Bad Boy Blues(58)

He probably needed it for all the wars he has fought, living in that glass tower.

I tug at his hair with equal pressure. “Me. I said you wanted my company so here I am.”

His nostrils flare. “Is it going to take a restraining order for you to keep away from me?”

“Try me. I dare you.”

Zach bows his body toward me even more. It’s like the clouds are obstructing the moon and the world has gone dark.

It’s okay.

I’m wrapped around darkness; I’m not afraid of it.

“Remember the line, Blue. You’re very close to being on the side of stupid,” he warns.

The strands of his hair graze my forehead and my nose bumps against his. Even that slightest touch is enough to make my back arch and dig my nails in the nape of his neck.

“You’re stupid too,” I whisper, thinking about the tattoo on his wrist. “Look what you’re doing. Jumping across canyons. Even though, it was… a teeny, tiny bit magnificent.”

It was.

Now that I’m not scared out of my mind, I can admit that he looked really, really sexy and invincible. A daredevil.

Zach’s eyes rove over my face. “You are obsessed with me.”

“No.” I flinch, then, “Kinda.”

He presses me into the truck with his body. His torso is pressing into my belly and his chest is flattening my heavy, throbbing breasts. His weight must be crushing me but all I can feel is a sense of freedom.

A sense of life.

So much life that I might die from it.

“Didn’t your mom teach you to stay away from your bully?” he rasps.

It’s so reminiscent of all the things he said to me when we first met that it takes me a second to gather my breath.

In that second, I imagine him when he was twelve, all angry and arrogant, and I was ten, all indignant and annoyed. I imagine what would’ve happened if he wasn’t so screwed up and we hadn’t fought that day.

Maybe we would’ve been friends. And maybe one day, we would’ve become something more.

Instead of a hate story, our story would’ve been one of love.

I look into his eyes as I cradle his hard cheek. His stubble is rough under my fingers and his skin is hot and that expression – the one I’ve been chasing after ever since I saw it when he cornered me in the hallway.

It’s regret.

I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out. He’s regretful. Probably of all the things he did to me and put me through.

“If you’re my bully, then I’m the bullied, right?” I begin. “Well, I’m moving on. I have the power. So I’m choosing to forget. I don’t remember the guy who bullied me. Who stood by and watched me get humiliated over and over. Who I hurled insults at. Instead of him, I remember the guy who came to my rescue when I cut my palm that first night at the party. I remember the guy who gave up cigarettes because I wanted him to suffer. And who ate that custard even though he knew what I was up to. I remember the guy who sent Ashley away and defended me. I remember the guy who pulled a five-year-old kid out of a hole and who made that kid feel better about his situation. Instead of my bully, I remember the guy who said he wanted to protect me and when he didn’t, he hated himself a little more every day.”

This is my catharsis.

Tina was right. I have to let go and I am letting go, of old anger, the past, the sense of injustice.

I just didn’t know it would be like this, wrapped around the guy who hurt me.

But I guess it makes sense. He’s been the center of my universe. Why wouldn’t he be with me when I take this step?

“And to answer your question, my mom taught me to stay away from my bully but she also taught me to never stand by if someone was getting bullied.”

Zach’s breaths are harsh and halting and I can feel them down to my bones. I can feel his pain, his anger, his outrage and torture, everything.

Maybe this is what they call telepathy.

This, right here, is transcendence.

“I’m sorry but…” I squeeze his sides with my thighs. “Your family’s fucked up. Like, really fucked up. Your dad?” I shake my head and fist his t-shirt. “He’s a bully. Do you understand? You don’t have to go to Oxford or whatever to be a Prince. It’s all bullshit. Don’t let him tell you that you don’t belong. Don’t let him make you believe all the crap about you, Zach. You don’t deserve that. You –”

Zach pushes his hips into me and rubs up against my core, making me shut up.

“Yeah? What do I deserve?” he asks roughly, staring at me with a breath-stealing intensity.

God, he’s so close.

And hard, and I’m wrapped around him so shamelessly.

But I won’t let him distract me. He needs to know that his dad is an asshole. That he doesn’t deserve to be treated like this because of something that’s not his fault.

“I’m serious,” I tell him.

“Me too.” He rolls his hips against mine, making me shiver. “Tell me what I deserve, Blue.”

“Not this. Nobody deserves to be treated like this.”

Clenching his jaw, he uncurls my hand from his shirt and grasps my palm.

A sharp pain flares in the center of it, reminding me that I fell the moment I got out of the car. Zach’s thumb is pressing on that wound. It’s the same palm I’d cut the night he came back, my left one.