CHAPTER 6

"I didn't mean what I said about you living in the pool house. It was cruel and insensitive, and I'm sorry. You said that thing about my garbage bag, and I lashed out."
The machine finishes brewing, and Timothy reaches past me to toss the pod. His shoulder brushes my breast in a way that sends awareness flowing through me. I tuck my hair behind my ear, swallowing as I sneak a look up at him, but he's oblivious, and before I can respond, he continues.

"We all do shit when we're hurting. It's a good reason to keep from getting hurt in the first place."

I go to the giant fridge for cream, setting it in front of him. He stares at it as if he's surprised I know how he takes his coffee.

I turn away, going to the cupboard for cereal. "I said I hate you. I don't. I envy you. You take what you want, and you don't feel bad about demolishing whatever's in the way. Like friendships."

"If we're not friends, tell me how we've talked more this week than in the past four months."

I freeze in the middle of the kitchen, watching him add cream to his coffee. "Because lately whenever I get into trouble, there you are."

He puts the cream back in the fridge without so much as an indication he's heard me. I shake my head to clear it as I set the cereal on the counter. "Listen, don't tell my Dad about Chris."

"Or what?"

His words have me stiffening.

If my Dad finds out I can't handle myself, it's more evidence I'm not as capable as I should be, as capable as Timothy.

Timothy might be the Prince of Oakwood, but he's in my castle now.

I close the distance between us, stopping when my bare purple-painted toenails graze Timothy's socks. I tilt my head up to take in every line of his handsome face, his chocolate eyes bright with challenge.

"If you tell Dad about Chris," I murmur. "I'll tell him I woke up in your bed."

My Dad is protective. The day he finds out I'm not innocent, heads will roll.

Timothy's jaw tics because he knows that too. He reaches up to brush a thumb along my cheek, tracing beneath the pale red scratch I saw in the mirror this morning.

"You're not built your games." he replies at last, his breath light on my face. "You're too earnest."

"You don't know me anymore. You said it yourself. Dad would freak if you let me ride your bike. He'd lose his mind if he found out I was riding you."

Timothy reaches for his coffee on the counter and takes a long sip while I wait impatiently.

'What?" I say sharply, and his mouth twitches.

"I think you'd lose your mind if you were riding me, too."

His gaze traps mine, and heat floods my body, hardening my nipples, settling between my thighs.

My small victory gets smaller because I'm vibrating from his words.

Our friendship never came with barely veiled innuendos. No sexy, loaded provocation.

So, what the hell is this?

The rules of what's between us are changing..

But I'm not the one who changed them.

"Emily!" Rudy hollers again.

I take a step back, still staring at Timothy. "Your T-shirt's in the washing machine. I'll leave it by the back door."

All day Monday at school, people are talking behind my back. I'm dreading rehearsal that afternoon, but it'll be a relief too, because I'll find out what they're saying.

Turns out I don't have to wait long.

Jessy leans over in calc, when the teacher steps out, to whisper. "Are you okay? There's a rumor going around that you begged Chris to punch your V-card, he said no, then when he tried to leave, yopu crawled after him."

I cut a look at Carla across the room. "That's how it happened." I deadpan. "I planned the whole party so some jock would stick his dick on me."

Jessy goes back to her book. My gaze lands on Avery's empty seat. I really wish she were here.

By the time I make it through lunch, then fourth and fifth periods, Carla and her minions have been spreading gossip all day, but it's Chris I'm dreading most.

I don't want to look him in the eye.

Not because I'm afraid, but because he's a reminder of how stupid I was to think I could win these people over.

Miss Norma calls us to attention. "Since Mr. Chris Albright doesn't have lacrosse today, we can run the rowboat scene."

The one where they nearly kiss. Perfect. I get to beg for Chris' attention on stage, too.

Miss Norma looks around as I drop my bags on the corner of the stage. "Where is Chris?"

There's no Chris in sight.

She checks her watch. "He must be running late. Emily, a word."

I cross to her, and the rest of the crew goes about their preparations.

"It was kind of you to host the party this week, which makes it hard to say this."

The hairs on my arms lift. "Say what?"

"I've been thinking long and hard, and I'm not ready to put you on stag in the leading role after your inconsistent performance this past few week."

Every muscle in me tightens at once in denial and panic.

No. Shit, no, she can't take this away from me.

I want to say it's hard to focus when someone's threatening to poison you with your own water bottle or point out that Chris misses more rehearsals than he makes.

But Chris' good when he's here. I hate that it's true.

"I know I haven't been consistent recently." I admit. "But I'll fix this. I swear. Just give me two weeks."

"We put a premium on words, but actions speak louder." Miss Norma sighs, checking something on her phone. "I can give you ten days, but I'm making sure Carla is well versed in the lead. If your consistency doesn't improve, I'm making an executive decision and putting Carla in your place."

I nod because I can't find the words to speak.

Before I can, Chris strides in the door. He makes his way up to the stage, and I drag my feet to meet my prince, who's taking his sweet time shrugging out of his blazer. When he straightens, my gasp isn't the only one in the room. His eyes so swollen it;s almost shut, fresh and pink and angry.

"I trust you'll be more careful leading up to opening night. We can't have our prince looking like he was bludgeoned." Miss Norma chides.

I swear this day can't get worse until Chris good eye narrows as he lowers his voice. "You can wave your ass in my face and then fuck someone else, but tell him he doesn't need to run interference. You're not worth it."

I shake my head to clear it. "What...?" That's not from lacrosse." I realize. "Someone hit you."

Chris grimaces. "Don't pretend you don't know."

We put a premium on words, but actions speaks louder.

I told Timothy not to tell my Dad about Chris.

It never occurred to me he'd take matters into his own hands.

The boy I've never seen lose his temper finally lost it.

I should be sickened or angry, and part of me is.

But there's a surge of conviction underneath.

Chris expensive cologne makes my stomach turn, but I step closer. "I know what you think happened, but I'm going to do you a favor and tell you the truth."

"I didn't pick Timothy Adams over you."

Chris opens his mouth to respond, and I cut him off.

"But I would."

A gasp comes from the wings. I don't look to see if it's Carla or Jessy or the minions.

"He's twice the man you are." I press. "Because he doesn't let petty bullshit get in the way of what matters."

"Now, I know you're no prince, but for the next hour, do us both a favor and pretend."
You ever have a dream that's so real you can't tell it apart from the truth?

That's the kind I've been having.

Dark, seductive shapes.

Whispered promises of things I told myself I never wanted.

I never used to dream, but lately I can't stop, and every time I dream it's the same.

Tonight in the headmaster's office after school it's no dream. It's a nightmare.

"Mr. Carlton, there's been an incident." The headmaster's imperious tone has an apologetic edge, like he'd rather be getting a colonoscopy than delivering the news.

Most people don't like pissing off Eddie Carlton. I get it.

"What kind of incident?" My mentor's voice is whisky on the rocks. The guy could view you out without losing that smoky depth.

I wish I could shove out of this too-low leather chair and stalk the hell out this "look how rich we are" office. Instead, I force my gaze to the blotter in on the headmaster's desk.

"Mr. Adams assaulted another member of the senior class. Mr. Albright is a member of the lacrosse team." The headmaster drones as if that matters.

"What he do to you?" Eddie demands.

I don't answer, but my knuckles grip the arm of the chair.

Since moving to Dallas, I've gotten a read on everyone at school.

Chris Albright? The blond douche talks a big game, and we moved in the same parties the times I bothered to attend them, but he always seemed harmless.

Until this weekend.

"You tell him about Chris, I'll tell him I woke up in your bed."

I rub my good hand over my jaw. They're still waiting on an answer.

"Nothing."

The headmaster sighs. "Mr. Carlton, we accommodated your... charge for his final semester. It's highly unorthodox to admit new students mid-year, particularly for seniors. We can't let this kind of behavior slide. It's for Mr. Adams benefit, but also for the other students and their parents."

"Then suspend him if you need to."

The headmaster's brows rise. "Fine. Thursday's a PA day, but you're suspended from school for the rest of the week."

That's less than Ideal. I'm not a stellar student, which means I'll need some extra studying time so I don't fall behind more than I have before exams.

I'm going to graduate high school if it kills me. Everyone else in my family did, and if they can, I sure as hell can.

The parking lot is almost empty at this hour, and Eddie doesn't say a word until he's at his car and I'm at my bike.

"You're not here to fuck around. You're here to work."

I hate that he's the one to remind me. "I know."

Most musicians would kill for the chance to work with Eddie Carton. Every time he picks up his guitar, or lays down a phrase, or picks up the headphones to listen with a critic's ear, I'm reminded.

Music's my path forward. It's how I'm gonna be independent, distance myself from my upbringing and my dad's reach.