Chapter 6 #3
“Here,” I say, holding the phone out to him with a smile. “I’m done. We can go now.”
“What did you do?” he asks, taking the phone. His body is still between me and the exit. Even though he’s looking down at the phone he’s too big for me to get past. He opens the photos app and chuckles. “I backed everything up. Good try, though.”
I feel a strong urge to kick him in the shins, his relaxed expression infuriating. I should have kept the phone longer, made sure everything was permanently gone. How exactly, I don’t know, but this was an unmitigated failure.
“Are you that upset that I turn you on, Deja?” he asks, fingering one of my braids.
I move to bat his hand away and he grabs my wrist with his free hand, forcing it down to my side.
The other hand cups the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear.
I try to twist my head away and he lets me, though he doesn’t let go of my wrist.
“Answer me.”
“What do you want from me, Brandon?”
“I want more of what we had Saturday night,” he says. It’s not exactly a surprise, but the seriousness of his tone isn’t what I expected.
“Well, I don’t.” I try to yank my wrist from his grasp again but his grip is firm.
“You do,” he insists, but I hear the slight uncertainty in his tone.
I’m ready to press my point, but I guess he decided to put action behind his words.
He pulls me close, then dips his head to the side of my neck.
If you’d asked me to guess what he was going to do I’d have never arrived at this answer because it’s weird and fucked.
Pain bursts from the points where his teeth press into my trapezoid.
It spikes down through my chest and curls in my belly.
The hurt doesn’t stay in my shoulder—it spreads, pulling a response from muscles he isn’t touching.
My legs feel weak, my mind struggling to make sense of the tangled sensation.
The more it hurts, the more my body braces and throbs.
I want him to stop. I want him to keep going.
“What the fuck, bruh?” I ask, pushing him away. Maybe my voice is shaking more than I’d like, but I’m sure it’s something in my expression that makes his nostrils flare.
“You liked that,” he says, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Angrily, I yank my hand free and this time he lets go without resistance.
“It hurt,” I pointed out. “Who would like that?”
He doesn’t respond, just shakes his head as if I’m the one being crazy.
"Do you know when the next parental date night is?" he asks, the abrupt topic change disorienting me for a moment. It takes a few seconds for me to process what he’s saying and then come up with an answer.
"I think it's Friday. Why?"
"I guess we’ll finally have the place to ourselves."
“You will, you mean. I’ll be hanging out with my friends.”
He narrows his eyes, the corner of his lips angled up in a way that seems to mock me.
“There's a football game on Friday. We have to cheer and then after we always go out.”
“And you never cancel?"
“What?”
“Are you scared to be alone with me, Deja?”
“No,” I say, almost too quickly. The smile expands. I hate this boy!
“Why don’t you meet me after the game? If you’re really nice I might even delete some of the pictures.”
It’s infuriating, the way he acts like he’s in control, like he knows something I don’t.
That smirk, the way he shakes his head when looking at me, it makes me want to scream.
But I’m not that girl. I’m not raging Lorelei or simpering Shelby.
Pressed or not, I’m not letting him think I’m some pushover.
He cups my face, rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone. I can't read his expression, but his focus is on my face, like he's searching for something. What does he want?
"You can relax. I’m not going to try anything."
"I don't know if I believe you."
His thumb traces the outline of my lips, calling him a liar. I have no control over my body's response. My nipples tighten, and a quick glance confirms they are poking through the thin fabric of my bra and t-shirt. My eyes draw his and he grins, that smug look that I want to slap off his face.
He leans down to my ear and whispers, “When you’re ready, I won’t need to.”
"I will never—“ But I don't finish the statement because he opens the door, and I don't want to risk someone overhearing me.
He exits the room, leaving me all kinds of fucked up inside.
What the hell is going on? Why did my own body betray me?
I want to deny it, but I can't any longer.
I'm attracted to Brandon in a way I’ve never been attracted to anyone.
It makes no sense. Brandon doesn't even like me. Maybe he wants me, but a total 180 doesn’t make any sense.
Guys lie to girls about liking them all the time when all they really want is sex.
With a sigh I start walking back to the main building. If I hustle, I might just have enough time to buy a sandwich and a sports drink from the vending machine before the end of lunch.