Girls foolish enough to wander alone at midnight.
“I beg to differ,” he drawls when he finishes his perusal and comes back up to my face. “You look daisy fresh to me.”
See?
Predator.
Beautiful, gorgeous… predator.
I fist my dress and press my back into the tree. Raising my chin, I try to look more experienced even though I’m anything but. “And I’m not a freshman either.”
“Is that so?”
Look at that tone, so condescending.
God, I hate him.
Also, I hate myself for saying that.
But now that I have, I’m going to stay the course, because backing down would be even more cowardly.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I mean I am. But I should’ve been a sophomore. I repeated a year. And so I’m older and hence wiser. I’m about to turn sixteen in three months.”
All true.
I did repeat a year. Back when my mom had been sick and eventually died of cancer.
Everything had fallen on Conrad, who was only eighteen at the time and a freshman in college. He had so many, many balls to juggle back then, what with my mom’s deteriorating health, getting a job, keeping the house, taking care of my brothers and me – well, all my brothers chipped in and helped with me, but they were all kids themselves – that perfect attendance wasn’t very high on the list.
So my teachers thought it would be best if I repeated a year.
“Sweet sixteen, huh,” he murmurs, his eyes all glowy and intense.
I swallow. “Yes. So you shouldn’t have said what you said. To your friends.”
“What’d I say to my friends?”
I fist my dress harder.
I know what he’s doing. He’s provoking me. Because this is what he does.
He, Reed Roman Jackson, provokes and I, Calliope Juliet Thorne, make good choices.
So I should make a good choice here and backtrack.
But something in his eyes, in his casual but also tight demeanor, makes me say, “That I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
I lick my dry lips. “That I don’t know how babies are made.”
“And how are they made?”
Stop. Just stop, Callie.
But you know what, I hate that he’s so amused right now.
It makes me want to say it, throw him off, shock him.
So I widen my stance and throw back my shoulders as I say, “They are made when you f-fuck.”
What?
What did I say?
Oh God.
I think I’ve shocked myself. I’ve never ever said that word before, never.
I’ve heard it though. A million times. I have four brothers, of course I’ve heard it. But I’ve never said it.
Not until tonight.
Not until he made me say it.
The guy who has gone slightly still. Like he wasn’t expecting me to take the bait.
Well, good.
There. That’ll teach him not to underestimate me.
“Is that the first time you’ve said that word?” he asks mockingly, with his eyes narrowed.
I hate that he makes me feel so breathless and young. “Why, are you proud that you made me say that word for the first time?”
His jaw moves, that stubbled, sharp thing. It tics for a moment before he says, “Not particularly, no.”
“Well –”
“Don’t ever say it again.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
I’m so confused.
Did he just… tell me not to say the F word?
He did, didn’t he?
But that’s…
Who is he to tell me that? Who is he to tell me anything?
“Yeah, I don’t think you can tell me what I can or can’t say,” I tell him, raising my eyebrows, which only makes his jaw tic even more. “And while we’re at it, you shouldn’t have talked about me with your friends like I wasn’t here. That’s bad manners.”
“What about crashing someone’s party? Does that also fall under bad manners?” he shoots back.
My lips part.
Okay, he got me.
I am crashing his party. I wasn’t really invited, was I?
“I wasn’t… I was leaving,” I say. “I just got lost.”
“Lost.”
“Yes.”
His eyes glow again and something flashes through his features that I don’t really understand. “You do that a lot, don’t you? Get lost.”
“I don’t… what?”
“In the woods. In the hallways…”
He leaves that sentence hanging but I get his meaning. I get it and oh my God.
He knows.
He knows it was me. That I saw him. Months and months ago, on my first day at Bardstown High.
He knows.
A rush of heat fans over my cheeks. My throat, my entire body actually, and can I just dissolve into this tree?
Can I just please disappear?
“I’m… I didn’t think you…”
“Knew?” He smirks. “I did.”
“But I was… quiet.”
“You weren’t as quiet as you think you were. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
He leans forward slightly, the strings of his hoodie swinging, as if confessing a secret. “I didn’t mind. Being watched by you. The Thorn Princess. And if you hadn’t run away, I would’ve gotten rid of her.”
“You would have?”
“Yeah.”
“W-why?”
“So I could focus all my attention.” Then, with a lowered voice, “On you.”
My heart bangs against my ribs, bruising them. Battering them, making them throb.
In fact, my whole body throbs.
I can feel it. I can hear it even.
Even so, I try to hold on to my composure. I try to hold on to the authority in my voice. “As if.”
“As if what?”
“As if I would’ve… let you or even stayed.”
“I think you would’ve.” He keeps his gaze steady and unwavering, both intense and slightly amused. “And I think you would’ve enjoyed it too. Girls love it when I give them my attention. They’re known to even beg for it. On their knees particularly.”
My knees tingle at that as if zapped by a current. They buckle too.
As if they’re going to bend. As if I’m going to fall.
But I won’t.
“I’m not like other girls,” I tell him. “I don’t beg.”
Something about that makes him smirk. “Every girl begs. She just needs the right thing to beg for.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “My brothers would kill you.”
I’m the Thorn Princess, as he said.
That’s what they call me. I’m the princess, the little sister of four legendary soccer gods who so completely hate him.