The lack of cover makes me nervous, and I edge toward the house before theirs, since it has a row of trees lining each side of a pathway. Fat, cold raindrops begin to spatter down, and I duck my head and dart behind one of the trees before I notice that the house is only halfway intact. Half of it is a blackened, crumbling shell. Lucky for me, that makes this part of the neighborhood nice and dark. I creep along the white gravel walkway between the trees, staying in the shadows. When I’m at the last one before an exposed stretch, I stop and peer around it, trying to see into the Dolce house next door.
Restless and frustrated, I dart out of the cover of the trees and run along the stretch of gravel to the burned house. My footsteps are like gunshots in my ears, but I don’t stop until I reach the house. There, I hunker down behind the pillars on the front porch. After about ten minutes, I decide I suck at this. Apparently determination is not all it takes to be a good spy. From all the action I’ve seen, you’d think no one was home at all.
There’s no sign of movement at the Dolce house. A wide lawn separates the houses, along with a row of bushes in the process of losing their leaves. On the other side of the burned house is a section of trees, so I don’t have to worry about neighbors in that direction. At least I have something to do while I wait for the Dolces to show themselves.
I step past a no trespassing sign and into the burnt rubble inside. The people who lived here were obviously rich enough to just leave and start over, because it doesn’t look like anyone tried to salvage anything. There are perfectly good appliances rusting away under the layer of soot. I run a finger along the top of the stove, which looks unharmed. Guess the fire didn’t start in the kitchen.
I make my way toward the less burned side, wondering if I can scavenge any good finds. The staircase is halfway burned, but I try to use it anyway. A few steps up, my foot goes through the charred boards, and I retreat. The good side of the house faces the Dolce house, and after circling the outside, I can’t find a way up. Judging by the rotted leaves and empty acorn shells collected in corners of the wraparound porch, I’d say the house has stood empty for at least a year, since last fall. I wonder why the neighborhood hasn’t demolished it and built a new monstrosity in its place. They probably consider it an eyesore, but I can see the tragic beauty in it, like Miss Havisham sitting in her ancient wedding dress.
I scale a support on the good side and scramble up onto the second-floor balcony. From here, I can see into all the top-floor rooms on this side of the Dolce house, including the one I remember Royal pointing out as his. The light is on in that room, but there’s no one inside. However, my eyes are drawn to one of the other rooms, and for a second, I freeze, unable to look away. It’s too far to make out faces, but it’s easy to see what’s happening.
A naked blonde is on a big bed, on all fours giving a blowjob to a dark-haired guy. I stand there watching for a minute without really thinking about it. I came over to spy, but I didn’t really think about what might be happening inside the Dolce house. It catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t, considering their reputations. I know I should look away, that I should go back to my car before I’m completely drenched by the increasing rain. But I’m drawn in, and I can’t stop staring at the guy, trying to figure out if it’s Royal or one of the twins.
Not that it matters. It shouldn’t matter. I tell myself it doesn’t, but I keep looking.
He’s naked, too, his body every bit as toned and sculpted as I would expect. I can see the muscles in his thick arms as he holds her hair in a messy clump behind her head, guiding her. He holds his phone in his other hand, and he’s thumbing through it. The casualness of his attention makes it clear he’s not filming her but scrolling on his phone while she services him. It’s so demeaning I want to stop watching, to save her whatever dignity she possesses, though she obviously doesn’t know I’m witness to it.
I turn away, and a shadow moves further down the balcony that makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I stumble back against the railing, and a soft chuckle meets my ears, winding a chill around my body, coiling like a snake. There’s a hiss, and a flash of flame, and then his hand cups it as he lights up. I can make out the shadows of Royal’s angular face, and relief washes through me, quickly replaced by the correct reaction—fear.
He inhales and then strides toward me, his footsteps heavy and fast.
Fuck. Why didn’t I run the second he made his presence known? I grab the railing, ready to vault over and scramble back down or even jump. I’m halfway over the railing when his thickly muscled arm clamps around my middle and drags me back.
“Guess I’m not the only one who likes to watch,” Royal purrs in my ear, grabbing my hair with his other hand, his fingers tightening on the back of my head in the exact same way his brother is holding that girl. They can call me trash, but it’s clear they don’t have much more regard for any other girl.
“Let me go,” I warn. “I may be small, but I can end your football career with one well-placed blow.”
“Oh, come on now,” Royal says. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just thought it might be a little more fun to watch with someone else this time.”
He pushes me against the railing, releasing my waist to take a drag on the joint he’s holding.
“What do you want?” I ask, my heart racing in my chest.
“I told you,” he says. “I just want a little company.”
I know he’s teasing, but I roll the words over in my mind. He has two brothers, three more friends in his posse, and a squadron of girls ready to fight for their spot in his inner circle. Could a boy like that really want company? Could a boy like that ever feel lonely, like he wishes he had someone to call when he goes out driving, like I did tonight?
His fingers brush over my cheek, and he touches the end of the joint to my lips. It’s damp from his mouth, and a little wire of heat curls inside me. I could take the joint, but something stops me. He has this effect on me, so when we’re together, it’s like this charge surrounds us, and the rest of the world disappears. It’s just us, doing this dangerous, seductive dance toward each other, a dance that can only end in devastation.
Royal’s fingers tighten on my hair, and his hips nudge mine as he skims the damp end of the joint against my lower lip, his face angled around mine so he can watch my mouth. “Open your lips,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Let me put it in.”
This time, I can’t help the tremor that shivers through me, strong enough for him to feel it. He doesn’t taunt me, though. His eyes are deep and filled with hunger that makes my breath quicken with my pulse. Everything between us is backwards—he pulled up my skirt and put his fingers in my underwear at school, and it wasn’t sexy, but when he slides the end of the joint between my lips, the erotic charge between us makes me dizzy.
“Give it a little suck,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as he bends close.
I let my eyes fall closed before I obey, closing my lips and taking a drag.
Still holding my hair, Royal turns my face toward his. Cold rain stripes my cheeks, but I barely feel it. His hot mouth angles to meet mine, stealing my breath, sucking the smoke from my lungs like its oxygen. I’m glad his hips hold me pinned to the railing, because I’m afraid I might buckle at the power of the sensations roaring through my body. I open my mouth for him, and he gives me back the smoke, filling my lungs until I’m lightheaded.
Royal buries his hand deeper in my hair, cradling my head in his huge palm and dragging my mouth up to his. When our lips meet, white hot electricity crackles through my body like the lightning forking through the sky. I gasp, and he plunges his tongue into my mouth, thrusting roughly against mine. The kiss is instantly deep and intense, his tongue taking full control of mine, stoking the heat inside me like a flame.
His scent fills me up, makes me wet. He smells masculine and strong, like he is. His hips grinding into mine, the thick ridge of his erection making my core quiver and my knees give way. He grips me hard, devouring my mouth like he could suck out my soul through one kiss. His kiss is commanding, demanding, dominating. It’s a kiss that gives nothing, only takes.
When he pulls away, it’s too soon.
He breaks the kiss and pulls back, holding my head as he blows the smoke into my face in a heady cloud. I’ve made out with guys, but this was something more than a kiss. It was a communication, silent but filled with hunger and longing, charged with erotic desperation.
“Now watch,” he says, his hand falling on top of mine, closing my fingers around the slick railing.