16. Sydney
sixteen
sydney
I wake up confused. Again. I’m diagonal across my bed, smelling of sex, and it takes me a long moment to put together what just happened.
Fear flashes through me at the thought of Penn snooping around my apartment. I hop up and search the place, but there’s no trace of him. There is a shit ton of cash scattered across my bedroom floor, though.
I’m going to be sick. I bolt for the bathroom and fall to my knees in front of the toilet, my stomach contracting and purging its contents. I cough and spit, and after a long moment clamber back to my feet.
It isn’t until I catch my reflection in the mirror that I notice the necklace.
I lean in and pull it away from my throat to see it better. There’s a little pendant at the end of the slender gold chain. A snake woven around a goalie mask.
What the fuck?
From cruel to possessive?
This is borderline insanity. It’s also mid-afternoon. Which means I slept away most of my Saturday.
My phone goes off, and I lunge for it. I hope for L., my mystery texter, but instead get Carter. Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, if he wasn’t asking to be let up.
The sound of the buzzer from the intercom punctuates it.
I accept it and text him that my door is unlocked.
He enters shortly after, stopping dead at the sight of me in the middle of my living room. He looks particularly delicious today, his hair combed back, black long-sleeve t-shirt that’s tight around his biceps and chest. Jeans. The black eye and cut on his cheek from his fight with Oliver stand out.
“You have a habit of wearing minimal clothes when you let people up?” His voice is husky. “Or is this just for me?”
I bite my lip.
“Sydney.”
He advances, and I put my hand out to stop him. He leans into my palm, planted on his chest, and eye-fucks me. And then his gaze trips over the necklace.
He reaches for it.
I let him.
He picks up the little gold pendant, and his fingers curl around it. For a second, I worry he might tear it from my neck.
“Rumors must be true, then,” he says. “You went to the game in Walker’s sweatshirt, and this fucking confirms it.”
I grab his wrist to keep him here. “It’s not what you think.”
Carter feels like home. I don’t know why. He feels safe in an exhilarating way. If that isn’t the most confusing, mind-fuck of a sentence, I don’t know what is.
“I’m just trying to survive,” I whisper.
His jaw muscle tics.
“I want to be anywhere but here.” I drag him closer, reaching up and skating my thumb over his cheek. “But… I also want to know why you keep coming here like we’re something. Are we?”
He kisses me.
It should answer my question, but it doesn’t. Because this is a preamble for sex, and while he could erase the feeling of Penn between my legs, I also… I kind of want to hold on to it.
Never mind that his cum is still on my back and smeared across my sheets.
So I let him kiss me until I’m weak in the knees, and then I push him away. “You should go.”
He exhales and turns away, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“I’m not?—”
He heads for the door, but he pauses before leaving. “You’re not getting rid of me, Syd. Tell that to your FSU fuckboys. You and me? End-fucking-game.”