Beverly

Chapter 24

24

BEVERLY, 1998

16 years old

The drive-in was packed. A sea of headlights flickered against the night air, casting long shadows over the gravel lot as cars lined up in front of the giant screen. The crisp autumn breeze carried the scent of popcorn, nachos, and the faint burn of firewood from the concession stands near the entrance.

Tiffany tapped her fingers against the steering wheel of her dad’s old Honda, grinning as she twisted the radio dial, searching for the station that played the movie. Scream hadn’t started yet, but previews were rolling, illuminating the night in bursts of color.

“I love this place,” she sighed from the driver’s seat, flipping open her compact mirror to reapply lip gloss. “They should have drive-ins forever.”

“Forever,” I echoed, only half-listening as I scanned the rows of parked cars. The night had the kind of chill that seeped through fabric, but the inside of Tiffany’s car was warm, smelling faintly of vanilla body spray and the lingering scent of French fries.

“I love this movie.”

“I know.” I curled my fingers around my cup of soda, swirling the straw. “You’ve said it three times already.”

She ignored me, smacking her lips together. “I don’t know, Bev. There’s just something about men with masks,” she mused, snapping her mirror shut and tossing it into the black cup holder. “Why are they so…hot?”

I didn’t answer, just shifted in my seat, adjusting the blanket over my lap as the opening scene started—the phone call, Drew Barrymore’s perfect blonde hair, the knife glinting under the kitchen light.

I wanted to be excited. I should’ve been excited.

But something felt off. Maybe it was the way the sky looked—too dark, too heavy. Or maybe it was the way my stomach twisted when I thought about Mom, how she’d been sick lately, how she barely ate at dinner, how Dad kept telling me not to worry. Or maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t seen Blake yet. I knew he was here. He had taken Dad’s truck, which was parked somewhere in this lot, undoubtedly with Jamal beside him.

God, what was wrong with me ?

I sighed, shifting again.

Ignore it. Watch the movie.

Just let it be one night where you don’t ? —

But my eyes had already started scanning.

The lot was packed, a chaotic maze of cars and people wrapped in blankets, huddled in truck beds, or leaning out of windows. Kids darted between the cars in cheap plastic masks, while groups of teenagers clustered near the concession stand.

It took me longer than I wanted to admit, but eventually, I found him. Two rows back. Blake was leaning against the hood of the truck, arms crossed, his gray hoodie zipped halfway up, his face unreadable in the flickering glow of the screen. Jamal was beside him, eating from a bag of candy, probably saying something stupid because Blake huffed a small laugh and shook his head.

I looked away quickly, like that would help. Like that would stop the ache, the way my fingers curled in my lap, like maybe if I gripped the fabric of his hoodie tight enough, I’d stop missing him.

Tiffany, oblivious to my emotional crisis, shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “So, how long until you think someone starts screaming?”

“What?”

She nodded toward the screen. “You know. There’s always that one girl who freaks out like she’s actually being murdered.”

I smirked. “Maybe it’ll be you.”

She scoffed. “Please. I was born for horror movies.”

My eyes kept flicking to Blake’s truck.

God, this was stupid.

I was stupid.

I chewed my bottom lip before turning to Tiffany. “Hey, Tiff. Can you do me a favor?”

She raised a brow, sipping from her Diet Coke. “Depends. Does it involve me standing in line for popcorn again?”

“No. Um…” I glanced toward the truck, then back at her. “Can you keep Jamal company?”

Tiffany’s brows shot up so fast they nearly hit her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Ugh, come on.” I pouted. “Just go over and say hi.”

“Wait.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “Beverly...”

“What?”

She folded her arms, watching me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re trying to get rid of me so you can go sit in Blake’s truck?”

Damn it.

“Look. I love you, Bev. But no . I won’t go over there.”

I looked at Blake again. He wasn’t even watching the movie. His head was tilted slightly, his gaze unfocused, fingers twitching against his biceps like he was lost in thought.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be sitting here, distracted by the sight of him, by the way he looked under the shifting glow of the film, by the way his stupid hoodie fit, by the way his stupid face looked, by ? —

I shook my head, forcing my gaze back to the screen.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then some more.

I lasted maybe a minute before I glanced back.

Blake had moved.

He was sitting now, his arms resting on his knees, his gaze flickering to the screen and then away again. Something about his posture made my chest tighten.

He looked…distant, as if he wasn’t really here at all.

I swallowed.

Jamal suddenly turned his head, and I knew the exact moment he caught me staring because his lips curved into an annoyingly smug smirk.

I jerked my eyes away, but it was too late.

My phone buzzed.

My face burned.

Before I could respond, he made a beeline toward Tiffany’s car, his hoodie pulled up against the cold.

“What in the name of—?” Tiffany glared as he knocked against her window. She rolled it down, and Jamal leaned in with a lazy grin. “No,” she snapped.

“Tiff. My dearest. My favorite.”

I choked on my soda.

Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Your company.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please .”

Jamal pressed a hand to his chest. “That hurt. But no, really, I need you to settle something for me.”

“What.”

“Come with me to concessions. I need a tiebreaker.”

Tiffany squinted at him, clearly skeptical, but Jamal was persistent. Eventually, she rolled her eyes, unbuckled, and shoved open the door. “This better not be some dumb argument about which Sour Patch flavor is superior.”

“It is.”

“I swear to?—”

Their voices trailed off as they wandered toward the concessions stand, leaving me alone in the car, my pulse hammering at the realization of what just happened.

Jamal had orchestrated that for me.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to kill him or hug him.

I took a slow breath, glancing back toward the truck.

Blake was still sitting there, alone now, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee.

Grabbing my soda, I climbed out of the car.

The cold air hit me instantly, slipping under my hoodie, biting at my skin. I ignored it, taking careful steps across the pavement, my heart a mess in my chest, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of what I was doing.

I stopped beside the truck. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Hey, B.” Blake shifted slightly to make room beside him.

I smiled, then climbed up and slid onto the hood next to him, close enough that our knees touched.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

I pulled my blanket tighter around my shoulders, staring ahead, feeling the warmth of him beside me.

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, and I had the sudden urge to say something—anything—to break it.

“Mom’s been sick a lot lately.”

A soft, knowing hum left his lips. “I know.”

I pressed my lips together. “Dad says it’s nothing, but…”

“It’s not nothing.”

I swallowed, watching as Ghostface appeared, his mask glowing white in the darkness. Neither of us said it, but the weight of our fear sat heavy between us.

Blake shifted again.

His arm brushed against mine for a fleeting moment.

I turned my head slightly, studying the side of his face—the hard set of his mouth, the way his brows drew together, the way he looked like he was thinking too much. His fingers rested against his knees, the veins on his hands standing out just slightly under the dim glow of the movie screen.

Without thinking, I reached over and tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie. “Blake.”

He sighed, meeting my eyes.

“Why aren’t you watching the movie?” I asked.

His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second—so quickly I almost missed it. Then, softly, “Because you’re not in it.”

I sucked in a breath, my fingers tightening around his sleeve.

It should’ve been a throwaway line. Something flippant.

But it didn’t feel like that.

God help me, I wanted to kiss him.

The flickering glow from the screen washed over his face, casting shadows that made his expression even harder to read. His green eyes stayed locked onto mine, sharp, unwavering.

I wanted to see them flicker.

I wanted to see them drop—to my lips, to my hands, to the way my body was leaning into his space without permission.

But they didn’t.

Because Blake McHayes never let himself want things out loud.

He exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh. “Jamal thinks he’s a genius matchmaker.”

I turned, glancing toward the concessions. I could see him and Tiffany, arguing in front of the candy display. She was gesturing wildly at a pack of Sour Patch Kids, and Jamal was clearly enjoying whatever nonsense he’d pulled to get her there.

“He’s also right,” Blake added lazily.

I turned back to him, frowning. “Right about what?”

“About you.”

I frowned. “What about me?”

“You can’t go five minutes without looking for me.”

My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Blake turned his head slightly, his lips twitching like he was trying very hard not to smirk.

“Oh my God,” I scoffed, flopping back against the windshield dramatically. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Am I wrong?”

I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to answer.

Blake hummed like he had just won an argument in his head. “Mm. Thought so.”

I glared at him.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he mused.

I stared at him for the longest moment before letting my thumb brush over his knuckles. “You scared, Blake?”

“Of you?”

“Of this.”

He just smirked in response.

Without a word, he rounded the car, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he pulled open the passenger door and reached into the glove compartment.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, trying to focus on anything other than him, but he made it impossible.

A moment later his hand emerged with a Polaroid camera clutched in his grip. He raised it to his eye and snapped a picture. A flash exploded in front of me. I squinted, barely catching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he winked.

“You never stop with that thing, do you?” I muttered, blinking against the bright spots clouding my vision. My voice was laced with irritation—or at least, I hoped that’s all he could hear. Anything to drown out the heat creeping up my neck.

He shrugged. “Gotta capture the moment, B.”

“Why?” I asked.

He lowered the camera a little, tilting his head at me like I was the one being ridiculous. “Why do you think, Beverly?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, willing my heartbeat to slow down, but it didn’t listen. “You should really watch the movie, though.”

Blake leaned back on his palms, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I already know how it ends.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I nudged his knee with mine, shifting closer. “You’re missing all the good parts.”

“I’m looking at the best part.”

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Then I frowned, trying to process what he’d just said, but my mind felt a little scrambled. Blake wasn’t the type to throw compliments around. To just say things like that.

Blake chuckled dryly. “Speechless?”

I huffed, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across my cheeks. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Don’t get all shy on me.”

I dragged in a slow breath. “You know what I think, Blake?”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Hmm?”

I reached over and hooked my fingers into the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him closer. “I think you secretly enjoy it when I bother you every day.”

Blake huffed a quiet laugh, his head tilting just enough for our noses to nearly brush. “I think you wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t bothering me.”

My fingers curled tighter around his hoodie.

“I think,” I whispered, “I want to kiss you.”

Blake’s smirk faltered. “Beverly.” His voice was strained, like he was warning himself more than me.

“What?”

“We’re not doing this.”

“We could, though.”

His eyes darkened. “No.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath. “You’re a coward.”

“And you’re a brat.”

“Say you don’t want me.” My voice was quieter now, softer, raw in a way I didn’t like. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

He was a shadow I have danced with for too long, each step a silent plea for him to turn and see me. I was tired of it.

Blake’s lips parted slightly.

His throat bobbed.

Silence.

“That’s what I thought.” My voice shook, but I masked it with a smirk.

Blake’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and I swear I almost lost my mind.

I took my shot.

I leaned in, closing the last inch of space between us. My breath hitched as I got close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne, feel his warmth, and watch the way his lips parted. But then leaned back slightly, his hand shifting between us, fingers curling around my wrist, stopping me before I could close the distance.

I swallowed, my skin burning under his touch.

Blake’s lips twitched at the corners, but it wasn’t quite a smile. It was something heavier. “You think you want to kiss me?”

I blinked.

Blake was playing with me. He wanted me flustered.

I sighed, shifting closer. “Don’t be an ass.”

He made a low, rumbling sound in his throat, something close to a laugh. His fingers brushed lightly over my wrist, sending a shiver up my spine. “You get real bold when you want something, you know that?”

“And you get real annoying when you don’t just?—”

“Let you have whatever you want?”

I hated him. I really hated him. Because he was right.

I always got what I wanted with Blake.

I had always made sure of that.

But this was different.

Blake had never let me win when it mattered.

He wasn’t going to let me win now.

My stomach twisted, a mix of frustration and something I didn’t have the words for. “I hate you.”

Blake laughed. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed is a strong word.”

Blake hummed like he was considering that, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”

I huffed, turning my head, staring at the movie, determined to ignore him.

Blake let the silence settle for a moment, then he reached out and tugged my blanket down, exposing my shoulder.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he leaned in, close enough that his breath was warm against my skin. Slowly, he tilted his head and kissed my neck.

I gasped. It wasn’t a soft, fleeting kiss. It was deliberate. Lazy. A whisper of lips and warmth and the barest scrape of his teeth as he let his mouth linger against my skin, pressing just enough that my pulse jumped under his lips.

I swallowed. “Blake.”

He hummed against my neck, his voice a low murmur, his lips brushing just beneath my ear. “Hm?”

I shivered. “You’re an asshole.”

“B, you’re the one trying to kiss me.”

“And you’re the one kissing me somewhere else .”

“You don’t like it? Tell me to stop.”

I wanted to punch him. I wanted to kiss him.

This was my undoing.

I barely had time to react before his hands found my waist.

His mouth moved lower, ghosting along the base of my throat, slow and teasing. I clenched my jaw, gripping the fabric of his hoodie for dear life. “You’re an asshole,” I repeated.

Blake smirked against my skin. “You started it.”

I swallowed hard, tilting my head slightly, giving him more more access, my body betraying me in ways I couldn’t control.

Blake took his time. His lips brushed against the sensitive spot just below my ear, lingering there, warm and infuriating. His breath fanned against my throat, and I swore he was savoring every second of my unraveling.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my own breath coming out uneven. “You—” But I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Blake hummed, his lips curving against my skin again. “Hm? You were saying?”

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to shove him away and scold him for pulling away from my kiss just to torture me.

But mostly, I just wanted him to keep going.

“You’re such a tease.”

Blake chuckled, low and smug. “And you’re impatient.”

I scoffed, my eyes flicking open.

His lips were still close to my neck, but his gaze met mine now—green and sharp and unbearably cocky.

“You think this is funny?”

Blake’s smirk widened. “I think you’re mad.”

“I am.”

“I think you like it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“I think you almost kissed me.”

I scowled.

He tilted his head, his lips still hovering way too close to my throat. “And I think,” he murmured, his fingers tightening just slightly around my waist, “you’re gonna try again.”

A challenge wrapped in silk.

For a heartbeat, I almost did. Almost .

I wasn’t about to let him walk away from this thinking he had the upper hand. So I did the only thing I could do.

I leaned in, brushed my lips against his ear, and whispered, “Not if you beg first.”

Blake froze.

His hands flexed against my waist, his breath catching just enough for me to know I had him.

My lips curved.

And then—just to twist the knife—I kissed the corner of his jaw, barely, before pulling away and hopping off the truck hood.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His fingers curled into his hoodie like he was physically restraining himself.

With all the control I could muster, I grinned. “See you later, Loverboy.”

Blake exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his entire body tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

I turned, walking toward Tiffany’s car, my knees shaking—because what the hell just happened?

Before I could climb into the Tiffany’s car, my phone buzzed.

I bit my lip, my smile stretching wider.