Punk 57 (32 page)

“Do you think anyone will guess we got this shit from the bakery?” Lyla asks, holding up a stack of wrapped cookies.

I take the clear plastic bag from her, tied with a red bow, and set it back down on the long plastic table. “It’s not shit.
Because
it’s from the bakery.”

School ended four hours ago, but the parking lot is packed full of cars as we stand behind our table, greeting people before they enter the ball park. The sun has already set, and the field lighting overhead shines down, brightening the area as the last of the crowd filters through the gates.

Lyla and I were picked by the coach to work the bake sale tonight, and as a requirement, we have to wear our cheer uniforms. Fundraising is one of our many duties, and since we’re not busy rallying the crowd during the baseball game that’s about to start, we’re trying to earn some money for the team and acclimate some of the new girls coming in next year.

Technically we were supposed to bake the goods we’re selling—with the help of the team moms—but we’d dropped the ball, not planning ahead. It’s spring, school’s almost over, and I’m already swamped as it is. So we raided Lieber’s Bakery during school today and got dismissed from final period to package everything in our own bags with ribbons of the school’s colors.

“Come on, freshmen!” Lyla claps her hands. “Smile. It’s your new thing. I promise.”

I laugh to myself. I don’t envy them at all. The will to plaster a smile I don’t feel on my face has very nearly left the building.

I push the packages of cookies and brownies up to replace what has already been sold. Looking up, I see Masen standing near his truck with a group of guys from school. My stomach somersaults.

He’s watching me with an amused look on his face. I’d told him about the bake sale during Art today, so we agreed to meet afterward to do whatever it is he’s got planned, God help me.

After sneaking into my room this morning, catching me with my vibrator, and damn-near waking up the whole house—because he needed to get laid—the rest of the day passed relatively calmly. Everything else was easy peasy compared to that.

I resist the urge to pull out the huge-ass black bow on top of my head that we’re required to wear as part of the uniform. I can feel the laugh he’s holding back all the way from here.

I see him and his friends approach.

“Jesus, it’s like the Disney channel puked all over this table,” he jokes, scanning the array of polka-dotted plastic bags and the flowery tablecloth.

I put my hands on my hips.

“Nice bow.” He jerks his chin, eyeing the top of my head. “If I pull it, does it have a string that makes you talk and move?”

A snort breaks into a laugh, and I shoot a glare over to Ten, standing behind Lyla. He hunches over just a little, his body shaking.

He glances up at me, sees my stare, and tries to hold it back. “I’m sorry, okay? It was funny.”

I arch an eyebrow and turn my eyes back to Masen. He cocks his head, looking delighted with himself.

I grab the collar of his black hoodie and pull his face close, leaning into his ear and covering my whisper with my hand. “You left bruises all over my tits this morning,” I tell him, “and if you’re not nice, I won’t let you kiss them better later.”

He sucks in a breath.

“Now buy some cookies,” I order, pushing him away.

A smile pulls at his mouth, but I raise my chin, watching him pull out his wallet.

He hands Lyla a hundred-dollar bill, and I blink, trying not to look like I’m taken off guard. Okay. I guess he’s okay on money, after all.

Where’d he get that much cash? An unnerving feeling settles in my gut.

“How much will this buy me?” he asks her but keeps his eyes on me.

She takes the bill and stares at it for a moment. But then she takes a package of ten cookies and shoves it at him. “Here.”

A laugh catches in my throat. That stack of sweets costs five bucks, but I don’t care that she’s hustling him. He deserves it.

He gives the package a look, clearly knowing he’s being swindled, but he keeps quiet and tosses it to a friend behind him. Slipping his wallet back into his pocket, he holds my eyes briefly before walking away, his crew following.

“Nice.” Lyla waves the hundred in front of me. “What did you say to him?”

“I forget.”

I don’t fear Lyla’s judgement about Masen, and part of me wants people to see him touch me, but for some reason, Masen still feels like a fling, and I don’t want to try to explain it to others. I’m still trying to figure him out myself.

And part of me likes the sneaking around. I love having this one thing that makes me happy that I don’t have to share with anyone else.

Kind of like Misha.

Misha.
Why do I feel like I’m betraying him? He abandoned me.

After the national anthem and the first pitch, Lyla, Ten, and I call it a night, sending the other girls home and then packing up. Lyla grabs the rest of the snacks, saying we’ll just give them to the baseball team when they’re done, and Ten heads into the game, probably to find J.D. and the rest of our friends.

I hook my bag over my shoulder, grab my water bottle, and walk for the parking lot instead of the ball field.

“Where are you going?” Lyla asks, turning with the box of cookies in her arms.

I gesture to my bag. “Taking this to my car.”

I walk away, not waiting for a response, and head straight for my Jeep, seeing that Masen’s black Raptor is parked on the other side of the aisle.

His eyes are on me as he leans against his door and two of his pals stand in front of him, their heads turned and watching me, too.

Tossing my bag into the back, I reach up and unclip my bow and pull out the rubber band that held the top half of my hair back. I comb the strands with my fingers and fluff it up, letting it hang loose down my back. Turning around, I lean back on my Jeep and hang my elbows over the edge of the car, looking straight at him.

“I don’t know, man,” Finn Damaris muses, smirking. “She looks like she wants something. What do you think?”

“Yeah.” The one with the Mohawk whose name I don’t know nods and bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes fall down my body. “She definitely wants something.”

Masen watches behind them, amusement in his eyes.

“She’s so clean,” Finn comments, turning to his friend. “I’ll bet she likes to get dirty, though.”

Mohawk laughs. “Oh, yeah.”

I roll my eyes, waiting. I’m sure they’re loving this. The stuck-up girl playing with one of their own…

“You guys take off,” Masen says. “I got this.”

I walk over, fall gently into his chest as his friends disappear, snickering.

“So where are we going?” I hover over his lips.

He inhales a deep breath and plants a quick peck on my cheek, standing up straight. “Come on. Get in.”

I cross my arms over my chest to keep from fidgeting. “I should’ve changed my clothes.”

Masen peers over, driving past my neighborhood and deeper into the countryside. “Why?”

“Because if we’re seen doing whatever it is we’re doing,” I explain, “I won’t be hard to identify in a Falcon’s Well cheer uniform.”

He smiles to himself and looks back at the road. “You won’t be seen.”

I take in a deep breath and reach over and turn up the radio, trying to drown out the worry in my head as Breaking Bejamin’s “
So Cold”
plays
.

I try to act like a badass, but honestly, I’m nervous as hell.

I should’ve told him no this morning. I’d stopped writing on the walls, and doing anything more illegal would be risking too much. I have acceptance letters to NYU, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Like I’m going to jeopardize that simply because I’m infatuated with him and will use any excuse to be close to him.

Actually it was hard to refuse him anything while he was inside me. I would’ve told him I’d tattoo his name on my neck if he wanted.

He’d probably love that. I glance over at him, laughing inside at the idea. His brown hair, wispy and sticking up a little, is pushed forward, and I stare at his mouth, remembering the warmth of the smooth metal ring grazing the dozens of places he’s kissed on my body.

I suddenly want to know everything. What he was like as a kid. What his favorite kinds of music are. Where he goes when he wants some peace and quiet and whom does he go to when he needs to talk.

Who does he love? Who’s there for him? Who knows him best?

Who knows him better than me? I can’t help the jealousy I feel at that thought. He has an entire life and history with people who aren’t me.

I chew on the corner of my mouth, feeling so many things I know I shouldn’t say.

But I want to.

“I like you,” I tell him, looking down, my voice quiet.

I see him turn his head toward me, not saying anything.

“You said some nice things last Friday night,” I go on, “and I wanted you to know—in case you don’t already—that I actually kind of like you.” I raise my eyes, seeing him watch me with something I can’t read going on in his eyes. “I know I can be…me. I don’t get sappy, and I don’t give up what’s going on in my head a lot. It’s hard for me.” I pause, feeling a little more resolute. I want him to know. “But yeah, I like you.”

I know it’s not much, but it’s a lot for me, and I hope he knows that. Admitting I like him makes me vulnerable, and that’s not usually a card I ever give up. Not anymore.

Because, to be honest, I don’t just like him. It’s more than that. I think about him.

I miss him when he’s not around.

It’ll hurt if he has to leave as suddenly as he appeared.

He’s quiet, and the heat of embarrassment blankets my skin. Awesome.
Good going, Ryen. Maybe all he liked about you was that you weren’t clingy, and now you’re acting like you’re in love with him.

“When are we going to be there?” I ask, my tone curt as I try to change the subject.

I watch as he slowly pulls over to the side of the road and parks next to a wall of trees.

“We’re here now,” he answers.

I peer around the hedge, taking a better look, and then dart my eyes around, taking in the quiet, spacious neighborhood.

“This is Trey’s house,” I point out, my guard definitely up now.

He nods, taking off his seatbelt. “There’s something of mine in there. A family heirloom.” He gestures to Trey’s house on the right. “And I need it back.”

“What are you talking about? Why would Trey have something of yours?”

He shakes his head. “Not Trey.”

“What?”

He takes my phone out of my hand and punches some buttons on the screen as I try to figure out what the hell’s going on. There’s something of his in there? Something he wants back? Trey and his entire family are at the baseball game, so no one’s home.

Are we breaking in?

“Masen, I’m not breaking into his house.”

“You don’t have to.” He hands my phone back to me. “I programmed in my number. I think it’s about time you had it anyway. Call me if anyone comes home or you see anything weird.”