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One green eye and one brown with flecks of gold met my blues, and something passed between us that I didn’t understand, but I felt it nonetheless. I licked my lips, and his gaze followed the movement. I thought, once again, that he might just kiss me. My phone buzzed violently against the metal hood, making me jump. Asher blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
“We need to go,” he said, jumping down and climbing back in the driver’s side.
“Yeah,” I said and cleared the lust from my voice. “I should get back.”
And the moment was gone.
“Sooo, are you in? Bry?” Nat asks, snapping me back to the present. That night was just weeks before the night he told me about his scholarship. The night he left for good.
“Who’s all going?” I interrupt her primping when I open one of the French doors to my closet that she’s sitting in front of and slip inside. Dropping my towel, I snag my H&M black cropped top off the hanger, a pair of frayed jean shorts, and my plain black combat boots. I quickly dress as I listen to Nat’s never-ending list of attendees.
“Jay for sure. I think Steven and his girlfriend with bad eyebrows… What’s her name? Melissa? Anyway, Thomas, Trey, Lexi… Oh, and Jackson will be there, too.”
“Seriously?” I ask, cutting my eyes to hers. Jackson Price is arguably the hottest guy in school. The only guy to pique my interest even moderately, other than Asher Kelley. And the only guy I’ve ever slept with. I’ve hooked up with plenty of guys, but as soon as it moved from anything more than heavy petting, it was like a record screeched, and it wasn’t fun anymore. I had a change of heart, mid-hookup, every single time.
Jackson happened a couple of months ago, and Nat dragged me to a party at his house. Part of me was still holding on to my childish delusions of being with Ash someday, when Whitley came bouncing in, blowing that to pieces.
She was standing there all tall and dark and edgy, the complete opposite of everything I am, bragging about sleeping with Asher over the weekend. Of course, she wasn’t telling me. She was talking to a girl named Marjorie—loudly, for my benefit, no doubt—with no shortage of crude gestures and the hickies to back it up.
I remember exactly how I felt in that moment. The way the beer turned sour in my stomach. The way my chest ached and the way my face heated with anger, embarrassment, and jealousy. I remember how I let Jackson, whom I barely knew, lead me upstairs and take my virginity. I remember how I wan
ted to give it to him, if only to spite Asher. I remember his practiced movements and the pain he caused, even as he tried to be gentle. I remember how even though I hated myself for it, I could almost pretend it was Asher if I kept my eyes squeezed tight. But mostly, I remember how I felt the next morning. Empty and completely alone, even with Jackson’s arm curled around me, and every bit the child that Asher always accused me of being.
I’m that girl, the one who got drunk at a party and gave it up to the first boy who came along. And I’ve avoided him ever since. What would Asher think of me now? Even thinking his name is enough to cause physical pain, but I bury it. It’s been three years. Three years since he walked out of my house and never came back. Three years since I’ve so much as heard his voice. Three years since I’ve been pining for a boy who was never even mine. This is bordering on pathetic.
“He wants you, Bry. I don’t know how he could make it any clearer.” Nat fluffs her dark hair and stands, giving herself a once-over in the mirror. “I’d fuck me,” she says with a nod of approval. I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out.
“Why, though?” I muse aloud. There is no shortage of high school girls who want to hook up with Jackson Price. Or college girls, for that matter. He set his sights on me, seemingly out of nowhere last year. He’s gorgeous, funny, charismatic, but…a bit of a whore.
“Besides that whole innocent, blonde, blow-up doll look you’ve got going on?” She circles a finger in my direction and grins when I flip her off. With my freakishly big eyes and pouty mouth, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that comparison. She knows I hate it. “Give him a chance. You don’t have to marry the dude. Just…have fun. With his penis.”
“You’re an idiot.” I laugh. She has a point, though. I need to put Asher out of my mind for good.
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling off the I-10 in my little black Jetta. We’re only about twenty miles from my house, but it’s like a different world out here. No streetlights, no noise, no gas stations on every corner. Just a long, eerie, dirt road that leads to the old trotting park.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m driving.” I shrug.
“You’re nervous,” she accuses.
“You wish.”
I pull up next to a few other cars and trucks I don’t recognize and kill the engine. Without so much as a word, Nat hands me the chapstick she just used at the same time I hand her some gum from my purse after popping a piece into my mouth. I rub my lips together and hand her the tube when a loud banging on my window causes me to jolt.
“Jesus!” Nat yells—while I make some noise that comes out as more of a squeak than anything—and cackling from outside my car follows. I open the car door to see Brett and Jackson standing there with shit-eating grins plastered to their faces, beers in hand.
“For you, Briar, my lady,” Jackson says, offering me a can with a dramatic bow. I’m still catching my breath and trying to calm my frantic heart, but I take the beer anyway as I glare at him.
“You guys are dicks,” Nat mumbles, accepting her own beer from Brett.
“Who do all these cars belong to?” I stuff my phone into my back pocket and leave my keys in the ignition in case we need to make a quick getaway. Local cops are starting to catch onto the growing fascination with this place, and I heard they’ve been patrolling the area more than they usually do.
“A couple belong to our group, but I’m not sure about the rest. Guess we had the same idea.”
“No better way to celebrate the end of school than to hang out in an old, decrepit building. Yay,” I say, weakly pumping a fist into the air, sarcasm dripping from every word. I’m surprised Jackson deigned this place an acceptable hangout. I wouldn’t think he’d be caught dead here.
Nat saunters over to me and hooks an arm though mine as we start to walk toward The Tracks. “Don’t be a pussy.”
