Sicko(8)

Placing my full cup down onto the sand, I snuggle into my hoodie. “Stone View isn’t bad. It’s about the equivalent to Hogwarts, only everyone is muggles and instead of Hagrid, we have Hagdid. I shit you not, our headmaster’s name is Hagdid.”

We both burst out laughing as we slip into small talk. After trading cell numbers with India, I stand from my seat and swipe off the sand that’s on my butt. “I’ll text you on Sunday, maybe we can meet up. You can meet Sloane. You’ll get along disturbingly well.”

India gazes up at me, the depth to her hazel brown eyes holding so many secrets. I get the feeling that she has lived a thousand lives. What would she be doing at Lake View?

“Sure!” She winks at me. “See ya later, Little J.”

Hated that name, loved her.

Weaving through the sea of drunk bodies, I keep my head down. I’m almost at the beginning of the steep track that connects the beach to the back yard of Orson’s house when a hand connects to my arm.

“Royce.” I turn to face him, expecting some cheeky smirk and maybe some scolding for drinking, but instead his eyes are focused on me, searching my body.

“You wanna go home?”

I run my tongue over my teeth. “It’s late. We can just crash in the pool house like always.” As we’ve gotten older, our connection or bond has become stronger, and that’s a testament for how strong it is because when we first laid eyes on each other, we were done. It was as though the universe just fucking shifted anytime we were around each other after that. He embedded himself into my heart and I sewed my name across his limbs. We fight a lot, but we love hard and when it comes to him and me, one cannot exist without the other.

Royce Kane is undeniably my best friend.

He nods his head toward the ocean. “I’ve only had a couple. I can drive.” His hand slips down from my arm and his fingers intertwine with mine. At the sudden connection, it’s as though my heartbeat pulses for the first time ever. Blood rushes through my ears and my cheeks flush hot. I’m thankful—so fucking thankful—for the blanket of the night. “Come on, Dutch…” I’m fifteen, he is eighteen. I never feel uncomfortable around him in that sense—ever, but—wait. Wait, the fuck on a minute. Why am I sizing up our ages?

Shivering with the sudden repulsiveness of what just passed through my mind, I retract myself from him and fling my arms around my torso protectively.

As if that could help.

As if Royce wouldn’t just tear everything and anything down to get to what he wants if he needs to.

“I don’t want to deal with the questions. I’ll just go up to the room.” It wasn’t all a lie, because I truly couldn’t be bothered with all the raised eyebrows and questions from people who would see us leave on Green Stone.

“Fuck them,” he says, shrugging.

I open my mouth, deciding we could just stay out on the boat instead of in the pool house, when skinny fingers and red nails come into view, spreading out over Royce’s stomach. Annette gazes at me from behind his arm. “Hey, baby, I’m tired, can we go on your boat like you said?”

My stomach tightens as all the air is being sucked out of my lungs.

He fucking invited her onto the boat before me. Undiluted rage simmers below my skin as I spin around and begin running up the stairs that lead to the main house. Usually I take these slow since there are so many of them and the view going up is beautiful to take in, but I want to get as far away from them both as quickly as possible. Five minutes later and I’ve reached the top, but I don’t stop. I run across the well-manicured lawn, dodging the illuminated pool and head straight for the door of the pool house. Sliding it open, I slip inside and slam it closed, quickly locking the door once I’m in. My heart is beating in my chest, tears clinging to the back of my eyes. Why the fuck am I crying? Deep down I know I’m being unreasonable, and to be fair, Royce is always with someone, prancing around. Why is it different now? Why am I beginning to feel different toward him?

Removing my hoodie and tossing it onto the floor, I swipe away my unreasonable tears and drag my ass to the other side of the room, where my single bed awaits.





An arm hooks around my waist, pulling me into a hard, warm body. I already know who it is before I’ve turned to look. I could smell him in any room. Without thinking, I wriggle into his embrace when my butt pushes against his crotch. He’s hard—rock fucking hard—and I know that everything inside of me is saying this is wrong. We’ve never been in this situation—ever. He has slept in the same bed as me, but we were kids then. We aren’t now. His fingers spread out over my tummy and I hold my breath, afraid that if I breathe, it will be too loud. Too fast. Too desperate. Too obvious what he does to me. His fingers move down as his lips press against the nape of my neck.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that, right?” His voice is low, yet distant. It doesn’t matter, because my hips begin seeking his touch as if they’ve been reunited for the first time in centuries. He stops my movement at once, forcing me still while pressing his palm over my lower abdomen. I swallow past my tight throat, trying so hard to ignore the outline of his hardness pressing against my butt. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck. There would be no going back after this. I don’t care. He usually does, but his teasing always stops before the touching. We’ve never touched, never kissed. Never done anything that would cross that line, except maybe light flirting that I mostly think I’m imagining.