Part 6 (1/2)

It was like an iron bar, and that was even through his jeans! That was all for me, desire for me.

The truth is, I did want to do more... go further. But I also didn't, because I know, deep down, that this is never going to work. It can't work.

We're wrong for each other. It would be a fling, and I don't want a fling. It would be a tryst, but I want something more serious.

Oh, what am I doing to myself? Why am I torturing myself like this? Why did I even let him do that to me! I can't believe it. The first time a guy fingers me and it's like I'm mesmerized, like I'm powerless.

And it just happened! I never expected my first time doing anything with a boy to be in public like that, so impulsive, so out of control.

I've got the gown draped over my arm, and it's getting heavier, and I've got my cap in my other arm, my bag hanging off my wrist, and I'm walking in these uncomfortable pumps, and I've still got fifteen minutes to go.

And it's getting dark.

It's been such a weird and tiring day. I want to say that nothing has gone right, but I know that I'd just be lying to myself.

I allow myself a brief, self-indulgent smile. I guess I know now that the hottest boy in school wants me.

And only me. Those were his words.

But now I'm wondering why I even stormed off from Chance, why I just didn't get back into his car, let him drive me home.

At least I'd be home by now, into some comfortable shorts, lounging on the sofa.

But I know why! It's because he's a d.i.c.k. He just can't help it. That's just who he is.

So why do I like him so much?

Maybe it's not just that. Maybe I didn't get into the car because I'm embarra.s.sed. Because I don't want to listen to him call me out, or tease me, after he's just had his two fingers buried inside me, after I've just spent all that time pressing my body into him, moaning, sweating... coming.

Maybe I didn't want to hear him goad me into an argument, try to get under my skin, try to make me feel as if I'm somehow weird, somehow different, that I don't know how to give a b.l.o.w.j.o.b.

I hear a girl's screeching laugh, and then see, zooming down the road, some expensive car with the top down. ”No more school, baby!” she shrieks as the car whips by me.

From the glimpse I catch of her, of how she's dressed, she is going out on the town, fake ID at the ready.

I have to go home, feed the cat, and probably spend the whole night unable to get Chance off my mind.

I sigh, my shoulders drop, and I trudge on to my empty home.

Chapter Eight.

I'm not following her.

Well, I am following her, but it's not like that.

A group of four girls whizzes by in a silver Mercedes E550 convertible. They've got the top down and none of them are wearing their seat belts.

I laugh while thinking about what Ca.s.sie would have to say about that. She's right, of course, even if she is a know-it-all.

The car screeches to a halt, and then kicks into reverse. I hear it wind up until it's by my side, and the girls all simultaneously bat their eyes at me.

I stop, look at each one of them in the eyes in turn, and then smirk. ”What do you want?”

”Why are you walking, Chance?” one of them asks me. She's got her t.i.ts pushed up to cruising alt.i.tude. ”Do you need a lift?”

”No,” I tell her. ”Where are you girls off to?”

”Club Ninety-Nine,” the driver says. She's got black hair in a sleek side part, and of the bunch she's definitely the most eye-catching, but I'm not interested.

”Chance,” another says, one I don't recognize from school at all. ”When's your next fight? I was at the last one, it was so cool. You were great.”

”Monday,” I tell her. ”Next week.”

”I'll be there.”

”Sure.”

I flick my eyes back down the road, but now see that Ca.s.sie has turned the corner and I can't see her anymore.

I start walking after her, but hear my name called from the convertible.

”What?” I ask.

”Want to come out with us?”

”No.”

I keep walking, and it takes a moment for the four girls to drive off.

I speed up, and eventually see Ca.s.sie again. She's walking quickly as she pa.s.ses by a house party where people have spilled out onto the street.

People look at her as she pa.s.ses, but she doesn't meet their eyes. She walks right by them, never once turning around.

Ca.s.sie doesn't know I'm following her, and she'd probably be real indignant about it, too. But all it takes is one drunk, overreaching and overbearing a.s.shole to ruin a girl's night.

And on this night, there will be plenty of them.

Another car screams by, and I catch the green glint of a beer bottle in the pa.s.senger seat.

f.u.c.king idiots.