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“You know,” she starts, her tone low and hard, “let’s stop pretending that I am making you do anything you don’t want to do. If you were so angry with me, you wouldn’t have come back to school. You wouldn’t have come back to me.”
“I didn’t come back to you.”
She falls silent for a moment, and as we bounce over the tracks, I hear her start to moan.
I turn toward her again.
“God, you have a beautiful body,” she whimpers my words. “I want you to lose it in my bed.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“I can do anything you want me to,” she whispers, breathing heavy and dragging her hand up and down her body. “That’s it, Collins. Fuck me.”
Trace snorts in the front seat, while Iron has turned and is watching her.
I see Dallas shake his head.
I swallow. “Yeah, you liked that, didn’t you?” I reply curtly. “You like me inside you. And you want more of it. Not of him. You know why?”
She arches a brow.
“Because you’re gay,” I tell her. “You’re queer, Clay. Just like me.”
The corners of her mouth tighten. “I am not.”
So, it’s just me, then? Just something about me? Bullshit. She was checking Krisjen out on the dance floor tonight. Well, not really checking her out, but she was definitely noticing her.
“And if I said I was in love with you?” I ask her. “What would you feel?”
She stares at me, her wet, blonde hair sticking to her amazing body, and those big, blue eyes losing their defiance for a fraction of a second. Her chest caves a little, breathing hard.
“I’m in love with you, Clay,” I tell her.
The car falls silent, like my brothers are afraid to breathe because they might miss something. Her lips open a little, and God, the softness that hits her eyes makes her look like she’d blow over in a light breeze. I swear I see a smile desperate to get out, and I want to say it again.
“Just kidding.” I force a scoff. “Just wanted you to see how fucking gay you are.”
She jerks her gaze away, focusing out the window, and I stare at the reflection of her in mine. I can almost see her little snarl as she stares at my reflection too.
I’m not in love with her. I’m leaving.
Rain swipes across the windows, the wind blowing the drops into lines streaking over the glass, and the next thing I know, Dallas is jerking the wheel to the left and stabbing the brakes.
The car stops, and Dallas shifts it into Park. “Get those motherfuckers,” Iron growls, grabbing a tire iron off the dash.
“Stop!” I yell, seeing we’re on Main Street. We’ve caught up to them before they were able to get to Fox Hill. This is too public.
But no one listens to me.
The boys open the doors, racing out of the cab as the storm rages and gusts of wind bend the palm trees. I jump out and run, seeing Clay and Trace run around the other side of the car.
I grab Iron by the belt and haul him back with everything I have. “Stop!”
He’s just looking for a fight. Damn him. He’s the most violent nice-guy I know.
Milo’s BMW sits stalled, his right front tire up on the sidewalk outside Enchantment, a boutique soap and shampoo shop. The traffic light above bounces on its wiring as it hangs over the middle of the thoroughfare, and the streets are empty, everyone taking cover in their homes.
Another car skids to a halt behind Dallas’s truck; Aracely and Santos jumping out with other friends of my brothers—Carissa, Benny, and Tomb. I spot headlights over the roof of Milo’s car, and Callum Ames drives up in his Mustang, hurrying to his friend’s aid.
Shiiiiiit.
“Krisjen!” Clay calls.
She swings open the back door, and pulls her friend out. Krisjen stumbles, holding her head, but her eyes are open and alert.
She sees Milo climb out of the car and run around the hood, the tire probably inoperable, the axle most likely broken.
My hair sticks to my body, a lock draped across my nose, and I grab Krisjen and shove her and Clay toward my brothers’ truck. “Get in.”
I turn, pushing Iron back. “Leave it,” I grit out, but his eyes bear into Milo. Iron doesn’t give a shit about him hitting Krisjen. I mean, he doesn’t like it, but this is an excuse for a fight, and men are fucking stupid.
He advances, and I push him back again. “No!” Then I look around. “Trace! Dallas! Get in the car! Everyone, now!”
But Krisjen pulls her hand away from her face, seeing blood smeared on her fingers and glares at Milo. “You son of a bitch!”
And she launches for him, her arms swinging and giving Iron the only invitation he needs.
He dives in, wraps an arm around her, and hauls her away, pushing her toward me before he lunges for Milo himself.
