Chapter 22 – Clover
Chapter Twenty-Two
Clover
I can’t tell Thomas Bainbridge that his kiss affected me.
Not that much, obviously. But he was a really good kisser and despite his opinion of me, not that many boys have ever kissed me.
I’ve had very few kisses I enjoyed. Even fewer that I actually wanted.
You spend your childhood in the spotlight and people get funny with you – especially men.
Those grey eyes won’t leave me, but instead of inspiring a fear response, I feel something else.
Fuck, his tattoos are sexy. I can see his forearm and the rest of his sleeve peeking out and I hate myself for wanting to see more.
He asks the question again. My head swims whenever I hear his accent. I don’t want to call it dreamy, but…
“Why aren’t you afraid, Clover?”
I want to hate how my name sounds with his accent. He makes me sound soft and weak. I’m neither of those things. I’m Clover with a hard ‘r’, not this delicate flowery Clover the way Thomas pronounces it.
“I’m not a pussy. That’s why.”
He chuckles and his hands move as if he wants to touch me. Thankfully, he restrains himself. “No. You’re not.”
My cheeks grow instantly warm. He’s touched me down there. Maybe I should be afraid of the fact that the man who held me down and touched me is standing here in my bedroom. He’s close enough to do it again and he’s close enough to do worse. The air between us thickens as both of us freeze in place.
“It’s creepy to break into girls’ bedrooms,” I tell him, as if explaining it to him will change his mind. He knows exactly what he’s doing…
“I wanted to talk,” Thomas says softly. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just… be subtle.”
“Is your email broken?” I hiss.
“No.”
He barely speaks in complete sentences. Every one word answer out of his mouth frustrates me to hell and back. I put my hands on my hips, causing him to break out of his stiff position and lean his weight on one hip. His legs are so damn muscular.
“What do we have to talk about, Thomas?”
I don’t want to talk about the kiss. But of course, neither does he.
“Blackmail,” he says.
Maybe we should talk about it, but I don’t see the point. Blackmail and hate comments on the internet have something in common: they’re only as serious as you take them.
“We shouldn’t take it seriously,” I tell him. “It’s someone trying to scare us.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
I’m lying. It’s not that I scare easily and honestly, taking down Thomas Bainbridge with a cricket bat did wonders for my confidence, but it’s always easier fighting a known enemy bold enough to show their face.
I wonder what made Thomas show his face and why he hasn’t tried to hurt me yet.
I still haven’t put it past him, it’s just that I won’t go down easy and I’m confident I can scream loudly enough to get Sylvia’s attention.
“You don’t have to be alone tonight,” he says.
He glances around and Molly’s side of the room, gesturing with his shoulder before asking, “Roommate gone?”
Molly spends as little time in this room as possible and she’s the only person I know who hasn’t immediately fallen in love with Sylvia. I don’t mind a break from her since Sylvia is always in here hanging out, talking choreo or working on homework with me.
“She has a cold,” I tell Thomas, although maybe I should have pretended that there might be potential witnesses to whatever crime he’s cooking up in that head of his.
“Right.”
“I’m fine on my own,” I assure him.
He smirks. “I’m not.”
“Listen, Thomas. You’re the one who called me a slut, but that’s not me. I’m not going to sleep with you just because we’re both getting blackmailed.”
His cheeks turn red. Immediately. He stammers for a moment before getting the words out.
“Fuck’s sake. That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure.”
His voice stiffens and his next words are cruel beyond cruel. “I’m not the one passing myself around.”
Just when any part of me wants to give Thomas a chance, he says something awful and judgmental.
I want to throw something at his head, but I need a break from choosing violence for just one damn night.
Molly isn’t here, I want to crawl into bed and freak out in peace without Thomas implying I’m a slut… again.
“You can go now.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Fuck.”
“Are you?”
He shrugs. “A bit.”
“You are such an entitled dick.”
“And you’re a stubborn brat,” he shoots back. Those words came a little too quickly off his tongue. I grab the largest textbook I can find and wield it like I’m ready to pitch a no-hitter at Thomas’ big ass head.
“A brat? Who the hell are you calling a brat?”
He smirks as if it’s amusing to get a rise out of me.
“I was just worried about you.”
“So you climbed through my window drunk?”
“Yes.”
I lower the book, and not just because it’s heavy.
“You’re half the damn problem,” I remind him. “You scared me at the party and at the dance studio and I still don’t know why I should believe you aren’t the person sending these fucked up emails.”
“I’m not,” Thomas insists.
Both of our phones buzz before I can answer him. I roll my eyes and glance at my desk.
“I have to get that. It could be Sylvia.”
“How is she?”
She’s still lying to us about where she was that night.
“She’s fine.” I grab my phone and Thomas pulls his out of his pocket. We stare at our phones for a few seconds and then we glance at each other.
“Spicy freak 69?” We say together. The phrase should be hilarious for two people to spontaneously say out loud for the same time, but this message isn’t funny.
To: crobinson@
From: spicyfreak69@
Subject: death wish
SLUT.
You have a death wish.
Watch your back tomorrow.
There’s only one way out. Wait for further instructions.
Yours, Spicy
“What does yours say?” I ask him.
“I really don’t want to tell you.”
I give him a funny look. What could be so bad that Thomas doesn’t want to tell me.
I know what dirt this creep has on me, but Thomas is just…
a quiet athlete type. He only hangs out with other 6’4” athletes and he flies under the radar just enough so he gets out of trouble.
The other guys respect him and most of them fear him, but he rules by ice, not by fire.
“Aren’t we working together?” I suggest.
“Are we? I thought you could handle everything on your own.”
So he has to throw that back in my face?
“I can. But… two heads are better than one.”
“Great.”
“One condition. You can’t tell Sylvia. Or anyone. We aren’t friends.”
Thomas scoffs. “Definitely not friends.”
“We’re sworn enemies.”
“Sworn enemies? Bit dramatic.”
“No, not dramatic, Thomas. It’s true. And if you break into my room again, I’m going to chop your dick off.”
“I won’t do it again if you open the window for me.”
“So you can sneak in?”
“Yeah.”
“Thomas…”
“Joking. Only joking.”
I give him a fierce side eye which only makes him smirk. Enough of the games, Bainbridge. I want to know what that email said. I stick my hand out and wait for Thomas to hand me his phone.
* * *