13. Closer
13
Closer
HAZE
What would you do if life gave you a second chance? Would you take it? Or tell yourself that everything happens for a reason? If someone came up to you with a time machine and asked, “Do you want to go back?”
Would you?
I’m guessing many would, and part of me would, too.
But the other part…
The other part knows that what happened to Desiree led me to Winter. My obsession with Marcus, the urge to learn to fight so that I would never be weak again, all of it carved the path that took me straight to her.
To the only girl I’ve ever loved.
Would I give up love for family? Would I lose Winter to save Desiree? I think that’s a question I’ll never be able to answer. My head is down, my throat sore and my breathing sharp. It’s become a goddamn habit of mine. Whenever I’m meeting up with Ricky, I’m also meeting up with myfears.The anxiety never leaves me.
But Winter will.
Shut up, inner Haze.
You would think four months of dead ends would make this easier—it doesn’t. I clench my fists as I recall the ridiculous leads that I’ve been following since June. After we tracked him to the creepy-ass motel, it all stopped. The transactions, the clues, everything. Almost like someone wanted me to find the place. It was too easy. I haven’t been able to stop wondering if it was a test. A way to see who would come looking. A means to an end.
On a slightly brighter note, I’m starting to know the area’s poorly frequented spots like the back of my hands. From abandoned warehouses to sketchy bars, I’ve seen enough dumps for a lifetime. I met up with the shadiest people on earth, but none of them told me any valuable information. Some say they’ve seen a guy who matches the description, but seeing the guy and knowing where he is are two very different things. Not to mention there’s no way to know if they’re being truthful or taking advantage of a desperate kid. The last dirtbag said he heard of a Marcus: a guy on the run, a drunk, a drug addict, a waste of oxygen.
But I don’t think putting my trust in the hands of someone whose only friend is the bottom of a bottle is a good idea.
I just dropped Winter off at Allie’s house for the day. She said she didn’t want to stay home alone during my “shift” at the auto-repair shop.
I fucking hate myself.
She would hate me, too, if she knew where I was really going. Where I’ve been going every night since we moved in together. I had to come up with an excuse so she wouldn’t get suspicious whenever I went to meet Ricky.
During the drive to Allie’s, I didn’t reach for her hand, didn’t kiss her goodbye before she got out of the car, didn’t even comment on how great her ass looked in her jeans. Now that I can’t touch her, it’s all I’m thinking about. She’s good—really good. She “accidentally” dropped her phone right in front of me, and “randomly” chose to wear the tightest jeans she owns today. I’m already fucking dying from notfeeling herfor a whole week. Shit, I’m totally going to lose, aren’t I?
Walking alone, I tuck my hands in my pockets. It’s getting colder out. Soon we’ll be buried in snow. Winter was right—the first snow melted before it even touched the ground. I’m starting to think I won’t be happy once it’s here to stay.
I grab my phone and dial Vic’s number.
Two rings.
He picks up.
“Hey, man.” His voice is faint, barely there.
“Hey… Is everything okay?” He sounds like crap.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Vic, what’s wrong?” I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s lying through his teeth.
A long silence sits between us.
“It’s Bea. She’s cheating on me.”
I wince. They’ve been together for years. He loved her so much he moved to another fucking country for her.
He did what you couldn’t , my conscience taunts me.
“I’m so sorry. How long?”
“Since we got to Toronto. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you… going to stay here?” I really hope he doesn’t run back to Colton Gate. He’s already studying here. Might as well stay.
“I don’t know. I can’t think about that right now. I’m going out with some guys from school tonight and finding myself a rebound pussy. You coming?”
“Rain check. I still got a shit ton to prepare for Winter’s birthday this Saturday.” I feel awful for not being there to cheer him up.
“No worries.”
A noise.
“Hold on.” I swivel so quickly I scare off a bird on the ground.
What the…
Footsteps?
No one.
I’m alone in the alley.
I bring the phone back to my ear. “Sorry. I’m fucking paranoid. I could’ve sworn I heard something.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, well, lying to your girl for months will do that to you. Hey, did you need something? I got to get to work, then I have to go drink until I don’t remember Bea’s name.”
With a bad feeling, I glance around the alley once more. “Yeah. I just need you to cover for me if she calls.”
“Another shift, huh?” His tone gives away how disappointed he is in me.
Believe me, Vic.No one’s more disappointed than I am.
He’s never approved of my obsession with finding Marcus. Although I’ve never said a word to him about the organization providing with me tips to keep him safe, he’s the only one who knows apart from Tanner that I’m actively looking for Des’s killer, and he gives me shit about it every chance he gets.
“How long are you going to pretend to work at the shop? She’s not an idiot. She’ll figure it out eventually, and trust me, if it’s not from you, you’re screwed. It’s over.”
I continue to walk, watching my back every two seconds. I don’t feel alone.
Haze, relax. It’s just your guilty conscience fucking with you.
“You don’t get it… I can’t. And even if I could, what the hell would I say? ‘Hey, babe. You know how I moved to another country with you and said it was because I love you? Well, I lied. The real reason I came with you is because I found out my sister’s killer might be here. Yes, I’ve been looking for him. For years, actually, and I never told you. But we’re fine right? You’re not mad? Cool. Thanks for understanding. Let’s get married.’”
A beat of silence.
“But you do love her, right?”
I almost laugh. That is the dumbest question I’ve heard in a while.
“Are you serious? Of course I do. More than anything. I would’ve followed her as soon as I got rid of the bastard.”
“Then take it from someone who just found out the person they trusted the most on the planet has been lying to them. You can’t keep this up, man. You have to tell her. Soon. Or if you can’t for some fucked-up reason, you have to let her go.I’m covering for you at the shop again, but she deserves better than that.” He pauses. “I got to go. I’ll hold you to that rain check.”
He hangs up.
Let her go. Like it’s that fucking easy.
I brush off the bad vides in the air when I arrive to the meeting spot. My foot squelches in something wet, sticky, and I curse when I notice I’ve stepped in something that, at first sight, looks like mud. Or is it dog shit?
Getting abandoned with a massive boner this morning and stepping in possible dog shit now? This day just keeps on getting better and better.
I scan the area, waiting for Ricky to show his emotionless, psychopath face, and spot a silhouette down the alley. He’s got his cap on, his hands in his pocket. He’s on time. For once. What’s he going to give me today? More dead ends? More threats about keeping this to myself?
I send the dumpster behind me a glare and try to forget the noise, the footsteps. But I can’t. Vic’s speech comes back to me. Not only does it come back, it also hits me where it hurts. She deserves better than that . I know what he really meant to say is She deserves better than you . He’s right. I don’t care about the consequences. She might leave me. I might lose her forever. But I’m going to do it.
Just after her birthday,
I’m going to tell her.
WINTER
“It smelled like death. I’m telling you. Don’t use whipped cream during foreplay. It smelled so bad Kendrick and I almost puked when we woke up.”
Listening to Allie go on and on about her bedroom disasters has always been entertaining for me. Until now. Turns out being related to the guy she rambles on about makes it … weird.
I try to tame my brain.
Stop, brain.
Don’t picture your cousin with whipped cream on his nipples, brain.
Let me tell you: it is hard.
“You two are unbelievable.” I slouch into the couch.
She laughs. “Says the girl who’s literally paying people so she can sleep with her boyfriend.”
“Wait, you know about that?”
“Yeah, Kendrick texted me.”
Of course he did. Nothing goes on in the apartment without Allie knowing anymore.
“Well, Haze’s going to want his money back because I told him I’m not touching him until he agrees to get a dog. First one to flinch and touch the other loses.”
“No way? How’d he take it?”
“Almost beat down the bathroom door when I left him with a hard-on, so, not well?”
What? Girls conversations aren’t always classy . Known facts.
“Who do you think’s going to win?”
I pause for a second, thinking back to the tension filling up the car when Haze dropped me off.
“I was pretty confident this morning, but now, I’m not so sure,” I admit.
“That good, huh?”
“You have no idea.” I bite on the inside of my cheek.
Maybe I made a mistake taking on a challenge I can’t win. No, Winter. Do it for your dog. Do it for Waze— yes, I might have already named the dog by combining our names. Sue me.
Allie’s eyes widen when she sees the time on her phone. “Is it really five already? I thought Haze was picking you at four thirty.” Anxiety flares in her voice.
“Uh, yeah, I’m sure he’s just stuck in traffic. Why? Are you expecting someone?” I joke, unsuspecting that I am right on.
“Actually…”
A knock on Allie’s door cuts me off.
“See, he’s here.” I get up and glide down the hall.
“Winter, wait.” She follows me. “It’s not—”
I open the door and instantly regret it.
“Haze,” she finishes.
Caleb.
I haven’t talked to him once since the night of my housewarming party. He’s been trying, to the point of insanity, to get me to talk to him: texting, calling, even sending letters to my apartment—you name it, he’s done it. I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder, certain that we can never be as close as we once were again. I destroyed our relationship beyond repair, and I have to learn to live with that.
His eyes grow at the sight of me. “Winter, hey. I didn’t know you were here.”
Allie’s eyes apologize profusely.
“Just a second,” she tells Caleb and practically shuts the door in his face. “I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to run into each other. I thought you’d be gone by the time he showed up. I told him to come at fi—”
“Al, it’s okay.” I gather a reassuring smile. “You’re allowed to still be friends with him. I think we can manage a few minutes together.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again and opens the door. “Come on in.” Caleb obliges, but barely two steps inside, Allie shrieks, “Hey, shoes off!” She takes in the poor appearance of his muddy shoes. Gee, where’d he go? “Who do you think I am? Cinderella?”
Caleb gives out a faint laugh and kicks his shoes off. “Sorry, Mom.”
Because my life is unfamiliar with the concept of good timing, I hear a car door closing outside. I draw the curtain off the closest window with the back of my hand.
Haze. Crossing the street.
Soon after, he rings the doorbell. I swing the door open, dreading the possibility of a messy boyfriend versus ex-best friend confrontation. Haze’s eyes lock on Caleb the second he comes into view, but Caleb doesn’t flinch, drilling holes into Haze’s head from inside. Haze frowns but abstains from commenting.
“Hey, babe.” I almost hug him but stop myself at the last second, letting my arm droop back down awkwardly.
“Hey. You ready?” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands either, sliding them inside his pockets as he shifts from side to side . Stupid, stupid game.
“Haze, do me a favor—” Allie sticks her head into the doorway. “—just get her a damn puppy already.”
“She’s going to have to win for that.” Haze grins. “Allie, you still coming to Winter’s dinner party Saturday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she assures him.
I hug Allie goodbye and get off her porch with Haze.
“Still not touching me?” he asks as we cross the street.
“Still refusing to get a dog?”
“Looks like it.”
“Then I’m still not touching you,” I confirm.
With the weight of mutual attraction crushing us, we climb inside the car and buckle up. Haze doesn’t ignite the engine right away, his nails digging into his legs. If this morning’s tension was heavy, this one is near suffocating. I want to straddle him already. Just let my desires run wild right there on his lap. His white-knuckled hands squeeze the steering wheel, a sign that I’m not the only one struggling to harbor my urges.
“Screw it,” he snaps. “We’re getting this over with tonight. You want a game?” He turns the key, pushes the gear into drive, and accelerates down the road. “I’ll show you a game.”
When Haze unlocked the door to our empty apartment and ordered me to sit on the couch, I found myself wishing I could go back in time and put out the fire that started this. Just so I wouldn’t have to find out what sick revenge game he had in store for me. But now, as we sit in silence, close, but not nearly enough to touch, I’m dying from suspense.
“What are we doing?” I speak first.
“ We are not doing anything. At least, not at the same time.”
I frown. “What?”
He pulls his phone out and sets a five-minute timer. Without pressing Start, he throws his phone between us on the couch. “We both have five minutes.”
“To do what?”
“Whatever the fuck we want. For five minutes, you’re mine. You don’t get to say no. Or touch me. If you do, you lose. Then, if you manage not to break the rules, it’ll be your turn.”
Heat pulses between my legs.
I worry my lower lip. “And if none of us flinch?”
“Not gonna happen.” He shrugs off my concerns.
Realization creeps up my spine. “Even if I wanted to, Kendri—”
“Is not coming home.” Haze slumps back into the couch. “I texted him.”
“And he just agreed to stay out all day?”
“He needed a bit more convincing, but yeah.”
I snort. “You mean he needed more cash.”
He doesn’t deny nor entertain my claim. “So, you want to play?”
That’s when I understand that I’ve got it all wrong.
I might’ve started the fire.
But he’s the one keeping it alive.
“Only if I can begin.” I’m surprised by my own guts.
He’s a bit surprised himself. “Okay. Then start.”
Oh, Hazie, you won’t have to ask me twice.
Nodding, I get myself off the couch and stand tall in front of him. He’s still seated, the perfect picture of nonchalance and cockiness. I bend forward, dropping the phone next to him and starting the timer. I never take my eyes off him. Not when I tug my shirt over my head, not when I pull on the waistband of my leggings, slide them off and kick them to the side. I strip without a care in the world, and his mouth full-on drops.
Not so cocky anymore, are we?
He stares me up and down, his eyes flashing with a carnal need that melts my insides. I’m still wearing my underwear, for now, and drop to my knees in front of him. Eager, I seek him through his jeans, running my palm up and down the fabric. The friction instantly makes him grow, but his pants block his size. I don’t waste another second, unbuckle his belt, and get his pants off. I drop them on the couch next to him. I can’t help a grin at the now massive bulge tempting me. Still, the rest of his clothes stand in my way.
“Lose the shirt.”
Disbelief flickers in his gaze.
He looks like he’s thinking, You’re joking, right?
“Underwear, too.”
The seriousness of my request finally dawns on him.
“Fuck, Winter. You can’t ask me that,” he pleads.
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Did you just say no?”
Annoyed, he gives in, tugging his shirt over his head. His underwear is next. Sliding his boxers down to his knees, he frees himself. My stomach flips with desire. He’s beyond ready—ready and desperate. He sucks in a breath, tight fists lying alongside his body, when I lower my mouth to his…
“Winter, don’t you dar—”
Oops. Too late.
I grab him at the base and suck. Hard. He immediately presses his mouth shut, agony and pleasure mixing on his face. His head falls back. Still he doesn’t budge, keeping his hands to himself and his eyes on the ceiling. It’s as though he knows that looking at me would stand for immediate defeat.
“Look at me,” I tell him.
His eyes widen and he jerks with spasms. He’s not used to this. He’s usually the one luring me over to the dark side. Like it requires every inch of self-control in his body, he does what he’s told, meeting my eyes.
He watches as I take him deeper and lets out a strangled threat. “Holy sh… I’m going to make you regret that.”
I peek at the timer from the corner of my eye. What? I’m down to two minutes already? This isn’t working. I need a new tactic.
Releasing him, I push to my feet and toward the couch. I straddle his now completely naked body and let my hands explore his defined torso, rocking my hips against his. He’s thick and hard under me. An unplanned moan slips free from my mouth, and he exhales an irritated grunt. I may be playing him, but the sensation of him sliding up and down my slit against the thin fabric of my underwear is still very real.
I shamelessly use him, angling my hips forward until he hits exactly the right spots. I’m tempted to destroy the last barrier behind us and take my underwear off, to really feel him, but I’m enjoying the tortured look on his face way too much. I snake one arm behind his neck and the other in his hair. My breasts comes flush with his chest and, for a second there, as I grind against him, I almost forget about the sick origins of this moment. I don’t even care that he’s not touching me. I could get off just doing this.
“Haze.” His name falls out without my consent.
“Fuck, baby.” He clenches his teeth.
The memory of why I’m doing this hits me almost as hard as the overwhelming buildup in my stomach. Eyes on the prize, Winter. I lean in and my mouth hits his ear. “I’d love to. But you’re not giving in.”
Finally, he touches me. Scratch that, he starts to. He lifts his arm and I shiver, every nerve ending in my body anticipating his touch the way a drug addict awaits his fix.
But my fix never comes. Because he stops. Why did he stop?
Only then do I hear it.
The timer.
Shit, shit, shit.
Victory creeps into his eyes.
“No, no, no! That doesn’t count—you were just about to touch me!” My speech thunders out of me quickly, giving my speeding heart some serious competition.
He smirks. “But I didn’t, did I?”
“Haze, please. You know I won that. This isn’t fair,” I insist, and he picks his phone off the couch to kill the timer.
“Life isn’t fair, Kingston.” He cups my cheek and slowly traces along my lower lip with his thumb, as if to wipe the pout off my mouth. “My turn.”
He gets something out of his jeans on the couch next to him. A condom wrapper. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his intention when he tears it open and stretches the latex down his size. Tingles eat at me, but I make it a priority to remind myself of what losing this game implies. I want my dog. I open my mouth, with every intent to argue my way out of this, but he cuts me off with just the touch of a finger. He starts the timer again.
Then he slides my panties to the side, grips my waist with both hands, and buries himself deep inside me.
I gasp so loud I have to cover my own mouth.
“No more teasing,” he grunts, shifting under me and guiding me down onto him harder. It feels better than the best, and usually I’d brace my hands on his chest, give myself a few pushes, but I can’t touch him and it’s driving me mad.
“Take off your bra,” he orders.
So, I do. Correction: I try . But apparently not quickly enough for him because he almost immediately reaches over and does it for me. My breasts break free, bouncing at his rapid thrusting. I wait for him to touch me, but he never does.
“Touch yourself.”
“What?” I stifle a moan when he pulls out completely and fills me again. Oh. My. God.
“You heard me. Touch yourself.”
It’s not that Haze and I have never tackled on this topic before. I’m not embarrassed with the idea of taking care of myself, but we’re usually so infatuated with each other in bed that the opportunity never comes along.
“I-I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry, are you arguing with me?” He twists the hair on the back of my head around his fist and pulls back until I have a clear shot of the ceiling. Then he leans in and bites my neck. It’s not gentle. Or sweet. It’s rough and hungry for blood.
“God, I hate this game.” I taste my lie for a few seconds and surrender, cupping each of my breasts and teasing my nipples until he grunts. The fact that I can’t see myself helps tune out the self-conscious voice in my head.
“I fucking love this game.” He keeps me bouncing up and down his length so fast that the sensation knocks the English vocabulary out of my brain. Between each of my frivolous heartbeats, he leaves my body and claims me again. When he rips my hands from my chest and tells me, “That’s enough. I want you to come on your fingers,” heat rushes to my cheek. He’s so raw, unapologetic. My hand travels downward, but I’m cautious to keep my eyes where he can’t see them. “Look at me.” He shoots me an arrow made of my own words.
I obey yet another one of his commands, staring him dead in the eyes while I rub myself, slowly at first, then so fast my faded, uncompleted climax from earlier is given a second chance.
“Shit, I can’t watch you. Come here.” He roughly smashes his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth as he continues to pound into me. The last of my restraint flies right out the window, and I cup his face with one hand to deepen the kiss. He doesn’t comment on me touching him. I’m not sure he even notices it at this point. A hurricane of pleasure sucks me in, and I clench around him. Haze’s thrusting, as well as his lips against mine, grow a bit sloppy—frantic. The timer goes off next to us. But we both know the game ended a long time ago.
Fireworks detonate within my stomach as I finish myself off. Still kissing me, he gives one last powerful pump and empties into the condom. Breathless, we stop moving, still high on a game with unbroken rules. I never thought bowing to someone’s every demand could feel this good. I never thought losing control could be this freeing.
And when he pulls me into his arms, I’m glad I didn’t break his rules after all.