Chapter 36
Malena
Winchester’s annual Crimson Day races had been tradition for over a hundred years.
Freshmen vs. sophomores and juniors vs. seniors.
On the first weekend in November, the different classes’ crew teams raced in the bay.
And tradition dictated that they race in three-piece suits.
It was a raucous day that usually bled into the night with parties at the outrageously well-appointed boat houses, if you were able to secure an invitation.
It was the world Sabrina avoided, so we tended to go home or to a bar afterward.
“I have to say, I prefer the wet suits.” Cora craned her neck and looked out at the water where the first set of races for the underclassmen were starting.
“Yeah, Cora, we all do.”
I laughed, mostly because we only ever spectated the rowing races that took place in New Harbor or Cambridge. And before a month ago, we only went to those because they were a Winchester tradition.
Early in the afternoon, students started popping up along the shore, giving the event a festival feeling. Stands with hot cider that everyone spiked, snacks and food trucks at the end of the walk, tents and picnics dotting the shoreline up to the row houses where relevant groups converged.
My phone buzzed in my hand and my heart immediately jumped. I looked at the screen and it fell back down, disappointed.
Mom: Why are you at the bay?
I let out a frustrated huff and typed into my real phone.
Me: It’s a campus event. The boat races.
Mom: Oh, okay. Don’t stay out late.
“I should have just brought the burner.” I tucked my phone in my pocket.
“You have to take the real one out some time,” Cora reminded me as we walked up the now yellowed grass. “You being locked in your room every moment you’re not in class is unbelievable.”
“Yeah. That’s true,” I conceded.
My parents knew me to be a little headstrong, so I pushed their boundaries in ways they wouldn’t like but also wouldn’t care about.
It was a fine balance.
“So… what exactly is going on with your guy?” Cora stopped us just past the hot cider stand so she could pour some bourbon into both of our cups from her flask.
“I dunno…” I glanced at my phone again and realized why I hadn’t gotten a text from Conrad yet.
Since it was subject to inspection, flings never got added to my real phone.
Conrad and every other hookup lived in my burner.
Kash was the one exception because on some level, I knew he was the only one who could traverse both worlds.
If my mom discovered his texts, she’d be pissed, but it would be a bump, not an earthquake.
“You don’t know what’s going on between you and Conrad?” Cora turned to me, tucking the flask back into her jacket pocket “You sleep there almost every night. You got back here after Paris practically giddy, and you’ve stayed that way.”
Anxiety curled in my stomach because I knew I was getting way too attached to him. The other night at the Manhattan Records was proof—I felt so at ease that I never wanted it to end. But it had to, since I couldn’t keep dodging the relationship question.
“I’m excited about the article.” I tried to skirt around her question with a truth.
Between the records Conrad and I found and those I was able to locate about the Lancaster family over the last week in the Connecticut public records, my confidence was at an all-time high.
“The families I told you about, the Lancasters and Carringtons, they immigrated to the states and grew to some prosperity. Looks like they owned quite a few homes around New Harbor.”
Cora’s brows and lips flattened.
“And I am pretty sure they’re connected to the painter,” I went on. “The original immigration record stated they were from the same region of Germany that Nicolas Van Holden was from, which is too wild to be a coincidence. Oh! And they went to Winchester.”
“Okay.” Cora blinked, then crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “And the article is why you wore that?”
“What?” I looked down innocently at my shirt even though I knew that wasn’t what she was pointing out.
“You decided this was the year you’d wear a rowing shirt?”
Each class had specific long-sleeved crew necks that students were encouraged to wear to the races to show support.
There were half a dozen juniors whose names were printed on the onyx-colored shirts that we could choose from, but mine had SCOTT written on it for Alexander Scott, who was always a top pick among our year.
“I happen to have school spirit,” I defended.
Conrad kept showing up for me in ways I never expected. He listened to me. After a lifetime of not verbalizing my needs, he heard every one and found ways to fulfill them. My being here today was a way to show up for him.
And I knew that meant I was probably in too deep, but I didn’t want to think about that.
“As much as I believe that monogamy only really benefits men,” Cora pointed out, “I’ve never seen you like this, it’s sweet.
I think you should embrace it.” She had always been my most ardent supporter when it came to “flings only,” believing that my quest to experience as much as I could was a noble one.
“Yeah…” I wanted to embrace it.
Cora ducked her head to the side and looked behind me, a smile on her face.
“Malena,” Conrad called. I glanced over my shoulder and there he was, wearing a suit reminiscent of the masquerade party in the clock tower. This time his jaw sat on edge, and his eyes didn’t move from mine.
I turned back around to Cora, who blurted, “Oh look,” and then pointed to nowhere in particular. “Bye,” she whispered, squeezing my arm before slipping away.
Two hands smoothed along my waist and yanked me back. His towering frame loomed behind me and he lowered his mouth to my ear. “What the hell are you wearing?”
A delightful set of sparks ran down my neck with his breath. “A shirt?”
He turned me around to face him. Brown hair a little messy, piercing blue eyes staring straight through me, I grinned. He pressed his lips against mine for a moment.
“If I knew that you wanted to wear one of these…” His fingers snuck under my shirt and I wiggled at the cool touch. “I’d have given you one of mine.”
While rowing crew was a pretty niche sport, at the Ivies, it was one of the longest-standing. So, there were a lot of traditions around them. And like a lot of traditions, these were aimed at friendly competition between the different classes.
“This may come as a surprise, but I like wearing my own clothes.”
A smirk slid up one of his cheeks. “You woke up in my clothes this morning. Yesterday morning. The morning before that…”
“That’s different.” I squirmed as his thumb stroked the bare skin at my navel, making my stomach dip and bow. “I’m in an altered head space after an orgasm.”
“If that’s the case…” His eyes flicked up and he looked over his shoulder to the clock on the facade of one of the boat houses. “I have some time before the race.”
“You’re cute when you’re a little jealous.” I rolled my teeth over my lower lip.
“I’m glad you think so.” His voice lowered and he brushed his lips against my ear. “Now, take it off. Or I’ll take it off for you.”
His stern tone rippled down my body.
“You first.” I ran my fingers along his crisp button-up. It sat perfectly over each rigid muscle on his abdomen. “I prefer the wet suit, but this is nice.”
He groaned. “Mal.”
“I’m cheering for my class.” I pointed to all the junior rowers who were beginning to gather at the shoreline as the freshman vs. sophomore races finished. “Rules are rules.”
He didn’t say anything, only watched me. Everything fell quiet under the blaring sound of my heart in my ears and the inescapable tingle between my thighs. He tightened his arms around me, his lips hovering over mine.
Just as the space between us closed to nothing, I jerked back at the sound of an air horn. The tension snapped and fell away, and the world came rushing back.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he warned in my ear before pressing a kiss just below it.
The taste of cider and saltwater mixed in my mouth as Conrad pressed me against the wall in the Hastings boat house. At the back corner of the room where lines of brand-new shells were neatly stacked, Conrad kissed me deeply.
Soft and playful at first, the kiss escalated so fast that now every part of my body was involved.
“Con…” I broke away, gasping for air.
“Let’s go back to my place,” he repeated for the third time since he pulled me in here.
I scrunched my nose playfully, pushing my fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “What’s the rush?”
“I won. I got dressed. I got you.” Immobilized in a heavy stare, every syllable plucked a string deep in my stomach. “Let’s go.”
A rivulet of water ran from his wet hair to an eyelash, falling to his cheek before moving over his lips. Unable to help myself, I leaned forward and licked it. Salty and sinful, an ache flourished between my legs.
“Or…” I rolled my hips against him and looked around the immaculate, and very empty, shell house.
He cleared his throat and pulled back. “Here?”
Being with him made me want to chase the things I wanted, and right now, I wanted him.
“Are we alone?” I asked through shallow breaths.
Not even twenty minutes after the last race had finished, everyone was out on the shoreline, where the party would continue for the rest of the afternoon.
“For now.” His voice wavered alongside his restraint. “You want me to fuck you here?”
The throbbing in my core refused to be ignored. “Yes.”
A sly grin slanted up along his lips. He unbuttoned my jeans, bunched the fabric in his hands, and slid it a few inches down my thighs. The cool air swept against my skin, teasing my already jittery nerves.
He gently passed his thumb over my clit, barely grazing it.
I arched back against the wall and he leaned in, pressing kisses down my neck in time with his thumb running progressively firmer strokes.
A moan slipped out of my mouth.
He paused for a moment and brought his lips to mine.