Her expression changed from confused to ashamed—or maybe even embarrassed. The dome light shined on her pink cheeks, and I grinned. “What’s this? Hanging on to our old friendship bracelets, are we?”
“Uh…” She looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I smiled even wider. “It’s absolutely adorable that you are pretending to not know what this is. Ask me where I keep mine.”
Madeline gave me one last look before she realized there was no point in lying. She rolled her eyes playfully, and I saw the slight slip of her lips. “Oh, whatever.” She snatched the keys out of my hand quickly and shot out of the car, slamming the door in my face.
I laughed, shaking my head as I climbed out of her car and followed after her. The clouding thoughts of my parents were slowly coming back into view, and the pent-up aggression from holding back my fist from flying into my father’s nose was beginning to flame again. I needed an outlet before I pulled Madeline’s body into mine and buried myself in her as if she were my own personal safe haven.
I was being honest with her when I’d said I wouldn’t kiss her again. Not unless she begged me.
She could pretend all she wanted, but she and I were inevitable. I was going to break her. I was going to break her into telling me how she really felt, listen to her beg, then I’d piece her back together with a single fucking kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Madeline
It had been a while since I’d been in the cabin. The last time I was here was when Christian had shunned me in front of everyone, and I’d acted like a desperate queen with a broken crown. My stomach turned at the thought.
I thought Christian breaking up with me was the worst thing that would happen to me during my senior year of high school.
How wrong was I?
I jumped at the sound of the door latching behind me. Eric came around, his annoyingly delicious scent wafting all around me as he turned the light on and walked into the den area. For as many parties as the English Prep boys threw here, the place was still in nice shape. Large, comfy couches surrounded a fireplace with a TV high on the mantel. The swirls of tans and browns on the marble countertop were glistening underneath the lights as if they’d been recently waxed. The floors were clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen. No littering beer cans or used condoms. Nothing like it would appear the morning after a cabin extravaganza.
“Do you hire a cleaning company after the parties here?” I asked, my gaze lingering. It was surreal seeing it like this. It was way bigger than I thought without everyone crammed inside.
“Nah.” Eric walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer. “Christian, Ollie, and I usually clean up the next day. Or we make an underclassman do it.”
I nodded, pushing my hair behind my ears awkwardly.
Why was this so awkward? Was it because he saw me at my worst earlier? Or was it because I saw him at his?
“Want one?” he asked, leaning back onto the counter. Eric was so tall he could have sat on the counter and his legs would have still hit the floor.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, eyeing him with a watchful eye as his lips wrapped around the beer bottle.
After taking a swig, he shrugged. “Not beating my father’s ass in front of my mom, I guess.”
I honestly thought he would have taken a swing at his father if I hadn’t run down my porch steps and grabbed onto his arm. His skin was like fire, burning my palm when we’d touched. He was shaking, blinding anger laying right underneath the surface. Heather had taken one glance at me when he’d stepped into his father’s face, and that was all it took for me to rush down as his barrier.
“Are you going to make me drink alone?”
I glanced up and saw Eric watching me with hope in his eyes. Drinking with Eric was likely one of the worst things I could agree to do, but I put one foot in front of the other, and soon, a beer bottle was thrusted into my hand and the malty flavor was on my tongue.
His cheek lifted, his dark eyelashes fanning. “Thatta girl.”
Eric walked past me, taking another swig of his beer. By the time I wiped the smile off my face, I turned around, and he was sitting on the couch in the den area. The cushions molded perfectly to his body. He pushed his dark hair back with a skillful hand, showcasing all the defined lines of his face. “You can sit, you know.”
I shifted my gaze to the spot beside him, and my stomach pulled tight.
“I wasn’t lying the other day when I said I wouldn’t touch you.”
Shoving away the disappointment that I had brought upon myself, I took a step down into the den, still holding my beer bottle in one hand. I felt my disappointment slowly turn into jealousy. Jealous of what? I wasn’t sure. The beer bottle that his lips were touching? The thought of him touching someone else because I had pushed him away?
You touched me earlier,” I said, taking another step closer.
His stare darkened. “Not like I wanted to.”