9. Blake
BLAKE
Holy shit, that was close.
If Grady hadn’t been there, I would have been totally busted.
But when he moved in front of me to argue with the store manager, it gave me the chance to slip that polish out of my pocket and tuck it behind the boxes of tissues on the shelf behind me.
Damn, what a thrill.
I’ve never been so close to being busted before.
Letting out a soft laugh, I shake my head, reliving the moment.
Oh man, the way Grady growled and told Kevin to get his hands off me…
Talk about sexy.
And sweet. No other guy has ever protected me that way before. Other than my brother, which is completely different.
Grady is so fire. Trying to play it cool when we walked out of the store took everything out of me .
The buzzing in my chest suddenly fizzles out, drowned by a bucket of cold reality.
Shit.
What if he hadn’t been there?
Or what if he’d seen me pulling that polish out of my pocket?
The look on his face would have been…
My stomach sours as I then picture Wily’s face if he ever found out that his little sister was a shoplifting thief.
I never thought I could do something like that, but I was out with my roomie.
We were bored and she was restless, antsy.
We were set to go to a party that night, but it was still three hours away.
I’d made my morning classes but ditched the afternoon ones, not wanting to be reminded of the fact that I was failing like I never had before.
I hadn’t even bothered showing up for a test the week earlier, knowing I was bound to fail it.
I hadn’t done one minute of studying, so what was the point of putting myself through an hour of stress and confusion?
So, we were wandering around downtown Chicago, walking in and out of shops but not in the mood to buy anything.
Loitering in the makeup aisle, Cleo and I were giggling over different lipstick colors. She tried on a bright cherry red, then made me try a neon pink.
“We look like hookers.” She giggled in the mirror, wiggling her eyebrows and making me laugh.
The color was awful on me, and I wiped it off with my finger, smearing a little across my cheek. She giggled again, then snatched the tube before I could put it back, shoving it into my pocket.
“What are you doing?” I laughed, going to put it back .
But she grabbed my wrist before I could.
“Take it,” she dared me, her eyes sparking with challenge.
“What?” I whispered. “No way. I can’t.”
“Why not? It’ll be fun.” Her expression was so vibrant.
“It’s stealing,” I mouthed before glancing over my shoulder, feeling like a covert operative as I checked the coast was clear.
A thrill whistled through me.
No one in the aisle was watching us, but she leaned in close, her breath fanning across my face. “It’s no big deal. Just do it. It’s a rush.”
“But I can afford to pay for it,” I softly argued. “Even though I’d never buy this hideous color.”
“It’s not about the fucking money, Miss Trust Fund. It’s about the thrill.” She squeezed my wrist, leaning back to look me up and down. “Come on, baby. Don’t be a pussy.”
Her eyes continued to dance, and I couldn’t deny that spark burning inside me.
I’d never done anything so daring. So dangerous.
And I wanted it.
I wanted that rush.
So, I lifted my chin, looked around us, and headed for the exit. Cleo curled her hand around my arm, and we strutted out of that store with my stolen lipstick.
And yeah, it was a rush.
Addictive.
Naughty.
I’d never done anything like it. And that one small act unlocked a gate .
Or maybe the hinge had been broken for a while, and I just hadn’t been willing to act on it.
But meeting Cleo was the catalyst I needed.
She was the one who encouraged me to ditch class. She dared me to lift my first tube of lipstick, and that night, we celebrated like it was our last day on the planet.
Thanks to my monthly allowance from Mommy and Daddy, we lived it up.
I got off-my-ass drunk and ended up making out with Cleo’s friend Nico.
He’s Italian, and damn if his hands and lips aren’t the best. He ended up being my first about two nights later, and it wasn’t so bad.
After that, I ping-ponged between him and Simon.
It all depended on who was there. They didn’t seem to mind sharing me, and I’m pretty sure they were hooking up on the side with Cleo and whoever else they were into.
No one was a couple. Everything was casual, no strings attached, free love and all that shit.
Damn, when I think about it now, it makes the four of us sound like orgy-loving porn stars.
But I only hooked up with one guy at a time, and…
When I was lost in that drunken haze, partying it up… it didn’t feel wrong.
It’s not until you’re sober, waking up half-naked in a bed you don’t recognize, that you start to wonder if your life choices are all that great.
But that rush.
That rush is the best.
I miss it.
Shit, maybe I even miss Cleo.
No, you do not!
After what she did to me—what she’s still trying to do to me—I’ve thought about buying a voodoo doll and sticking pins in its eyes.
But that day I left… I think I was too numb to feel anything as I packed up my stuff and rented a storage unit.
She just sat there on her bed, watching me, not saying shit.
I hated her in that moment.
But now I’m pining, like some loyal puppy dog.
Stop it! I hate you for doing that!
My insides coil.
She opened my eyes. Introduced me to a world of freedom and reckless fun.
It’s an addictive rush, and I want it again.
Pulling out my phone for just a second, I think about texting her. I even find our last message exchange.
Rage fires through me, hot and fast.
Fuck her!
My mind jumps back to that first night out of the dorm. I was holed up in a hotel room, wondering what the fuck to do with myself.
I had no idea how I was going to tell my parents what had happened.
The university hadn’t contacted them as far as I was aware, and I was just lying there, waiting for the impending explosion.
Hatred for Cleo burned bright. That bitch dumped me in it. She put all the blame on me, and I should have dragged her right down with me.
But for some reason, I didn’t.
I still haven’t figured out why.
She was just as guilty as I was.
Just as worthy of suspension as me.
But I let her get away with it.
Why the fuck did I do that ?
Hating my weakness, I sat on that bed and deleted her number. And then I deleted Simon’s and Nico’s and every other contact I’d made in Chicago.
My chest was heaving by the time I was done. And in that moment, I had no idea Cleo would reach out to me again. Reach out to torture me.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I cross my arms, hunching over myself as the rain picks up and starts to fall in thick, heavy droplets.
That night in the hotel room, all I had left on my phone was my old life… and I couldn’t reach out to anyone on that list.
Because none of them would get it.
I’d burned bridges with my high school besties, and they probably didn’t want to know me anymore.
All that was left was my family. And they couldn’t know. They could never know that their precious angel had become a complete fuckup.
But that’s what I was.
And it’s probably what I’ve always been. I was just really good at hiding it.
“Shit.” I run a hand down my wet face, no doubt smearing my mascara. Who fucking cares.
I’m shaking. My whole body is vibrating with these restless tremors.
“I need a drink,” I mutter.
I want to get rip-roaring wasted so I don’t have to think about this shit anymore.
Fuck, I should never have thrown away my fake ID. It was in a moment of weakness when I was trying to find my old self again. I chopped it up into little pieces, then dropped to my knees on that hotel carpet and cried, instant regret taking me out.
I’m sure as shit regretting it again!
I just need a drink. A distraction. Something to numb this irritation.
The nail polish was supposed to be it, but that was a bust.
I should be grateful to Grady for saving my ass…
And I am.
But now I’m back to feeling like shit over what he’d think if he knew that I’d really done it. I’d taken that polish and had every intention of walking out the door with it.
I didn’t even like that metallic blue. I wasn’t going to wear it.
But it wasn’t about the product. It was about the rush.
And I want that rush again.
I burn for it.
Crossing my arms, I stalk the streets of Nolan, not ready to head back to Football Frat but not knowing where else to go.
I wander through the campus, my clothes getting more and more soaked as I check out the buildings and feel a small spark of interest. But it’s quickly dimmed when I imagine the mind-numbing shittiness of becoming a study nerd again. I had no life. None.
And any kind of thrill?
I had no idea what that even was.
Not until I met Cleo. Not until I let her pull me off the rails.
Shit. How can I love and hate something in equal measure ?
My phone buzzes with a text and I pull it out of my back pocket, reading Wily’s message.
Shithead: Where you at, butt face? The rain’s getting kind of heavy. Need a ride?
I glare at the screen, wishing I had an easy answer. I usually love how protective he is, but right now, it feels suffocating. I don’t want a ride back to Football Frat. How do I face him right now?
My brain’s a mess, and I don’t have it in me to put on my good girl smile. I just need a little more time.
Guilt ratchets through me as I quickly type my response.
Found the library. Nirvana!! Don’t expect me back anytime soon. Unless you need something.
It takes him less than a minute to reply.
Shithead: Haha! Study nerd! I’m all good here. Satch just arrived. Call me when you need a ride home and I’ll send one of the guys to come get ya.
I send back a thumbs-up, already dreading that moment.
Spinning, I turn my back on the library and keep walking. The darkness sets in as I aimlessly wander, and my sensible, logical brain is telling me to get back to the house already. I’m hungry, and walking around in the rainy darkness by myself is a terrible idea.
But I’ve wandered so long and so far now, I have no fucking idea where I am.
Slowing to a stop, I scan the neighborhood. I can tell by the cars parked in driveways and the unkempt lawns that I must be on a street that’s mostly populated by college students.
Hearing a distant thud of music, I turn and walk toward it, curiosity getting the better of me.
I know that thud.
It’s familiar.
It means a party.
It means fun.
It means a scratch for this restless itch I’ve been fighting all day.
It takes me two minutes to walk down the street, and I’m soon standing outside a house that’s practically vibrating, the ground beneath my feet pulsing, the lights inside calling to me. Uncontrolled laughter, out-of-tune singing, shouts and whoops. It’s all so familiar.
“Hey, sugar.” A guy walks past me, his smile friendly as he heads up the path. Turning back, he points a thumb over his shoulder. “You coming?”
“Don’t know anyone.” I lift my chin at the house behind him.
“Doesn’t matter.” His smile grows even wider. “These parties are always for everyone. Come on. It’ll be fun.” Tipping his head toward the house, he beckons me through the front door .
I watch him step inside, shaking his wet hair like a dog and laughing when the girl closest to him lets out a squeal, then slaps his arm. He pulls her in for a kiss and she pushes him away, then laughs at something he said, raising her red Solo cup in the air and whooping before kissing his lips.
Uncertainty niggles, trying to warn me away as I check the street, left and right before my eyes land back on that front door. It’s still hanging open, still beckoning me to enter.
That buzz starts to fire inside me again.
I need this.
Just one night to let loose, and then I can go back to playing pretend again.
There’s no harm in that, right?