One Small Thing(77)

Scarlett’s face pales. I don’t miss the way she flinches when Jeff says the word slut.

Ignoring the heat scorching my cheeks, I focus on my—former—best friend instead of Jeff. “Is that what you think, too, Scar?” I ask quietly. “That I’m a slut?”

“I...” She bites her lip.

“That’s exactly what she thinks,” Jeff announces, his tone smug. “Everyone does.”

“Shut up,” I snap at him. “I’m talking to Scar.” I lock gazes with her. “Do you think I’m a slut?”

Jeff plants a hand on the back of her neck, in that possessive grip he’s so fond of. “Yes,” he says firmly. “She does.”

I remain focused on Scar. She’s clearly flustered.

But she doesn’t go against him.

Disappointment fills my belly. I’ve known this girl since kindergarten. Over the years, we’ve laughed together, we’ve cried together and we’ve always had each other’s backs. Or so I thought. It’s obvious Scar would rather stay in Jeff’s good graces than have my back. She’d rather listen to him taunt me about what a slut I am than defend me.

Come to think of it, nobody is defending me. Thanks to Jeff, all my classmates believe I ditched him at that party in Lincoln so I could hang out with a drug dealer. Have Macy or Yvonne or Troy come up to me and asked for my side of the story? Has anyone? Nope.

And meanwhile, here I am, placing so much value in these jerks’ opinions. What do I care what they think of me? These people aren’t my friends. I thought they were, but they’re not. My only true friend is Chase. He’s the one who listens to me, supports me, acts like he actually gives a damn about me.

“Look, there’s Lizzie’s fuck buddy now,” Jeff says with a sneer.

My heartbeat speeds up at Chase’s appearance. He’s wearing all black, and I don’t think he shaved all weekend because his face is covered with dirty-blond scruff. He looks incredible. And resigned—he looks utterly resigned as his blue eyes shift from me to Jeff.

The two boys hold each other’s gazes. For several seconds, time stands still.

Chase shoves his hands into his pockets and ducks his head.

Jeff visibly gloats at winning the staredown and causing Chase to back down.

Indignation surges through me. No way. No fucking way. Jeff isn’t allowed to win anything over Chase. Jeff is a controlling asshole who gets off on terrorizing girls and guys who won’t fight back.

Chase is a million times better than Jeff Corsen. He’s kind and supportive and he’s paid for his mistakes. He’s been good to me. And he does not deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating him. It makes me sick to my stomach that he thinks I’m ashamed to be seen with him.

I suck in a long, shaky breath and search for the courage inside me. Finding it, I take a step forward and speak in a clear, even voice.

“Nah, that’s not my fuck buddy,” I inform Jeff and Scarlett and anyone else in earshot of us. “That’s my boyfriend.”

There’s a scandalized gasp.

A few whispers.

Chase’s blue eyes widen at my declaration, but I don’t give him any time to sit with that shock. I stride toward him, grab hold of his T-shirt collar and tug his head down.

Then I kiss him in the middle of the hallway, in front of all our classmates, staking my claim.

To hell with what anyone thinks.

Chase is the only one who matters.





31

The kiss is widespread knowledge by the time school ends. Chase and I suffer through the stares and whispers in Spanish class. We endure the muttered, disgusted jabs as we leave the school. We ignore the dirty looks we receive in the parking lot.

My bus isn’t here yet, but Chase can’t wait with me and he’s not happy about it. Since the final bell rang, he’s been mumbling about how stupid it was for me to kiss him in view of everyone. How crazy I am for proclaiming that he’s my boyfriend.

And yet he hasn’t let go of my hand.

“I really wish I could wait to make sure you get on the bus okay,” he says grimly. “But Jack’s picking me up at the Starbucks in five minutes. We’ve got two yard cleanups to do today before it gets dark.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m, like, the only senior who rides the school bus anyway.” Damn my parents for taking away my car again. “Those freshmen and sophs are too scared to get in my face.”

That seems to appease him. He nods briskly and says, “I’m biking home from work in a few hours, and then I’ll come by your place tonight.” My heart does a happy flip, then plummets when Chase adds, “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Yeah, we do. But we’re not talking about what I think he wants to talk about. We’re not breaking up. We’re not going to stop seeing each other. Today, I made my stand. I chose Chase Donnelly over everyone else in my life, and it can’t be for nothing.

I stand up on my tiptoes and smack a kiss on his cheek. It’s so surreal doing that with the autumn sun shining down on us and other students in plain sight. I think it freaks him out a little, too, because the moment my lips touch his cheek, his wary gaze instantly conducts a sweep of the area.

“Iowa,” I whisper to him.