Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-seven
Scarlett
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Kian was at an away game today, which means I watched the whole game on my laptop.
He texted me when he got to his room, and since then I’ve been debating what to text him back.
I’m not exactly well-versed on the “I want you” dating etiquette.
Are we even dating? Is that what you call this?
We haven’t even slept together. It makes me nervous to know I haven’t given him the one thing I know I’m good at, and he hasn’t even asked.
I can’t be who he needs me to be, and I want to be as useful as he is for other people.
Earlier I threw on my blue lingerie and stood in front of my mirror, taking pictures. Now I scroll through my camera roll for the third time, and they all suck. Too forced, too shaky, too…everything.
I’m out of practice.
The first time I sent pictures to a guy, it was exciting, a new experience.
It came in the form of a U up? text at midnight.
It was freshman year, and I was awake, going through old photos and found one of me and Victor on my seventh birthday.
It was depressing as hell, so of course I replied to that text just to have some semblance of a distraction.
The Send pics? request came immediately.
I wasn’t stupid, I knew he wanted nudes, and I knew he’d stop texting me if I didn’t send them.
I needed something. I couldn’t take the memories of screaming, and crying, and slammed doors.
I didn’t want to relive any of it. So I sent them, and each one of his praises lit me up.
It made me feel alive, and when I asked if he wanted to meet for a date the next day, he said he was busy.
But Kian takes care of me like it’s easy.
He would never ask me for pictures, I know that, but I want to give them to him.
I want him to have something as a reminder.
A tiny don’t forget me! It’s the reason I woke up with a guilty feeling the night after our date.
Like I was taking something that was never meant for me.
I feel desperate to keep him interested, to make sure I could still be what he wanted, even if he saw everything I have to offer. Maybe as a thank-you, or just so he knows there’s no pressure with me. That I’m okay with whatever pace he wants to take it. I’m willing.
Without another second of hesitation, I send them.
The whoosh of the message makes me hold my breath.
I don’t think too hard, but I notice an instant pang of regret.
The fear that he’ll be able to see all my insecurities through the screen.
When my gaze flicks up to my vanity mirror, they reveal themselves to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jump right back into my bed, and close my eyes until I fall asleep.
It’s just a few short hours after that morning light blinds me, when Sierra knocks on my door. She pushes it open, already dressed in her all-black skating outfit.
“I’ll be home late,” she says.
I give her two thumbs up. Sierra knows everything about me.
All the hookups and the things I’ve sent guys.
She never judged me. Always reminded me to be careful and would vet every dude I talked to without me knowing.
But it was the few I snuck off with that she didn’t know about, or at least she never asked me about.
“You okay? You were up late last night.”
“That also means you were up late, Si,” I say. “How many hats did you knit this time?”
She shrugs. “Let’s hang out tomorrow. It’s been a while.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
The moment I hear her leave from the front door, I spring out of bed to pluck my phone from where I left it last night. A dark feeling sinks into my stomach when I have no messages.
As I attend my classes for the day, I only feel worse. I find myself looking into every mirror I pass, like I’ll find something there that would explain Kian’s silence.
I’m running on pure irritation when I walk all the way past campus to the numbered streets, straight up the porch steps of the hockey house, and bang my fist against the door.
Cole opens it, and his brows pitch upward when he sees me. His blond hair is neatly combed back, and he’s got a towel around his waist that’s very short and could probably slip off with just a strong breeze.
Cole stands there awkwardly. “By the way, about the kiss—”
“It meant nothing,” I interject.
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah? Okay. Cool! ’Cause Kian keeps glaring at me. So, if I happen to go missing…”
“Right. Is he home?”
“Nah, but you can wait in his room until he’s back.”
Here I was thinking he’s sitting in his room ignoring the half-naked pictures of me in his messages. He’s probably studying or at the gym.
Now I’m not even sure what I wanted to say to him. Tell me I’m pretty?
I take a step back. “Actually that’s okay. And no need to mention that I stopped by.”
When I turn, my body slams right into a slab of muscle covered by a Dalton Athletics T-shirt.
“Scarlett?”
I think I’m developing a stress rash. “Hi.”
“Come in,” Kian says. A towel-clad Cole stares between us with a level of scrutiny I really don’t need right now.
When we reach his room, his old radio is already going, a country song I don’t recognize playing softly in the quiet.
“Did you see my texts?” I ask immediately.
He drops his stuff on the floor, tosses his keys on his dresser, and finally pulls his phone out and plops it on his desk. “I did,” is all he says.
I nearly sprint to his bathroom and never come out. “Oh. Okay,” I say, already turning away to head out. Well, that didn’t last very long. But I should have expected it.
“Where are you going?”
I pause, unable to look at him. “I’ve got homework and stuff.”
“Can you please sit?” He must see the uncertain look on my face because he gestures to his chair. I don’t move. “You can sit—”
“I can do better,” I blurt out. “If you don’t like them, I can do better. Whatever you would enjoy.” Desperation bleeds into my shaky voice.
His brows knit tightly, and the look is so small and fleeting that I think I imagined it. “Scarlett, please sit down.”
“You don’t have to be nice, I get it—”
“Can you sit down first?” he says, somehow softer this time and it makes me obey.
Instead of going to his chair, I sit on his bed, and he seems to appreciate that more. My folded hands sink between my thighs like I’m on the receiving end of a lecture and any minute now he’ll put a bar of soap in my mouth to wash out the filth.
Kian sits beside me on the bed. There’s at least two feet of space between us.
There’s a sticky film of shame living on my skin now.
“I’m not being polite when I say that you’re so perfect I have a hard time understanding how to exist beside you. It’s like staring into the sun.”
“That sounds painful,” I whisper.
“It is,” he says. “But I’d do it over and over if I could find a way to keep that blinding imprint from its brightness on my vision forever.”
My blood vibrates in my veins. “That doesn’t explain why you ignored my pictures.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. I just—it’s not because of what you think,” he explains. “I wanted to see you first. I didn’t want whatever I had to say to be lost over text. I almost twisted my ankle when I saw your pictures on the way back on the team bus this morning.”
A small smile comes to my face, but his only dampens. His shoulders follow its descent.
“But…” I trail on.
“Scar, I want the real you, not who you think you have to be in these pictures. I love them, really, I do, but I’d much rather be there to see you like this. You don’t have to do any of this for me.”
“I thought—God, this is embarrassing. Forget I sent those. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, you don’t want those, you’re not like the rest. It was stupid.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I get it. I do. You don’t want a reminder of the girl I was. Or that I’m so comfortable sending those types of pictures. You probably see me as…less.”
“Look at me,” he demands.
If I do, he’ll see the shameful tears brimming in my red-rimmed eyes. I don’t want him to lie to me just to make me feel better. I know what I am. Who I let myself become. So I shake my head, staring at the tips of his shoes as they move closer to mine. My heart thumps fast in my chest.
“You won’t look at me?” he whispers, almost cooing.
I swallow hard. “I don’t need you to lie to me.”
His soft chuckle lands in the space between us. “I won’t. Promise.”
This softens the rigid frame of my body. Kian’s promises are like the gold hidden in a treasure box deep in the sea, never to be broken.
I flick my gaze to his chin, trying my hardest to keep it there. His finger is on my chin, lifting it higher, helping me the rest of the way to his eyes.
“You’re not less. Not after those photos, and not before. If you send me pictures, I want them only if you do. Not because you think that’s what you have to do for me.”
“That was for me.”
He gives me a look. “So it’s not because you missed my game and felt like you owed me something?”
My chest feels tighter now. “I—I wanted you to know I’d make it up to you.” I don’t want you to leave.
Kian slides his hand over my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m a big boy, Scarlett. I don’t need a lollipop to feel better.”
“Are you calling my body a lollipop?”
“Sure tastes like one.”
I hope to God I don’t blush. He pulls me in so my head is pressed against his warm chest. The fabric of his sweater and the smell of his cologne soften my body like a lullaby.
“What do you need then?”
He hugs me tighter. “This is pretty good.”
I laugh and pull him back onto his bed, both of us falling on it, still caught in an embrace.
“How was your game?” I ask, looking up only to find his eyes closed.
“Good. But I missed my girlfriend.”
There’s a brief pause like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. He opens his eyes and smiles when he sees me looking at him.
“Girlfriend? Am I your girlfriend?”
He raises a brow. “I don’t think we can classify the things we do under a tutor relationship.”