I stop listening, closing TikTok as the blood drains from my face.
“Oh, Dakota,” Maxine starts, but I just wave off her concern like it’s nothing, like I don’t care. Instead, I’m quivering with frustration. How dare he?! Seriously. Fuckability rating? Of all the stupid, misogynistic shit. I’m so furious that I forget for a moment that I’m also supposed to be sad. See? Told you I hated that guy from second one. He isn’t just a Chad: he’s a troll, too. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s probably, like, a mama’s boy or something. I bet he’s jealous of you.”
“You’re too nice, Maxie, you know that?” I say instead, acting out a pretend yawn. I’m not just saying that: my sister really is too nice. If I give any indication that I’m about to start shit … “I think I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I pause for a second, glancing past the phone screen and out the window toward the water. That’s right. This isn’t my usual nighttime chat with Maxine; this is different. My whole life is different. “Promise you’ll really come next weekend? I don’t think I’ll survive if you don’t.”
“Oh, I’ll be there, come hell or high water.” Maxine smiles softly at me, reaching up two fingers to touch the screen. I do the same and we sit there for a while, pretending like we’re in the same room together, like old times. Until I was nine years old, I refused to sleep in my own room, choosing instead to bunk with my older sister. “X is driving me up; he has a Jeep Gladiator.”
I laugh. My sister has always been obsessed with cars. Me, I couldn’t care less. But I’m glad she’s excited.
“Until next time, I love you fierce,” I tell her, and Maxine nods.
“Until next time. Love you fierce, baby sister.”
I hang up first, biting my lower lip for a moment. My natural inclination here is to sulk. But that fury inside of me, that burning ember in my belly? It’s just been fanned into raging flames.
With that heat as fuel, I get up and crack the door to my bedroom, glancing down the hall to see if Tess is around. Much as I dislike Parrish, I’d rather not run into my bio-mom right now. The way she looks at me makes my shoulders hurt, like I’ve just been yoked to a wagon full of boulders. Heavy, that’s what her stares are. Desperate.
I slip out quietly and let the door snick shut behind me before braving the stairs. At each turn, I check for people. I am officially peopled out. Well, you know, except for the throwdown I’m about to have with Parrish.
I find the asshole lounging on the same couch where he filmed his TikTok video, scrolling his phone and listening to some god-awful Drake song. The milk carton is sitting on the table next to his bare feet. When he hears the soft shush of my footsteps on the floor, he gestures to the cushion beside him without looking up. That’s how self-absorbed he is, that he doesn’t even bother to see who it is that’s just walked in.
“About time you got here; sit your ass down,” he murmurs as I take his instruction and flop down on the cushion next to him. It takes a good thirty seconds for Parrish to look up and realize that I’m not whoever he thought I was. That Chasm guy he mentioned, maybe?
“Hello Parrish,” I grind out through clenched teeth. The song switches to … something. I’m not a fan of mainstream rap so I have no idea what’s playing now. What I do know, however, is this: Parrish smells amazing. Like, amazing-amazing. My nostrils flare to take in the scent and I hope it makes me look really ticked off. Because I am. I don’t care if the guy smells like clean linen and dewy clovers and bright citrus. He deserves a kick in the balls.
“You.”
Just that one word.
Our eyes meet and my heartbeat picks up speed, adrenaline surging through me as I do my best not to compare the color of his irises to toasted coconut.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, turning my phone around so that he can see the offending video. “Is this supposed to be funny?”
Instead of getting defensive or even angry—I guess both of those emotions just cost too much energy for the lackadaisical lord beside me—Parrish smiles. It’s a terrible smile. It’s a smile that you could only paint with oil, that’s how slick it is. He looks pleased with himself, and if I thought I was mad before, it’s nothing to how I feel now.
“You’re stalking me already?” he asks with a confident laugh. Those stupid stomach muscles of his—remember, they’re extremely stupid muscles—clench as he chuckles. Parrish sets his phone down and then licks his lower lip, swiping a thumb across the shiny surface as he takes me in. “Let me reiterate this for you: no.”
“No, what?” I blurt out, shooting to my feet. Violence isn’t really my go-to response in uncomfortable situations—I do my best to be nice most of the time—but I feel positively murderous in that moment. The dark tones of the song Parrish is listening to actually suit my mood. “No, you’re not going to take the video down?”
Parrish surprises me by standing up, too, towering over me like he thinks I care that he’s taller. One swift kick to his junk could easily level out the height difference between us.
“No, I’m not interested in you.” He says the words slowly, as if he’s worried I won’t understand. But oh. Oh. Oh. Screw this guy. I’ve dealt with worse online; most girls have.
A laugh escapes me, something dry and mocking and foreign. Who is this person that’s standing here smirking with my face? Anybody that’s met me for even three seconds knows I despise conflict yet here I am inviting it into my life when I should’ve just blocked this douche and given him the silent treatment.
“Interested in you? Are you insane? We just met ten minutes ago, and you’ve managed to show me that you’re a clout chasing misogynist with bad tattoos and an ugly face.”
Oops.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the verbal diarrhea. Sure, I dislike the guy, but does he really deserve all that? Despite the harsh words I’ve just thrown in his face, Parrish doesn’t stop smiling. There’s a slight tensing of his lips, but it’s so minor that I could’ve easily imagined it. Nah, he doesn’t seem fazed whatsoever.
He reaches up to cup the side of my face.
“Try hard not to fall in love with me,” he drawls, his voice a menacing purr that raises goose bumps on every inch of my skin. Gah! I want to slap this asshole in his too-pretty face. Instead, I smack his hand away and give him a dismissive once-over the way he did me.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I don’t like guys with mommy complexes.”
This time, I get the sort of reaction that I wanted. A dark shadow passes over Parrish’s face, knocking that sultry smirk of his into a deep-seated frown.
“This,” he hisses, pointing at my phone to indicate the offending video and then snapping his fingers, “is just the beginning. I’ve hated you since I was three years old, Mia.” My breath releases in a rush at hearing my birthname, a moniker that I wasn’t aware of until six weeks ago. If I didn’t even know that I was Mia Patterson, how could Parrish possibly hate me so much? It makes zero sense. “I’m going to bury you.”
We’re so close now that we could kiss. That is, if we both wouldn’t rather murder each other.