Chapter 6
Sorrow
Ladies first.
I can’t believe Trace said yes.
“We keep this a secret even from our friends.” Anything other than secret would be mortifying.
“Deal.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah. Seven will pummel me for experimenting on one of his girl’s best friends. Same with Malice. And I’ll never hear the last of it from Rue and Leigh that emotions aren’t to be toyed with and I should keep it in my pants when it comes to you.”
Keep it in his pants.
Do I want to go all the way with Trace?
Would he even want to sleep with me?
The better question would be, do I want to be one of his hookups?
I don’t.
I let go of his bicep and hug my knees. “Before we go over rules, can we pinky swear to something?”
He laughs. “Pinky swear, like I’m one of your girlfriends”—he scoffs—“like I’m Leigh?”
I shrug. “Why not? To compartmentalize, I’ll think of you as one of the girls. In my mind, you’re Rue or Leigh.”
Trace laughs more, and I smile. I like the deep sound of his laughter.
“I am not one of your girls, Sorrow.”
“Because you have, um, a penis?”
Chuckling, he brings one of his knees up and hugs it, looking relaxed as he stares forward, when inside, I’m a mess, and my heart is beating fast from how much I like the sound of Trace’s enjoyment at my expense.
“Because, unlike them”—he glances sidelong at me with a sly grin—“I’d like to eat you up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Heat engulfs my body. My core throbs. “How would you do that?” My voice is barely a whisper. My heart is beating so hard I’m out of breath.
He returns his attention to the view. “You want me to spell it out for you, Sorrow?”
The humor is gone from his voice. There is only this underlying darkness. Like he wants to hurt me, but not in a mean, evil way. I can’t pinpoint what it is, other than the darkness in him scares and excites me.
Gulping, I challenge him. “Yes, I would like you to spell it out.”
Pushing my buttons is part of his darkness. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around him. I’m ready to push back, praying to a God I don’t believe in that Trace’s darkness doesn’t drown me.
“Are you sure you can handle the heat?”
I don’t answer right away. How Trace talks to me is different from how the guys at school talk to me.
I understand what he means by “handle the heat” from my romance novels.
I’m not worried about whether I can or can’t handle his next words.
Other words guys say to me scare me. Trace’s words don’t scare. They excite me.
Do I tell him? I decide that I should. Trace is the apex predator, and I can’t fight all my fights alone. I’m tired.
“It can’t be any worse than what other guys say.”
“What the fuck, Sorrow? Who? When? I’m going to fuck up their faces. Break their fucking legs.”
I bask in his anger. Trace pissed off means he cares.
His anger is different from my father’s.
My father didn’t want to protect me. He hid me from the world.
He took out his anger on Mom and me because his life wasn’t going as planned.
Unhappy. Stretched thin with money. A depressed wife.
A kid he didn’t want, from the arguments I overheard him and my mom having.
“What the fuck did they say to you?”
“I . . . I don’t want to tell.” I’ve changed my mind. I’m embarrassed and ashamed to tell him what the guys said and why.
“Well, too fucking bad. You opened a can of worms. Now tell.”
I grab strands of my hair and twist them around my fingers. I start to cover my face with their thickness and length, but Trace stops me with his hand on my wrist.
“Sorrow, please.” He brings his face to mine.
I wear down my bottom lip with my teeth. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him.
He reads me like a book. “I’m glad you told me, now spill.”
I swallow. “Um, they called me a slut and the c-word.”
“Because you’re living in a house with a guy your age?”
I tell him the truth. “Because you have a reputation.”
He blows out a breath. “Fuck me.”
“Their words scare me. I tune them out. Walk faster. Turn and walk the other way when I see them. Taking the long way to class makes me late, but I’d rather be late than have them, um, speak to me.”
Everything pours out of me. It’s so good to tell someone. I would never tell Leigh. She’ll worry. But Trace? He can do something about it.
I thought each day at school would be easier after my entire personal life was leaked in an email to the kids and their parents.
It was the statement I gave to the police, as well as an old report taken from my father, when my mother OD’d. He said I ran away.
My life was out there for them to forward to as many people as they liked. There wasn’t any speculation to be had.
But each day is worse than the last. The taunting is nonstop. Same with the snickering and the whispers.
“I might as well move to a new town. Or a city where no one knows who I am,” I admit wistfully.
“Fuck that. You’re not leaving. I won’t let them run you out of this town.
” He grabs a rock and chucks it into the darkness.
“They weren’t speaking to you. They were fucking harassing you.
It’ll get taken care of the instant we walk on school grounds.
Any guy who harasses you will regret it. Understood?”
A spark of hope ignites in me. I nod. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” he mutters. “It’s the decent thing to do. Come here.” He stretches out his knee and pats the spot between his legs.
Swallowing down my nervousness, my insides knotted with anticipation, I start to rise. He shakes his head. “Crawl on your hands and knees to me, sweet Sorrow.” His voice is low and husky.
My pulse jumps in my throat. I’m lightheaded from my racing heart.
Not thinking, only feeling, I crawl to Trace on my hands and knees and seat myself between his thick thighs.
“Good, that’s good, Sorrow.” He runs his palm over my hair.
His praise does something to the knots in my stomach. They unravel. I sit up straight. He likes that I gave in to his ask. To have my ass backed into his groin. To be trapped between his legs like a mouse in a hawk’s claws.
“Doing okay?” He leans in. His breath is warm on my ear. I tremble with excitement. What do I do? Do I hold still like a statue? Do I cross my arms and avoid touching him? Or do I rest my hands on his legs?
“Yes.” I clasp my hands in my lap.
He puts his mouth on the tip of my ear. His mouth is soft. His tongue darts out and caresses my flesh. His mouth on a part of me I never thought would elicit a visceral reaction from me . . . I slacken against his body, my body melting full on his.
Trace doesn’t falter from the weight of the tragedies I carry as this invisible pack stuffed with them.
He holds me up with his inner and physical strength.
Trace wraps me in his arms and does something I’ve dreamed of but never thought would come true—he sets his chin on top of my head and tightens his hold.
So sweet, his gesture, as we both stare straight ahead at the gorgeous view.
Never would I have thought in a million years that I would have a moment like this.
My throat tightens and my eyes water. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive with his nearness and scent—sweet with a hint of his male musk.
I can’t decide whether to whimper with need, beg him never to let go, or turn into him and cry.
Trace Saints is into casual hookups, and I’m a mess because it’s been so long since someone has held me.
My father didn’t show physical affection.
My last hug was from Leigh. But it’s different to be held by a guy.
Trace lets go long enough to wrap the blanket tight around us. I hold on to the edges while he holds on to me.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
His voice and demeanor return to normal. There isn’t a hint of the darkness from earlier, when he was the big bad wolf, with a black mane and yellow eyes, coming to hunt me down in the scary forest. That’s how I see Trace’s darkness.
“That pinky swear of yours, I’m in. What would you like to swear to?”
“That we won’t catch feelings for one another.”
“I thought we already went over that.”
“We did, but I want your promise.”
“We gotta up the ante.”
We do? “How?”
With his arms around my waist, he brings his face close to mine. “There have to be consequences for breaking the promise.”
“Like what?” I can’t think straight when we’re cheek to cheek. It wouldn’t take much to tilt my face to his and ask for a kiss.
“If one of us breaks the promise and catches feelings, that person has to kiss, in front of the other, the guy or girl of their choosing.”
That is high stakes.
“Who would you pick for me?” I’m curious. “The boy who came up to me?”
“Nah, I’d pick one of his buddies.”
“Why?” The reason comes to me once the word is out. “It’ll make him jealous and make things awkward between the two.”
“My little mouse is smart.” He moves his face away from mine and rubs his chin back and forth on top of my head. “Who would you pick for me?”
My gut clenches at the thought of him kissing another girl.
But Trace isn’t my guy and will never be my guy.
He’s made it very clear that he’s keeping his options open.
I go with the most straightforward answer and someone I can handle him kissing because she isn’t into Trace for more than a hookup. “Phoebe.”
“Deal.” He lifts my arm and curls his pinky finger around mine. “I, Trace Saints, pinky swear that I will not catch feelings for Sorrow Sophia during our one-month experiment. If I do, I will swap spit with Phoebe in front of Sorrow. Satisfied?”
I shake my head.
“Did I miss something? Did you change your mind?”
“Let’s make it two weeks.” I could fall for him in a month. “A month is too long. I’m a fast learner.”
“We stick with a month.”
“Three weeks,” I counter.
“We have a winner.” He repeats the words but changes the last part. “Your turn.”