Nate’s eyes narrow.
I continue. “And you.”
“I’m not touching you, Tillie.” Then in a flash, he’s up from the ground and the warmness of his body is instantly gone.
Wait. What? My face doesn’t hide the shock I’m feeling. He doesn’t want me.
Tatum.
“Right,” I snicker, getting up from the ground. Fuck Nate. Aside from everything else, fuck him for this the most.
My eyes go to Brantley, who steps forward, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me into his body. I lick my bottom lip, my eyes staying on his. Dark orbits peer back at me. I’ve always thought Brantley had dark brown eyes, but up close, it’s almost like there are also blue flecks through them. Or maybe I’m hallucinating. Or maybe it’s the moon playing tricks on me.
He backs me up until I crash against a tree trunk, then his hands come to the backs of my thighs.
“Will he fight you after this?” I whisper, my eyes going from between his lips to his eyes.
“It’s cute you still think he gives a fuck.”
“He doesn’t?” I already know that he doesn’t, but I guess there is still a very small part of my brain that needs to be reminded.
Brantley pins me with a glare so cold and distant, it almost has me running to hide behind another tree. The fact that he’s pressing against me is what is stopping me. “Use me to fuck with him, Tillie. He won’t and can’t do anything about it. The shots are yours to make, it’s part of the rules…” He doesn’t elaborate, and I shoot a quick look at Nate. He’s leaning against the same tree Brantley was at, grinning at me while running his index finger over his upper lip.
He thinks I won’t do it. He’s made a mistake. He’s gone into this thinking I’m like Madison and will go cold right before things kick off. He’s made a mistake because I’m not his property. Sex is something I can’t live without—I use it as a way to mask a lot of my issues. And I’m not Madison. I wasn’t raised with a silver spoon, I was raised by blood sodden knives, and girls like me, we learn to use them as weapons. Love shouldn’t be offered up as a gift to just anybody, it should be preserved and used as a weapon to protect our heart.
Keeping my eyes on Nate, I draw my tongue out and lick Brantley’s neck all the way up to his earlobe, and then whisper with enough lip movement for Nate to know what I’ve said.
“Fuck me.”
Brantley growls, pressing into me and grabs my hands, yanking them up above my head. He rolls his hips into me. Nate is lost in the back of my head.
Brantley’s hands come to the waist of my jeans and he pops open the button, yanking them down. His hand cups me and I moan, biting down on my bottom lip while tossing my head back. He glides my panties to the side—Nate’s phone lights up and starts ringing, breaking the moment.
Brantley lets go, turning back to face Nate like we weren’t just about to fuck in the name of revenge in the middle of a forest in the pouring rain.
The atmosphere and realization of the situation starts to seep into me more and more as the minutes pass.
I guess fear does weird things to different people. To me, I fight where some flight. If Nate wants a challenge, I’ll give him a war. I don’t owe him loyalty, and I’m not going to offer it up as a peace offering either.
Nate doesn’t look at me, his eyes go to Brantley. “We gotta bounce.”
Then they both start walking away.
“Pull your pants up, princess.”
We’re driving back to Nate and Madison’s when Nate hits the stereo on. He’s driving and I’m in the backseat, which means his eyes in the rearview mirror are in direct line to me, not that he has actually looked at me yet.
Lauv’s “There’s No Way” starts playing.
Something feels off about this whole night, like someone isn’t saying something. My teeth are chattering, and my lips have probably bruised to a deep purple. Nate and Brantley had long since ditched their shirts, now both of them are sitting in damp jeans and—I should stop.
My eyes flick to the rearview mirror and my heart stops in my chest when I catch Nate watching me. His eyes are flat, like the ocean, but just like the ocean, you know that beneath the surface there’s a whole lot going on that you don’t see. It’s unnerving. He looks back to the road and I sink back against the door, rubbing my arms.
For a brief moment, I can feel him pushing contrition into me. If I was a better girl, I would feel guilty. But I do regret getting worked up over it. I was caught up in proving I was different than Madison and angry at him for having feelings toward other girls that it weaved me into a web of fury. From the chattering teeth to the frost sprinkling over my brain, I’ve decided that you can’t change the way people feel about others. I can’t stop how he feels about Tate and Madison. I just have to remove myself from the equation.