“She doesn’t have to know,” I continue, taking a step forward. “We could just keep it to ourselves …”
“Forever?” Parrish finishes for me. “Because once I let myself have you, really have you, I’ll never be able to stop. And it wouldn’t matter if we were thirty: if Tess found out, she would disown us both. I don’t want to lose her; I already lost my mom once.”
I just keep staring at him in complete disbelief. What have we even been doing for all these months? This careful love-hate dance. What was our talk about in the ATV? What did we just do?
“Is this what you do with all your girlfriends?” I whisper, wishing a hole would just open up and swallow me. Parrish gives me a soft, sad sort of look that’s actually a million times worse than his scowling or his eye narrowing or those times he curses me out when we bump into each other in the kitchen.
“I don’t have girlfriends, Dakota. I hate people. I hate everyone except for you, and Chasm, and Tess.” He pauses for a second and then sighs. “Oh, and Maxx. Sometimes. When he isn’t annoying me.”
“This was your first time …?” I trail off, leaving the question hanging in the air between us.
He just keeps fucking staring at me.
“Does it matter?” he asks, but then, as if he can sense that I’m on the verge of a meltdown, decides to add, “yes. I don’t just mess around with people. I’ve never liked anyone before the way I like you.”
Ugh.
I feel like I’ve just had Cupid’s arrow shoved right up my ass. This conversation is equal parts enlightening and devastating.
“It was just easier for me to pretend,” he continues, moving toward me again. As soon as he’s within grabbing distance, I dig my fingers into his shirt and press my forehead against his chest. He stiffens up briefly before wrapping me in his arms. “It was easier to pretend, Dakota.”
“So now what?” I whisper as he strokes my back, and I wish we were still half-naked in my room.
“Chasm really likes you,” he tells me, but even though I also sort of like Chasm, all I can think about is Parrish. “Maybe …”
“Don’t. Don’t say it. I don’t want to talk about Chasm right now.”
We stand there for a long time, too long probably.
Eventually, I pull back and so does Parrish.
“So now what?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible for life to go from ‘greatest moment of my existence’ to ‘steaming pile of dog shit’ in an instant. “You don’t even want to try?”
He looks away for a moment before running a tattooed hand over his face.
“I didn’t say that. I just need time to think.” Parrish looks back at me, the edge of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile. “Do you need my help cleaning up?” he asks, and I nod, because I’m not about to clean up the mess from his orgasm. I didn’t exactly get one myself.
We head back to the room together, and he collects both his hoodie and my bralette from the floor, snatching the top blanket off the bed and throwing all the items in the washer. Luckily, there are two laundry rooms in this house: one on the top floor and one down here.
“Leave your door open?” he suggests as he turns around, parking his ass against the side of the machine and crossing his arms over his chest. I nod and start to turn away when he reaches out and grabs my wrist; our gazes clash with a rush of heat. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like the way she treats you. I don’t know why she’s doing it, why she’s being so mean to you when she’s always been so affectionate toward me.”
I very carefully extricate myself from his grip. Not because I don’t want him to touch me, but because I do. So, so, so, so much.
“Like you said, I’m a crushing disappointment to her.” I offer Parrish a weak smile before heading into my room and curling up on the bed with just a sheet. He follows me in, covers me up with a spare blanket from who knows where, and then heads into his room.
After a while, I hear his words, soft and vulnerable in the quiet: “goodnight, Dakota.”
He may as well be saying goodbye for all it’s worth.
I don’t sleep very well that night.
Not very well at all.
As promised, Tess makes me ride in the front seat of the SUV with her while Paul sits in the center row and Kimber is pushed into the back (much to her oft-voiced frustration). The ride back to Medina is hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. I miss Parrish already, and he’s just a few feet away from me.
Once we’re home, things don’t get much better. I still don’t have a door and neither does Parrish. There are few ways for me to escape from him unless I hide in the bathroom.
“It doesn’t have to be weird,” I whisper to myself after a particularly awkward encounter in the hallway. But it is. Because I touched his dick, and he put his fingers in me, and mostly, it’s because we confessed our feelings for one another. That’s the weirdest part of all.
I’m so relieved to head back to school on Tuesday that I practically throw myself out of Parrish’s car and sprint through the parking garage with my book bag flopping against my side. Both Danyella and Lumen can tell right away that’s something off with me, but I’m not quite ready to talk about it, so I just brush it off.
By the end of the day however, I feel like there’s a scream trapped in my chest, clawing to get out. I wouldn’t mind paying another visit to Chasm’s cabin to let out some steam.
By the end of the week? I’m ready to sprint my ass over there on foot; if I don’t let out my frustration, I’m going to break. Parrish is being nice, almost too nice. Pair that with Chasm’s false cheer, the lack of a bedroom door, and Tess’ near constant hovering, and my sanity is wearing dangerously thin.
Why did I do this to myself? I wonder, my chin parked in my hand, my elbow resting on the surface of a desk. Mr. Volli is droning on and on about … something. It’s not that I don’t understand it today—thanks to Chasm, I actually do—but that I’m not listening. I’m more than ready for the week to be over.
“Let me guess: this is Parrish related,” Lumen says, far too loudly, waking me from my stupor just in time to realize that I’ve spaced out and missed the fact that class is over. The day is over. I’m free.
“Huh?” I blink myself out of my coma, glancing up to find the honey-haired princess of the school lording over me. Her hands are parked on her hips, her skirt a scandalous few inches shorter than it was during lunch. If Lumen has somewhere to go after school that isn’t home, she usually rolls her waistband up even further, to the point that the skirt looks more like a costume than an actual uniform.
“You’re daydreaming about Parrish again.” She leans forward and puts her palms flat on the desk, giving me the eye. “I’m starting to get jealous.”
“Ms. Hearst,” Mr. Volli calls out as he stacks books together on his desk, “unroll the skirt, please.”
“Sexist,” Lumen murmurs, but she unrolls the skirt as he asked. I’d agree with her in most cases, but I’ve seen multiple dudes wearing skirts here at Whitehall and at least three of them got in trouble for the same reason. As Ms. Miyamoto likes to say, pubic hair and genitals need not touch any school surfaces. “Anyway, you’ve lost your mind.”