MALLORY
It was the summer after graduation. Al and Vic were going off to college. I didn’t have a chance, not with my GPA or the money my family didn’t have. But I wanted the final revenge, a goodbye “fuck you.”
“You’re by yourself.” Derek stated the obvious that fateful day at the fair.
“So are you.”
“Where are you girlfriends?”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Somewhere. Keeping their drama to themselves. Thank god.”
His chest shook in a chuckle, dimples on his cheeks as he studied me with curiosity. “You don’t like drama?”
“No.”
“What do you like?”
I needed to come up with a good answer. Derek wasn’t a man you could impress with gossip or mediocre stuff. He wasn’t stupid Dougie who licked his lips at the sight of any ass clad in too-tight leggings.
A charming serial killer once said in an interview in a documentary, “No one is off-limits. You just need to find an angle.” He was talking about his female prey.
Derek felt off-limits. And Derek needed an angle.
I mustered a sardonic smile on my lips and didn’t look at Derek, like I wasn’t too interested. “Weren’t you invited to the barn party by Al and Vic?”
“Weren’t you?” he quipped.
“Yeah,” I lied. “But beer bongs, STDs, and bad decisions are not my thing.”
He chuckled again, the low suppressed laugh that made my stomach flutter. “Oh, yeah? That bad?”
“It’s the usual combo around here.”
“What is your thing, Birdie?”
“It’s Mallory,” I said. “Mal.”
“I see. Mal,” he repeated in that low voice that made the butterflies in my stomach roar.
That very moment, I knew I would go anywhere with him, do anything he asked, even if it meant trouble. He was trouble. I could smell it on him. And I wanted it, badly.
But I needed to hook him before Al and Vic were back in the picture. That meant now.
Slowly, I turned to face him, my knees weak from what I was about to say.
“Wanna get out of this circus?” I offered, locking eyes with him. I tilted my chin up, letting him know I was up for anything.
He gave me a curious once-over. “Where?”
“Your place.”
His brows rose. “My place, huh?”
Half an hour later, we were in a house on the outskirts of town, drinking whiskey on the rocks.
I hated that stuff, but Derek loved it, and I went along, sipping it slowly so as to keep my head clear.
Small talk, mostly me asking questions. People like to talk.
His talking meant I didn’t need to come up with smart stories I didn’t have.
Nothing as exciting as his plans to go to San Francisco.
Three drinks for him to half of one for mine, and I held my breath, went over to the armchair where he sat, and straddled him. I’d never done such a thing before.
“You are very straightforward,” he said, and I could tell he liked it. “You don’t bullshit around, huh, Mal?”
The fact that he was one of the few who called me by my name already gave him extra points, not that he needed any.
I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “I know what I want when I see it,” I said, repeating the phrase I heard Al use with guys.
Without waiting for a reply, I kissed him, then pulled back and licked my lips.
He raised a brow in question.
I studied his face for a moment. “You are a pretty good kisser.” Yet another phrase I heard Vic using with a guy.
Derek’s chest shook in an amused chuckle. He was hard everywhere, including where I needed him to be.
“Oh, yeah?” His hands slid around my waist. “You know what else I’m good at?”
Bingo! He took the bait.
Suddenly, he flipped me onto my back, sending a rush of excitement and anticipation through me. His taut body was on top of mine, and it felt good to see that want in his eyes.
But I needed to play the cool girl. I set my palm on his chest. “You have protection, right? I don’t know how many girls you bring home. Just want to make sure we are on the same page.”
I saw that in some movie, and it sounded powerful—that a woman was setting the rules. I was setting the rules.
“You are a smart little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured.
And he did listen, then shushed me with a hard kiss and proved that Dougie was indeed useless in bed, whereas Derek—
Well, now that I think about it, he was all right. His attitude when he was at it, things he said, in that sultry bedroom voice—those did the trick more than anything else.
Afterward, I wanted to lie next to him and hear him talk more. About him, about what it was like out there, in the big world where he came from. He never said it, but it was obvious he was from somewhere cool, like a big city, or a coastal town.
I was thinking about San Francisco and what it would be like to go there with him. But he was already zipping up, pulling his shirt on, and walking to the open-concept kitchen to pour himself another drink.
“When do I see you again?” I asked, putting my clothes back on, giddy, shy, disappointed that he’d gotten up but already wanting to do it again.
“Is that a thing now?” he asked coldly without looking at me.
Wrong answer. Wrong move. I could tell he wasn’t planning on it, and it gut-punched me.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Birdie.
I needed to smarten up.
“It is,” I said confidently, though I was trying really hard not to look upset or say something pathetic, like, “You used me.”
Of course he did. I could hear Al’s voice in my head, “What did you think, Birdie? A guy like him with a girl like you?” Her mocking laughter. The contemptuous roll of her eyes.
No, no, that was not how it was going to play out.
I wanted to see her and Vic angry. Make them fight each other, fight over Derek, get jealous.
He thought I’d back off quietly, but that wasn’t going to happen, because—guess what?
As I was getting dressed, deliberately slowly, like I got what I wanted and he was on my time, I decided that this time was going to be different.
“We’ll see,” Derek said dryly, swirling whiskey in his glass. No drink for me. “I have things to do,” he said with a hint that I’d overstayed my welcome.
That stung, but I wasn’t going to give up so easily.
“You have a mobile?” I asked.
I was proud of my Nokia, used but good. Bought it with money I stole at one of the parties from a drunk. It might’ve been Dougie. I couldn’t afford to use many minutes talking or sending SMS, which I mostly did with Vic and Al, to keep up with them, feeling fly.
“No,” Derek said sternly.
Liar. A guy like that without the latest gadget?
I walked to the coffee table where I spotted a pen and a fair flyer and wrote down my mobile number.
“In case you need a ride or anything,” I said, walking out the door, hearing him murmur what I thought was, “I just got one.”
I felt a flash of anger. He didn’t bother walking me out. It was okay. He’d learn. I was determined to have my way.
I was about to get in my car when my phone pinged. A message from Al. She and Vic were pretty much the only ones texting or calling, and I didn’t have any other friends to begin with.
Alysha: where are you
I didn’t want to waste my text limit, but this one was important.
Me: with derek. what’s up
My phone immediately lit up with an incoming call from Al.
I didn’t answer. Screw her.
Another message came.
Alysha: derek who?
I didn’t reply.
Alysha: derek WHO?????
Another call. I cut it.
Alysha: PICK UP YOUR FKN PHONE BIRDIE!!!!
I smiled, gloat drowning my earlier frustration. It was okay. Messing with those two made it worth it. I wanted to laugh in their faces, make them feel like I’d felt for years—insignificant and like a loser.
A sudden idea curled like a snake into a coil in my head.
I pulled a Swiss Army knife out of my purse, the little old thing I carried just in case. You never knew when you might need to cut things or…a wine opener, right.
I stifled a smile, looked around to make sure Derek wasn’t outside, then walked to his Ford parked next to me, and sat on my haunches next to his front tire.
A slash with a knife would be too obvious to any mechanic. One with a wine-opener would look like a nail. The second I stabbed the star end into the tire, excitement zipped through me. I twisted it in, then pulled it out and did it again.
“See you soon,” I whispered and dashed to my car.
Derek was the most interesting guy I’d ever met. Al and Vic would say, “Way out of your league, Birdie.”
But just like that serial killer said, “No one is off-limits. You just need to find an angle.”
Or a wine-opener.