“Seriously, dude? You know what happened last time we talked about this, right?” My voice is pure annoyance.
Matt chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t make any comments about Blair. I like my face not bleeding more than I like a hot girl.”
He’s right; we haven’t exactly had any more discussions about Blair. Not that I haven’t been thinking about her way more than I’d like to admit. I have no idea what’s happened in the last month and a half. In the last two years, I’ve managed to keep my loathing for her securely in place. I’ve barely had to interact with her, and my frustrating attraction to her has gone unmentioned.
Then she shows up on the first day of school, hotter than Pamela Anderson running in slow motion down a beach, and it’s like my brain, dick, heart, and friends can’t fucking shut up about her. She’s everywhere I look, even in my own house.
It’s not like we haven’t had numerous occasions where our parents’ parties or holiday celebrations have brought us together. But in the past, I’ve just gritted my teeth and put up with it.
So why did I spill my stupid guts in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes? I showed her that I actually care; I let my guard slip. I’ve been cracking any time I am around her now, and it has to stop.
Because for all I know, I’ll let her in again and she’ll break me even more than she had that night two years ago.
“And I like a bunch of hot girls more than I like just one. Which is why I plan on cleaning up at homecoming.” I puff my chest out like the cocky asshole I’m being.
Every word is true, though. To safeguard myself against whatever is growing in my chest for Blair, I have to show her just how little she means to me. And homecoming is going to give her a front row center view of exactly that.
12
Blair
After two more weeks of running around like crazy, organizing parking, the DJ, décor, and everything in between, homecoming is finally upon us.
Nate and I, of course, have to show up two hours early at the high school to get everything set up. Which means I have the pleasure of getting dressed and doing my hair and makeup in the girl’s locker room while the rest of the senior class sneaks shots of vodka in their cars before heading inside. It’s a horribly kept secret that almost all of the upperclassmen come to homecoming drunk, and the teachers try to enforce the rule that you’ll be kicked out. That’s never happened in my three years at the dance, and I know it probably won’t happen this year.
The gym has been swathed in silver and black balloons, streamers, and ceiling drapes, all under our supervision, of course. We’ve transformed what is usually a sweaty mess of a room where students play volleyball and basketball into a halfway decent fantasyland. You almost can’t tell that it’s the place where most students pad their report cards with As they barely work for.
I run a strand of hair through my curling iron in the empty locker room. I’m kind of bummed that I won’t be able to get ready with Laura, but we’ll have prom for that. As it is, I’m way too jittery to be around anyone right now. The prospect of seeing him at the dance has been gnawing at me all day.
Things with Sawyer and me are weird. After the night he drove me home, and then the encounter at his parent’s house, it feels like we’re circling closer and closer to the center of the sun. We’re bound to get burned, but it’s like we can’t stop ourselves. All of this fighting and animosity has to come to a head at some point. It’s either going to blow us both to smithereens, or, possibly, smooth itself out?
With his comments by the sink, as he was washing and I was drying, my view of him warped again. I turned him into a villain in my mind over the past two years, and to hear that he stood up for me is … well, shocking. I’ve seen him during class this week, we couldn’t necessarily avoid each other sitting in the same row. And each time, my heart sped like a race horse, my mouth going dry.
I am supposed to hate Sawyer Roarke. So why is my body’s first inclination to go into a tailspin of lust around him?
Nate lets out a low whistle as I leave the locker room to find him waiting alone in the empty hallway. “Damn, Oden, you clean up nice.”
“You’re not doing so bad yourself, buddy.” I walk over to dust some imaginary fuzz off his tie.
He looks handsome in navy pants and a silvery gray button-down, with a tie dotted with small rainbow flags.
“No, seriously, you’re going to have the guys all over you tonight. Watch out for those grinding penises.” Nate cackles.
I roll my eyes. “You know how I feel about that.”
I find it pretty disgusting when a guy just comes up behind a girl and starts basically humping her to the beat of the music. It’s rude not to ask, especially if you’ve never spoken to that person in the hallways at school. And I don’t find it particularly sexy, some teenage guy sweating on me to a bad rap song as he juts his hips because he has no idea how to move them.
No thanks, I’ll dance by myself.
“All right, bombshell. Let’s go take tickets.” He plants his arm on his hip and I loop mine through it, ready for the chaos before we get to enjoy the dance.
Forty minutes later, we’re finally relieved from the ticket table by two teacher chaperones, and are told that we’re free of our duties.
“Shall we go act like slutty teenagers?” Nate rubs his hands together.
I snort. “No, but I’ll have a little fun dancing.”
When we make our way to the epicenter of the gym, there is a sea of bodies undulating to the music, and the heat is almost unbearable. Sweat drips down my spine as Nate and I spin and laugh, while Laura dances with some junior who towers over her. She’ll have multiple dance partners tonight and revel in it; school dances are her bread and butter. I have to admit, there is something addicting about losing yourself in the dark to the beat.
I’m swept in the music, not really worrying about anything else since Nate and my duties are all but done, when something pulls my eyes across the dance floor.
Sawyer is there in the middle, head and shoulders above the other students, holding court as girls gyrate around him trying to catch his attention. Of course, we saw each other when he checked in, handing his ticket to Nate instead of me. A blush crept up my neck, but I avoided eye contact. Now that I knew what he did to prevent Matt from asking me to this dance, I … well, I don’t know what to do with that information.
His gaze shifts and lands directly on me. It starts at my toes, sweeping up my legs and over my hips, lingering on my breasts, and then planting itself directly into my eyes. Heat swamps me, and I have to press my thighs together to fight the friction I’m suddenly dying to feel between them. I keep dancing; the song switching to a slower, sexier hip-hop groove. My hips sway to it, and I’m incredibly aware that Sawyer and I are staring at each other across the crowd.
My nipples harden beneath the material of my dress, a silky plum number that doesn’t allow for a bra. Laura helped me pick it out, and I probably wouldn’t have worn it except for her insisting I look killer in it. Sawyer’s gaze is even hotter than if his hands were on me, and I watch as he bites his lip when I raise my hands above my head.