Punk 57(69)

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.