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He gives me an infuriatingly smug look, like he thinks he won, but there is no way in hell I’m wearing the necklace. I can’t wear jewelry given to me by my best friend’s boyfriend.
“I’m not wearing it,” I say flatly. “Why would you get me something like this anyway? It’s way too nice for a friend, even if I was mad at you. Which I’m not.”
I shove the necklace at him, but he still won’t take it.
“Because you’re worth it,” he says, grabbing my elbow, a rare expression of seriousness settling over his features. His gaze locks with mine for a moment, and I feel my knees buckling.
Before he can stop me, I shove the necklace into the pocket of his jeans in a very awkward and undignified motion.
His eyes sparkle with laughter. “Ooh, don’t take your hand out of there so fast.”
My hand didn’t actually go into his pocket, but Chase can make anything sexual.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him again, a wicked grin on his face. “Do that again, and I’ll keep it.”
“Do what again, and you’ll keep what?” Lindsey asks, suddenly appearing beside us.
I jerk my hand away from Chase and turn to my locker, my face flaming.
Chase throws his arm around her shoulder, never missing a beat. “Oh, nothing. Sky was just trying to feel me up.”
My mouth goes dry, and my heart stops beating entirely. It doesn’t matter if she murders me, because I want to fucking die.
Instead of cursing me to the depths of hell, Lindsey sighs. “Why do I get the feeling you’re tormenting my friend?” she asks, pushing him away from her like he’s an annoying little brother instead of the freaking sun the world revolves around. “Now go to class so us girls can talk.”
“Oh, this should be good,” he says. “I think I’ll stick around.” I can hear the smile in his voice even when I refuse to look at him. Instead, I stuff the picture deeper into my binder.
“It’s about girl stuff,” Lindsey says, as if this explains everything.
“In that case, enjoy your tampon talk,” he says, smirking at Lindsey, who looks like she might faint.
Suddenly all I can think about is what he said to me in the car the night he took me home from the mall, how much his words shocked me.
I want to taste your mouth, your skin, your cunt.
Does he say those things to Lindsey? Or is she too proper to be the recipient of his dirty talk?
I know I should be insulted if he doesn’t, that he’s saying I’m not worthy of the same respect as his girlfriend. Hell, maybe that’s why he wants to keep her as a girlfriend, but he’s always trying to make me his side piece. But as hard as I try to be offended, a traitorous little seed of pride glows inside me, like we share a naughty secret. I watch him swagger down the hall, my heart beating more quickly than it should.
“Sorry about him,” Lindsey says when he’s gone, her cheeks a little pink. “I can’t believe he’d mention… That. Boys are so crass.”
There’s no way he’s ever said the word cunt to her. She’s all in a huff because he said tampon, as if he isn’t supposed to know what they are. I guess in Lindsey’s world, he probably shouldn’t. To her, that’s something shameful, and it’s improper for boys or girls to mention.
“Anyway,” she says, drawing out the word and looking supremely awkward. “What was that all about?”
A knot of dread tightens in my gut. “Nothing,” I mumble. “He left some stuff in my locker and I was trying to get him to take it out.”
My heart is beating so hard I know I’m screwed. I could never pass a lie detector test. I’m not technically lying, but I’m deceiving my friend, and that’s even worse.
I open my mouth to say something as we head down the hall, but she’s apparently satisfied by my answer, because she cracks a grin. “So, Daria tells me you’re, you know. Waiting for marriage.” She whispers the last part, like it’s something too secret to say aloud.
Great. Big mouth strikes again.
Seeing my utter humiliation, Lindsey bumps my shoulder with hers in some sign of solidarity. “I’m proud of you. I would have waited—and obviously my daddy thinks I’m still pure—but you know Chase.”
She rolls her eyes with a little laugh, waving her hand like the whole matter is inconsequential.
“Really?” I croak.
