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He eases in slowly, and when he’s knuckle deep, he holds it there as I adjust around him. I whimper.
He sighs, and his head falls against my neck. ‘Frankie, if you don’t leave now, I’m going to take you into that bush and fuck you, and I won’t be gentle.’
I stare at him.
His finger pulls out of me and he steps back to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘Frankie, I swear—‘
I gather my senses enough to stumble to my house.
I flop down on my bed.
Somewhere in the next couple minutes, my phonepings, but I don’t reach for it.
My head and my skin and my breaths are full of Archer.
Only him.
Chapter Four
You’re Joking, Right??
Ishould have known better. I should not have let Archer touch me last night. A fraction of me hopes it was all a messy dream, but the ache between my legs tells me it was very real.
In the moment it was heady and passionate and I craved to have him against me, but now I just want to bury my head beneath my pillow and live here forever. I bet my giving in will turn him off me; he’ll think I’m easy, and it’ll ruin the excitement of the pursuit.
At least I didn’t have sex with him. If I had, and he ignored me for the rest of my life, that would have hurt a lot more.
What the hell? I haven’t even gotten to school yet, and already Archer Toban is consuming me. Already I’m worried what he thinks of me.
And it’s not as if I’ll know him forever besides. He’s graduating this year, and so is Chase, which means Archer will take our memories with him. In comparison, what happened with Archer was five minutes as opposed to the rest of my life.
I’m fretting over five minutes.
I do feel guilty for not texting back Kai, though. I don’t usually talk to him before school, but I think he deserves an explanation—even if the one I give him is completely false, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Me:hey, sorry I didn’t reply last night, I was deadbeat after work and I crashed
When I arrive at school, everyone stares at me. Or maybe that’s just me being paranoid. I feel like I haveArcher Toban fingered me against a lamppost last nightwritten on my forehead. My palms are clammy, but I convince myself I’m being ridiculous.
Until I’m sitting in history listening to Ms. Benedict talk about the Trojan horse and something smacks the back of my head. Snickering follows, and I wait until Ms. Benedict quiets the class before I pick up the scrunched note.
It reads:One-dip finger
My entire world shatters and crumbles. My heart beats so fast I feel sick. And I sit very still for the rest of the hour. I don’t turn, even though I want to, because I know Cassie is there, and I don’t want anyone to see the tears in my eyes or the stain in my cheeks.
It doesn’t happen just once.
In math, a guy sits next to me, and says, ‘Hey, can I get a one-dip finger?’ and the rest of the class bursts into laughter.
In French, the guy beside me spits into a piece of paper, folds it, puts it down his pants, and throws it at me. It lands on my worksheet, soaking the ink with saliva.
This time, I spin around.
‘Fuck off!’
‘Uh, Miss Johnson, I won’t accept vulgar language in my class,’ warns Mrs. Spotswallower. She isn’t actually called that; it’s a name she acquired because she picks her spots and eats them.
I jab a finger at Dereck. ‘But he—‘
