Chapter 7
7
RUE
M alice’s parents walk away, leaving me alone with a guy I never want to be alone with again, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I am tired of crashing at one place or another, week after week, of sneaking in and out of places that aren’t mine. I’m tired of mooching off my friends and their generosity. Or do they feel sorry for me?
My mother is MIA, and I don’t know where my father is. At least I know where Riley is. She’s in Dumas, finishing her last year of college and keeping an eye on our grandfather, my mother’s dad.
Riley texted, “He’s sick.” I want to see him, but does he want to see me? Riley is his favorite, and I’m a regret and a disappointment.
“Your mom said only the upstairs bathroom has a shower. Do you mind if I go first?”
“There’s no need getting my permission. You do what you want anyway.”
He couldn’t care less, as though his parents’ house didn’t catch on fire.
“Winslow thinks the fire was intentional.”
“I don’t care what your friend thinks happened.”
What does he care about other than football and his new motorcycle? “You should. The person could be out to hurt you and your parents. Staying here could put you in danger. You should stay elsewhere.”
“My place is as secure as Fort Knox.”
“There are no cameras and no security system.”
“There is. Here, here, and here.” He points to his head, eyes, and ears.
This boy and his fondness for pointing at body parts. “And I’m to believe those parts will help me feel safe?”
“If you’re feeling unsafe, leave.”
I won’t. Malice’s parents are counting on me, and I won’t disappoint them. I’ll show everyone who has ever called me a loser that I am not one.
“I can take care of myself. You’re a different story.”
“Is that right?” He gets up in my personal space, this tall and hulking guy who continues to live in my dreams and nightmares. Whether in my dreams or my nightmares, someday, he’ll abandon me just like everyone else in my life.
“Completely.” I set my hands on his chest and shove. He doesn’t budge. Of course, he doesn’t. Malice is huge .
Before I can step back, he catches sight of the bling on my left hand. Rough fingers circle my wrist. My hand is brought close to his face. “You didn’t have this on at the party. What the hell is it?”
“A promise ring.”
“Red?”
I lift my chin. “No.”
“Then who?”
“Does it matter?” I tug my hand out of his and rub out the lingering pain from his grip.
His eyes widen. He locks his jaw. Malice takes a step back. “Go shower, Rue, before I do something I’ll regret.”
“Like what?”
“Like yanking that damn ring off your finger.”
Why is he so angry? Does he hate me that much? Was I not worthy of being his first? “Why do you care?”
“Because you belong to my prick of a cousin.”
“He says the same of you.”
“You don’t belong to me.”
“That’s not what I meant. He says you’re a jerk too.”
“Toe-mae-toe, toe-ma-toe. Anyway, I don’t want you, Rue. You’re nothing but trouble.”
My chest caves in on itself from his hurtful words, but I refuse to cry. Crying gives someone power over me. Gives them the chance to wallow in their satisfaction at making me hurt. I step forward and jab my finger into his chest.
“I hate you too.”
“Good.”
“Good.” I jab harder.
He looks down, his gaze focused on my small breasts. I take slow breaths in and out. He follows the movements. Suddenly, I can’t take a full breath in. I’m lightheaded from his nearness and his scent. Male. Virile.
Virile .
Cassie . She was with him earlier. They hooked up. I’m certain of it. My body gets cold. My finger falls from his chest. I ball my hand against my side. “I hate you, Malice.”
“Keep saying it, Rue. The feeling is mutual, sweet thing.”
“Don’t call me what you call your girls. I’m not one of them.”
“You’re right, Regret .”
I suck in a breath, having this sudden urge to smack the smirk off his face. But I go with a nonviolent idea of evening the score.
“I hate that you think you’re better than everyone else,” I say, playing into Malice’s hate game. “You’re not. Strip you of your last name and your parents’ money, and you’re nobody.”
He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.”
“Seriously? That’s your comeback?”
“You have a better one, Regret ?”
He leans into me until our noses touch.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Or else what, Regret ?”
I growl low in the back of my throat. He chuckles.
“You gonna do more than hurl words at me? You gonna hurl that skinny ass of yours at me instead?”
I scoff. “You wish.”
“I do, Regret .”
“ Malice .”
He smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Malice puts distance between us. With his palm up, he gestures for me to come and get him.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re asking for it.”
“Ooh, I’m scared.”
“You better be. I’ve had practice wrestling with the guys.”
“This won’t be your average tumble with your boys, Regret. I don’t play fair. Nor do I go easy.”
“My friends don’t show me mercy.”
“I highly doubt that. You’re a girl.”
“What does that mean exactly ?”
“They go easy on you because you’re a girl. I don’t see you the same.”
He looks my body up and down, and something hot flares in the depths of his beautiful eyes. Suddenly, my shirt is tight across my breasts. My nipples pebble and press against my bra. Malice zones in on my girls, and my body betrays me more.
My gut clenches in anticipation. My heart does this loud thump , thump , thump against my rib cage. Can Malice tell I am turned on? Oh yes. Yes, he can.
He flicks his gaze up and down my body, lingering on the places I’m insecure about. My hair. There is so much of it. Mom complained about having to comb through the tangles. My unremarkable eyes. They are the color of mud rather than sparkling amber like Riley’s. Then there are my lips. Why are they top-heavy? It’s like a bee stung my top lip, and it stayed that way. Malice stares at them and bites down on his.
Is he thinking of our first kiss and the many that followed? His lips were pillowy, soft, and toasty warm. Will my heart thump against my rib cage and butterflies flutter in my belly the next time we kiss? But what happens after a kiss?
The memory of the anger on his face after I dropped news of the baby overshadows my better memories of our times together. Nothing good will come of starting anything with Malice.
The way he looks at me is for show. He’s attempting to get me under his thumb and sabotage my chance of proving everyone wrong. Prove that I can be something other than my mother’s biggest regret.
“How do you see me?” I ask, bringing us back to our hate game.
“A good-for-nothing tease, Regret .”
An invisible knife twists in my gut. My chest aches with hurt. “You go too far, Malice.”
“Whatcha gonna do about it?” A hard glint sparks in his eyes. “You gonna make me pay, Regret?”
I understand this game well. My uncle’s girlfriend played it. Malice is taunting me, expecting I’ll give in to my temper. My temper got me into trouble and running with the wrong crowd when I was a lost thirteen-year-old girl looking for guidance from her mother. The only thing I received for my effort was rejection.
“No, I’m not. I am going to take a shower and go to bed. Good night, Malice.”
Without looking at him, I pivot and head up the stairs. His next words stop me. Or more like the noises he is making. He’s clucking. I turn and glare.
“Are you accusing me of being a chicken?”
He clucks louder.
I march over and smack my palms on his chest. He’s an immovable mass of muscles. I dig my heels into the floor and shove him hard. He mocks stumbling. That butt! I swing my leg behind his and trip him. He falls backward. I lurch back, putting distance between us. Malice snatches me around the waist, turns onto the couch, and flips us. I land with an “oomph.”
He lands on top of me, and our legs tangle. My fingers find their way into his hair. My face nestles in the crook of his neck. Malice keeps his weight above me but off me. I inhale, grateful he isn’t smothering me with his large body. Bad move. I catch a whiff of his scent. Earthy with a hint of spice.
My imagination wanders down a path it normally takes at night while I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of wherever I am crashing for the night or the week. I play a game of what-ifs. What if I press my mouth on his skin or flick my tongue out to take a taste? His skin would be hot and salty, just like how it was that night, though we were out in the open beneath the moon and the stars.
Do I dare stick my tongue out and taste his skin? Or can I rest my lips there instead? How about I do both? I smooth my mouth on his skin. His skin is hot. I flick my tongue out and have a taste. Salty. Yum . I hum in the back of my throat.
He groans. “Rue. Baby . You’re killing me.”
Good. I brush my nose against his neck and inhale before smoothing my lips on his flesh and tasting him. He smells and tastes so good that I could eat him up right now.
He rests his weight on my lower body. A wave of heat sweeps over me, and I fist my fingers in his hair, wrap my legs around his waist, and lift my hips to meet the demands of his.
“Rue. Jesus.”
I love the weight of his lower body pressed into mine. I like how he said my name without anger in his voice. He likes how we are at this moment, and so do I, with my legs wrapped around his waist and my hips tipped as he grinds his pelvis on mine.
“Malice, please.” I am panting and begging.
What am I doing?
I don’t want to be one of Malice’s hookups. When I let a guy make love to me again, it will be because he wants me and only me.
I want a guy who will see me for me.
I want a boyfriend and not a friend who is a boy.
Malice isn’t it.
He is not boyfriend material.
He can never be my friend.
We tried that, and the lines were crossed.
We cannot go back to what we had.
I have to move forward.
Seven more months and he’ll leave for Dumas, playing ball for Dumas University.
Where does that leave me if I fall for him?
Heartbroken and abandoned .
I let go of his hair and my hold on his waist. “Time for you to get off me.”
“Hey, wait, hold up. You’re hot for me one minute, and the next, someone’s kicked your puppy. Uh-uh. What’s wrong, Rue?”
He stares at my unremarkable brown eyes. A window to my soul . I glance to the side, afraid he’ll see my sadness. In the stillness of the moment, I soak in my surroundings and wait for the ache in my chest to lessen. Surprisingly, for a guy, Malice has great taste in furnishings.
A mahogany entry table is at the bottom of the stairs, an obvious place for setting keys, bags, or an employment contract. Ignoring the beats of my heart as he slides down and presses his face into the curve of my neck, I sweep my gaze over his place. Next to the stairs is an open kitchen with an island. From my viewpoint, I imagine light-colored granite countertops that bring out the dark wood of the barstools. Hanging from the ceiling is a wooden rack for pots and pans. They are a fiery red. Anger. Passion . That night.
I avert my gaze and continue to the wall across from the front door. There is a fireplace with a white mantle.
My dream home would have one in the living room and the bedroom, as well as dark wood floors and wainscoting. How does a poor girl from the bad side of town know about wainscoting? My uncle’s girlfriend binged house-flipping and home-decorating shows.
Her interest is the only positive outcome of my dislike for her. Someday, I would like to buy and flip houses.
“Malice?”
“Hmm?”
“I like the plants in your place.” A large monstera in a ceramic periwinkle pot sits near one of the large windows, surrounded by a fig tree, something that looks like elephant ears, and a small bookcase lined with plants rather than books. “I would have never guessed you’re a plant guy.”
His chuckle on my warm flesh gets my girl parts hot. “What kind of guy did you think I’d be?”
“Dark leather recliners with places for your drinks and remotes. A large glass case showcasing all your trophies. A huge fish tank with barracudas and eels. Clothes strewn everywhere. Used condoms forgotten in the folds of the couch.”
“You’re wrong about everything, including the condoms.”
“Are you sure?” Cassie was over hours earlier. Oh God, were they doing the dirty on this couch?
“Care to check?”
No, but there is no backing out of the challenge in his tone. “Most definitely.”
I stick my hand between the cushions. He stops me with his fingers around my wrist. “If I’m right, what will you give me?” He stares at my lips. My stomach does a weird somersault.
“A kiss?” My voice is raspy.
“Uh-uh, Regret.” He skims his knuckles across my top lip. “If I’m right, you stay away when I’m with a girl or girls . Understood?”
The invisible knife cuts deeper into my gut. The ache in my chest deepens until I can’t breathe. Anticipation and any ounce of happiness is sucked from me.
Out of breath from the pain in my chest, I nod. He rolls off me. I search the cushions. He towers over me and waits.
“Well?”
“You’re right,” I mutter. “No condoms.”
A satisfied grin from him.
I rise to my feet. Was Cassie on birth control? Did they do it without a condom? Could she be pregnant with Malice’s baby? What will I do if she is? Why did I offer up a kiss? Why open old wounds?
I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Hurt feelings are what I deserve for believing a guy could want me after having fallen for my sister. That is my life in a nutshell. Second best. The regret after the blessing. My mother didn’t think she could get pregnant. She had endometriosis.
Things were going well for my parents. They reconciled after separating. Then she became pregnant with me, and Dad left. He didn’t plan to have more kids. He abandoned my pregnant mom. His leaving her is the reason she named me Rue. I am her biggest regret.
Not sparing Malice a glance, I go to my room, gather clean clothes, and head for the shower. In the shower, beneath the hot water, I wash away Malice’s scent, the feel of his mouth on my flesh. Lifting my face, I finally give in to the hurt in my chest and cry.