glad. I wanted you to hear.”
I bend down and pick up a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “No one cares what you do, loser.”
He takes a step closer. “You have a boyfriend,” he points out, shrugging. “Katelyn’s got a hell of a body, she’s good in bed…”
My fingers curl around my paper cup, the lid pops off, and Coke overflows, spilling all over my hand.
Dammit.
He snorts, and I scurry, grabbing napkins and cleaning myself up.
Good in bed? The thought of him enjoying her—touching her—makes me want to shove a rubber dick up his nose.
Asshole.
And I do not have a boyfriend. I have a prom date.
He leans in, his voice full of self-satisfaction. “You’re jealous.”
I fix the lid back on the drink, throw the soiled napkins away, and turn to him, my eyes burning. “Rocks?” I bark, changing the subject completely to avoid the one we’re on. “Dumb as a box of rocks? Are you kidding me?”
He breaks into a laugh. “It took you long enough.”
“Don’t you ever call me that again!” And then I dart my eyes to the side, seeing a couple of girls from school cast us curious glances. I lower my voice. “And I’m not jealous. I just don’t appreciate you filling me in on all your sleazy bullshit.”
He takes a step closer, putting us chest to chest with both hands on the counter at my sides, caging me in. “And I don’t like him touching you.” He scowls down at me.
He must be referring to the parking lot today when he saw Trey kiss my forehead.
I reach over and grab a popcorn box, tipping it over and shaking it to show that it’s empty. “Here you go.” I shove it at his chest. “All the fucks I give.”
And I push through his arm, taking my drink with me.
“Hey. Everything okay?” someone asks.
I look up, seeing Ten as I approach the register. I pause, seeing his gaze flash between Masen and me as he holds his silver water bottle, which I know is filled with rum and Coke.
Ignoring his question, I glance back at Masen. He tosses the popcorn box to the counter and walks toward me, holding my eyes as he glares down. I feel the heat coming off his body, but I stand tall, daring him to even try to pick another fight. He’s a jerk whose only kick in life is to make mine miserable.
He doesn’t say anything, though, and keeps walking out the doors.
After he’s gone, Ten exhales a long sigh and turns back to me. “In case you’re still trying to figure it out,” he says, “he wants you bad.”
I turn away, unable to shake the desire to go pick another fight. He wants me bad? Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s suffering with need. Not at all.
I pay for my drink and candy and head out of the stand with Ten. He heads for a group of guys at a convertible, while I walk through the cars toward Lyla’s BMW up front and try not to look for Masen. The sky is black now, but the screen is shedding lots of light, and I hear the crickets buzzing in the grass out in the distance. I spot Trey standing by his car, flirting with some girl.
Awesome.
I keep walking, but I stop when I pass a big, black truck. Masen’s.
I glance around, finding him over by his new friends, including J.D., talking and laughing. People loiter about, caught up in their conversations, and no one is looking at me. I stare at the truck, suddenly feeling inspired.
Holding back my smile, I set my drink and snack on the ground, next to the tire, and open the back door on the driver’s side, quickly climbing in. I shut the door and immediately notice how dark it is inside. I hadn’t noticed that the afternoon at the car wash. The windows must be heavily tinted.
The leather interior shines black, just like the paint on the outside, and it smells heady and rich, intoxicating, like him. I lick my lips, leaning up and opening his console between the front seats, looking for something to write with.
I sift through change, a few receipts, and some tools. I see a pen and pull it out, clicking the top to load it and scribble on my hand.
Black.
Everything in here is fucking black. Anything I write won’t show up. I dig back inside the console and my fingers curl around something long with a grip on it. I pull it out, seeing that it’s some kind of pocket knife.
My heart starts beating faster. He’s a prick, but I’m not quite sure I want to get that destructive. Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” starts playing in my head.
I pinch the groove on the dull side and unsheathe the blade, jumping when it snaps out. The curve is scary and intense, and I hold it up, studying it and wondering if I really want to leave him what’s sure to be a very expensive message.
And then I think about Katelyn straddling him on this very seat, riding him, and I want to do a lot more than just cut up his truck.
But the door suddenly opens, and I jump, seeing Masen step up and come right for me, slamming his door shut.
I gasp, tossing the knife up to the front and twist around, yanking the handle of the other door.