“Don’t switch this around on me, you’re the one who stole my phone.”
“I didn’t steal it. I don’t want your stupid phone.” She reaches over and grabs hers, shoving it up toward my face. “Mine is brand new and a thousand times better than your piece of shit.” Her face crumbles as if she’s disappointed in herself and she throws her device to her bed. “Just go.”
“Just tell me why you kept it.”
She props her hands on her hips and I find myself wondering what it would feel like to replace her hands with my own. Her eyes meet mine and her jaw is tight, her lips thin as if she’s clamping them down to keep back the truth. “Why do you care?”
“I’m curious.” Hold on, why are we standing so close? Did we somehow gravitate toward each other while arguing? “After you tell me why I’ll go, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
“You’re dating my cousin, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
And why does seeing her again make my chest expand with anticipation?
Her lips are still tightly closed.
“I made a mistake, I was drunk and in the wrong place, I’m sorry if I scared you or made you feel unsafe, but you threatened me with a snake to my dick!” I instinctively cup my junk just to remind myself that we all survived it. “I think we’re even. So why the phone—”
“You called me disgusting.” Her voice is so quiet, and yet it carries an explosive force.
I run a hand through my hair and palm the back of my neck as shame and guilt press in.
“I wanted to hurt you back.”
“Look, I’m…” Fuck, I can’t look at her, but I force myself. I owe her that much. “You’re not disgusting.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Okay.” She turns away from me, but I lunge and grab her arm. Her eyes zero in on the spot where my hand grips her forearm.
Shit. I let her go and take a step back. “I’m sorry. It was a dick thing to say and not at all how I really feel.”
By the look on her face she thinks I’m feeding her bunch of bullshit. If it weren’t completely inappropriate and considered sexual assault, I’d bring her hand to my dick and let her feel exactly how not disgusting I think she is. And now that I’m thinking of her hand on me, my jeans grow uncomfortably snug.
“I should get back…” I point to the door.
“Yeah,” she says, casually. Flippantly. “See ya around, jock.”
I open my mouth to apologize again but she turns her back on me and heads to her snakes. My pulse ripples through me and I decide it’s best I get the hell out of here before she uses another snake to force me out.
Back in the hallway I close her door and head to Riley’s room. Her door is wide open and she’s no longer alone but surrounded by four other girls. She looks up at me apologetically.
“Is this a bad time?” I ask.
“Sorry,” she says and excuses herself from the group. “Last minute scramble for our upcoming formal. I had to call an emergency meeting.” She rolls her eyes, but the girls can’t see. “Rain check?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
She presses her palm to my chest and moves closer. “One more thing,” her voice is low and seductive and I instinctively lean in. “You’re coming to the Valentine’s Day formal with me.” She winks. “I promise I’ll make the evening worth it.” Before I have a chance to answer, she pushes up on her toes, tilts her head and kisses me. I inhale deeply, searching and excited for the tingling rush of pheromones I know is coming. But it never does. She sits back on her heels and I stare down at her with mediocre desire—warmth instead of fire. Huh. “Oh, did Bex have your phone?”
“No. I uh…must’ve misplaced it at my house.”
“Bummer.” She reaches to her desk for a Post-It note that is heart-shaped and, surprise, pink. She scribbles down her phone number. “When you get a new phone, mine can be the first you program in.”
“Thanks.” I tuck the number in my pocket, right next to my phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She kisses me again, and again I’m left with meh feelings.
I turn to leave and on impulse look back over to Bex’s door. Snake girl voodoo, that’s the only explanation.
Chapter Four
Bex
The next morning at breakfast I’m having a hard time choking down my Cheerios as I watch Riley across the table from me taking selfies. She tugs the front of her v-neck shirt down to expose the ultimate amount of cleavage and expertly manipulates the cotton to show the slight hint of her neon green lace bra. Then she flips her hair, pouts her over-glossed lips, and snaps the pic from every possible angle. She spends more time in selfie prep than I do in my entire morning routine.
I push away my mushy o’s. “Updating your thirst-agram?”
She glares at me with her phone still held high and snaps another dozen photos. The impromptu I didn’t know my photo was being taken even though I took my own photo selfie. “You could benefit from a little self-reflection, cousin. When was the last time you saw a photo of yourself?” She drops her arm to check out the pictures and mumbles, “Or looked in a mirror.”
I stand to take my bowl to the sink.
“I need you to find a place that will let us rent surfboards for the formal.” She doesn’t lift her face from her phone. “I’m starting to think the whole throwback beach movie theme dance is a big mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake, it’s a great idea.” It was also my idea. Theme submissions for the formal are always anonymous and I couldn’t believe my idea got picked. Though I’d never tell Riley it was mine. 1960’s Beach Blanket Bingo era romance on Valentine’s Day is sandy beaches and picnic blanket tablecloths, island food and music. When Riley announced the chosen theme she butchered it by explaining, “It’s a throwback beach movie theme, like Point Break. Hello, Keanu.”
“We’ll need ten surfboards and tell them since they’re decorations we only want the cute ones.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
Her sharp gaze snaps to mine. “It’s called delegating. You’re a sister therefore you have to contribute.” Her phone pings and her spine shoots straight up, her face alight with excitement as she opens the text. “Oh my God, he’s so funny,” she says loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Loren?” Monica says as she rushes to Riley’s side.
“Yes,” Riley answers with a squeak.
“I thought he lost his phone,” Desi says while taking Riley’s other side to look at the text.
I hold my breath as I await Riley’s hate-filled stare. I’m sure he told her I lied about not having his phone.
“He found it. Dum-dum lost it in his couch cushions.” She hits a button on her phone and holds up the screen to the sisters at her sides. “Look how he responded to my selfie.”
He didn’t tell her. Why wouldn’t he tell her? That makes no sense.
“He called me Heartbreaker!” She swoons dramatically making all the sisters giggle with envy.