In Ruins (2 page)

“Hi,” Devin says, suddenly beside me as she flashes her winning smile.

Ben grins and tips his beer. “Ben,” he introduces himself.

Devin's smile widens even more and she bats her eyelashes flirtatiously. “I'm Devin. This is my roommate, Carl.”

Ben signals for the bartender to get him another beer, which Devin accepts graciously. I wonder if he's running a tab, since he doesn't seem to be paying for any of these drinks.

Devin asks Ben about his major—finance—and talks excitedly about classes I happen to know she's not actually excited about. The girl has flirting down to a science.

But Ben hasn't taken any of Devin's classes. “What about you?” he asks me. “Taking anything good?”

I shrug. “Just freshman requirements, and creative digital marketing with Professor Stevens.”

Ben's subsequent stare is unsettling, but then he breaks out into unrestrained laughter.

“What?” I ask, but he just continues to laugh so hard he's practically choking. I glare at him, and Devin just blinks at him, puzzled. Irritation crawls up my skin—how did I suddenly become the butt of some secret joke?

“I'm sorry,” Ben cries, wiping his eyes as he tries to get ahold of himself.

“Funny how you apologized for
your teammate's
rudeness…” I remark.

He sucks in a deep breath, and, with one last shake of his shoulders, his apparent hilarity finally subsides. “I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I just didn't take you for the type.” His shoulders twitch with a residual chuckle.

“The
type
?” I raise my eyebrows, still annoyed.

Ben frowns, like he expects me to know what the hell he's talking about. “Oh,” he says.

Oh
?

“My bad. I just thought…well, Zayne Stevens, you know? It's been the same every semester since he started teaching my sophomore year. Girls signing up for an easy elective so they can stare at his ass. Only to find out it's one of the hardest business classes at the school.”

“Well, that's not why I took the class. I didn't even know he was supposedly good-looking until some girl told me tonight.” Inwardly I think Julia is probably one of the girls Ben just described, and she might be in for a rude awakening. “I'm here to learn. I'm not afraid of a difficult class.”

“
Psh
,” Devin scoffs, “Carl will ace that shit.”

Ben eyes me thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I'm getting that,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“You said that already,” I remind him.

He flashes his too-perfect grin. “But this time I mean it.”

I offer a flicker of a smile despite myself. At least he's honest.

“Well, good luck, anyway. I took that class last semester. I mean, you learn a lot, but it can wreak havoc on your GPA if you're not careful.”

I shrug. “I'll be okay.”

Ben smirks. “I don't doubt it.”

Devin taps my shoulder. “Uh, Carl, don't freak out, but there's a seriously hot guy over there who's been staring at you all night like he either wants to eat you or kill you,” she says, pointing to the back of the bar, and Ben turns to follow her gaze.

I suck in air and swallow down my anxiety. Because I know exactly who the hot guy who wants to kill me is, and I don't know if I can handle seeing him.

But I can't help but look, and I will away the tears that threaten as dark green contemptuous eyes greet mine.

“Hey, that's our new defender, Tucker Green,” Ben says, surprised.

Tucker is surrounded by people, particularly girls, who are obviously vying for his attention. But he's distracted by my presence, and he just stands there, glaring at me.

Ben laughs. “You know, Carl, I think it's you he wants to eat, and me he wants to kill right now.”

Ben waves to Tucker, who nods once and sips his beer, eyes barely straying from mine long enough to acknowledge him.

“So do you know him, or is he just that competitive over beautiful girls?” Ben asks lightly.

“We went to high school together,” I murmur, and I think he expects me to blush or something, or thank him for his compliment, but the only person I care about thinking me beautiful is looking at me like he wishes I would disappear. So I do him the favor.

“Thanks for the beer, but I—uh, need to go. Dev, you stay. I'm just gonna walk back to the dorm,” I mutter quickly, and then I turn and rush out of the door before she has a chance to ask questions.

I speed-walk the first half block until I can round a corner, and once the bar is out of sight, I stop and catch my breath. I haven't been running like usual lately. I haven't been exercising at all, in fact. The pitiful truth is, I've barely been able to pry myself out of bed since our breakup.

My throat feels too tight and my chest aches. I hate how he affects me. I hate that I know he will always affect me.

And then a hand is grabbing my arm and I almost scream, suddenly remembering how stupid it is to be out alone at night, until I turn and realize that I am physically safe, though my heart is in mortal danger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tucker growls.

I shake my head.
I'm sorry
, but I can't articulate it. I shouldn't have to be sorry for being out at a bar at my own college, but I am. I'm so fucking
sorry
.

Tucker slams his palm into the brick wall behind me in frustration, right beside my cheek, the sound making me jump. “Goddamn it, Carl! You don't leave a bar alone at night,
ever
. You hear me?” He is furious.

I blink at him in surprise. Not at his wrath, but at what's caused it. He's right of course, but he hates me, so why does he even care?

But deep down I know why. What happened to Rory that night last spring traumatized us all, and I should know better.

“I'm sorry.” I finally whisper the words.

“You're sorry a lot lately, aren't you?” Tucker sneers, and I wince.

But he's right, and I don't have a comeback. I study my sandals instead. I don't even recognize myself anymore.

“Why were you talking to Ben?”

I shake my head. “I wasn't. He just…his friend was being a jerk and I guess he felt responsible.” I shrug.

Tucker inhales, slow and purposeful, as if he needs to calm himself, and if I didn't know without a doubt that he would never lay his hands on a girl, I might be afraid of him. He smells of beer and his sharply familiar aftershave, and the scent ignites a wave of heartache and a twinge of desire in equal measure.

“You can handle a drunk Ricky Vance,” Tuck murmurs, and I realize he must have been watching me longer than I thought. “It's Ben you need to stay away from,” he adds, and I meet his gaze, confused.

“Seriously?” I ask him. I know our breakup was my fault, but
he's
the one who broke up with
me
. He doesn't get to tell me to stay away from guys, even if I have no intention of hooking up with anyone—even if I still only have eyes for him.

“Seriously.” His tone is vaguely threatening, and I try not to—I really do—but my reaction is preconditioned. I only respond to threats one way—I rise to the challenge.

“I'm pretty sure I'm single, Tucker. I don't need to stay away from anyone.”

Tucker sucks in air through gritted teeth, and I wait for him to blow up. To yell at me and tell me I'm impossible. To get frustrated past his limits until he can't stop himself from kissing me.

But we're not
us
anymore. He doesn't want me anymore. He doesn't even
like
me anymore. And before I'm even conscious of the fact that I was trying to suck him into our old routine, Tucker takes a step back.

He shakes his head, glaring at me with utter disgust, and I think he'll turn and go back to the bar, but instead he just walks to the street and hails a taxi.

“Get in,” he demands, opening the door.

I stare at him in desperation, and I want so much to take it back. To tell him I have no interest in Ben. That I only want him. That I have only ever wanted him.

But even if I could form those words, they would do no good. What's done is done.

“In!” Tucker growls, and I obey.

It's so unlike me, but I owe him at least that. And so I help him make me disappear, so he can get back to his night.

I check my phone and find Devin's worried texts, and when I read that she's out looking for me, I text her that I drank too much but I'm fine, and for her to go back to the bar or to take a cab home—not to walk home alone. God, I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her because of me.

She gets home only about ten minutes after I do, and I pretend to be asleep, my face hidden under my blanket so she can't hear my pathetic weeping.

Eleventh Grade

The bell rings, shrill and promising, indicating the beginning of summer break and the end of my junior year of high school. Twelve years down, one to go, and then college.
Freedom
.

It's going to be a long year.

I make my way to the student lot, stopping to chat about tonight with Lily and Sarah. I wait for Tina on the concrete steps, where wannabe rebellious seniors celebrate by lighting cigarettes on school property now that expulsion is off the table for them.

I glance at the time on my phone, wondering what's taking Tina so long. But of course, I know exactly what's holding her up, and when she appears around the bend with Andy's fingers playfully stroking the new blue streaks in her hair, I smile wryly.
Casual hookup,
my ass.

“Hi there, Carl.”

I turn to find Brian Falco swinging the keys to his Benz in a way he probably thinks comes off as absentminded. It doesn't. “Congrats on your last day,” I murmur.
God
it must feel good to be a senior today. I turn away so he doesn't have the chance to hit on me, which he's done quite a few times in the short weeks he's been single.

I continue watching Tina and Andy approach, in no apparent rush, and Cap and Tucker appear behind them, chatting animatedly about something—probably tonight's party to celebrate the end of the school year.

“Thanks,” Brian says through a self-satisfied smile. “You coming to Coop's party tonight?” he asks, forcing me to turn back to him. He actually isn't such a bad guy—and damn good-looking too—but he dumped Cap's little sister not too long ago, and Cap's hostility is no secret, and my loyalty lies with my friends. Not to mention that even if he was my type—which he most decidedly is not—I'm completely turned off by how callous he's been about the end of his relationship, when it obviously devastated Beth Caplan. She's only a freshman—or she was until today—and Brian should have been more careful with her heart…and the other parts of her I suspect he took advantage of.

“Yeah, I'll come with Tina. Hopefully the weather holds out.” I eye the charcoal clouds warily.

“Falco.” Tucker's derisive voice rumbles from behind me. He drops a familiar hand on my shoulder, reminding Brian who my friends are and what they think of him.

Part of me wants to pick a fight over Tucker's staking a claim over me when technically, as my friend, he doesn't actually have one. But I love the weight of his hand on me. I love how his fingers stretch all the way from the nape of my neck, over my shoulder and collarbone. I love the tingles that spread from where his skin touches mine.

“Green,” Brian replies, and then turns and walks right out the door.

I suppress a laugh. I wait for Tucker to remove his hand, but he doesn't. Instead, he slips it around to my other shoulder and pulls me to face him. “He bothering you?” he asks.

I shrug. “Kinda, but I can handle myself, Tuck,” I remind him, and his full lips twist up into a smirk, his dimples peeking out.

“I know you can, Princess. But you've gotten way too hot for your own good, and all these asshats don't seem to realize that you're mine,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.

This is his new M.O. Pretending he wants me. And I both love and hate it.

When we were kids he used to pull my braids. When we were in middle school he upped the ante, teasing me any way he could—putting glitter on my chair, telling everyone I pooped sparkles. He even started a rumor that my mother was Swedish royalty, and started calling me
Princess
. And now he seems to think it's hilarious to pretend he wants me.

And it's annoying. Because deep down—or not so deep down, if I'm honest—I wish it were true.

But if Tucker really wanted me, he wouldn't make it a joke. He would just make a move.

And he wouldn't be hooking up with Sarah Lickman.

We walk out of the building, his arm still draped around my shoulders, trailing behind Tina and Andrew, whose hands are all over each other, and Cap, who's been joined by their other best friend, Dave.

“
God
I can't wait to see you in a bikini tonight,” Tucker jokes. “Will you wear a special one for me, Princess? So I have something to imagine when I go home and think about you.”

“
Please
, Tucker. We both know you won't be thinking about me when you go home with Sarah tonight.” As always, I call him on his bullshit.

Tucker gasps dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest as if I've wounded him. “It's you or my hand tonight, baby, I promise.”

I shrug out of his arm. “Enjoy your hand, then.” Since we both know he's full of shit.

The weather is still holding out when we arrive at the party later that night, and everyone is in an exceptionally celebratory mood, drinking and laughing. Girls whine about not wanting to get their hair wet while guys throw them in the pool anyway.

I sit in the hot tub, hair sopping wet, waterproof makeup holding strong, while I pretend I didn't wear my sexiest one-piece for the dual purpose of defying Tucker's demand that I wear a bikini, and still wearing something hot enough to get his attention.

Sarah and another girl join Tina and me, but they're only half invested in our conversation. Their eyes betray their true interests by practically stalking Tucker and Cap, who are engaged with Andy and Dave in an overly competitive game of beer pong. I try to ignore the familiar rush of jealousy that swarms my chest.

I grant myself a moment to check him out. It isn't fair really. He's gorgeous; he can have any girl he wants, and the worst part is, he knows it. His skin is still damp from his recent swim, and his muscles glisten in the dim lamp light. He's always played football and lacrosse, but when he made the varsity teams freshman year, he started lifting weights to keep up with the older kids, and boy has it paid off. He doesn't look like a normal seventeen-year-old. He looks like a man.

The water has darkened his blond hair, and he tosses his head to fling it out of his eyes. His biceps flex as he bends his arm to throw the Ping-Pong ball, and then all of his muscles ripple temptingly as he jumps in victory when his shot wins the game. I swallow thickly and chug the remainder of my sugary punch.

“Careful with those,” Tina says. “Andy warned me the punch is much stronger than it tastes, and that's, like, your fourth one.”

I shrug. She's right, but I don't care. Tonight is a celebration, and I'm celebrating. I try to convince myself of this—that I'm simply toasting the end of yet another school year. That I'm definitely not trying to get drunk enough to numb the emptiness inside me.

Sarah steps out of the hot tub, her friend following right behind as she seductively makes her way over to Tucker, and I have to look away. Andy takes their place, and Tina climbs onto his lap.

“I lost.” Andy pouts.

Tina presses a kiss to his dramatically protruding bottom lip. “That's okay,” she flirts. “The more you lose, the more you have to drink, and the more you have to drink, the easier it'll be for me to take advantage of you.”

Andy's pout rearranges into a delighted smirk. “I'll have to lose more often then.”

I laugh at them. Tina has had a crush on Andy for a while, and I love seeing her happy like this.

The water surges suddenly as a big, warm, hard body slides in right behind me, but before I can jump away, his voice echoes gruffly in my ear. “You can never just do as you're told, can you, Princess?”

He's positioned between me and the wall of the hot tub, and I relax against the only boy I'm glad to have touching me, enjoying the buzz from both the alcohol and the sensation of his skin against mine. “Not my style,” I remind him, turning just enough to see his gorgeous face and his playful smirk.

“Well, joke's on you. This thing is even sexier than a bikini.” His fingers trace the cut-outs of my swimsuit, his palms sliding up and down my bare sides.

I turn away and smile to myself.
Mission accomplished
.

Tina and Andy get out a minute later, leaving Tuck and me alone as they head inside the house for some privacy.

It should be awkward for me to be sitting with Tucker like this, his body stretched behind mine, his fingers teasing the exposed skin of my waist beneath the water. But it isn't.

Tucker leans into my ear, his breath caressing my neck, and I stifle a gasp. “You drive me crazy, do you know that?” His voice is barely a whisper.

I shake my head vaguely, but lean a little closer to his lips, wanting so desperately to feel them on the sensitive skin of my throat. But that would cross a line. That would take us from friends who flirt to something else entirely. That would mean his teasing isn't just teasing, that he really does want me, and even in my inebriated state, I know better than to let myself fall for his game, to get my hopes up.

“You're the one always teasing
me
,” I remind him.

His chuckle vibrates through my entire body. “Maybe that's to get you back for how much you tease me without even realizing it.”

I turn a little more, and find myself half sitting on his lap. “How do I do that?”

Tucker's smirk, both familiar and newly intent, makes my heart race and my belly flutter. “With this perfect body,” he says, deep and husky, his fingers ghosting up my arm and shoulder, and under my jaw. “With this gorgeous face.” He runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “With this smartass mouth. You distract the hell out of me, Princess.”

He leans in a little more and I choke in a shallow breath. He used to call me
Princess
to make fun of me, but lately it's been almost…affectionate. And you'd think it would be weird, considering it's the same thing my dad used to call me. But it just reminds me of the last time anyone showed me real affection, and all I feel is grateful to have it again.

But Tucker
is
only my friend, so why is he teasing me like this? “Surely you have Sarah to keep you
distracted
,” I counter.

Tucker turns me suddenly until I'm straddling his lap, his features screwed into an exasperated scowl. “What the fuck, Carl? I hooked up with Sarah once, over a month ago. Why do you keep bringing her up?”

I frown, surprised by his frustration, and even more so by his revelation. “She said…” I try to remember what exactly she said, but I'm too drunk, and I think she more
implied
than
said
anyway. I guess my jealous mind fell right for it.

Tucker's brow furrows, luminous green eyes earnest for once, and they completely disarm me. “You really don't know how much I want you?”

I'm too tipsy to come up with some witty response, or some sexy invitation, and my lips part, but all I do is shake my head.

“How can I prove it to you?” he asks hastily.

“Take me home with you.” The words are out of my mouth before I have the chance to talk myself out of it. But I don't regret them. This is what I want.

“Fuck, yes,” Tucker exhales, and his mouth is so close I think he'll kiss me, but he doesn't. His eyes search around, and then he's pulling me out of the hot tub and wrapping me in a towel.

He leads me around the side of the house until we're alone, and then finally and suddenly, Tucker's mouth crashes down on mine.

I'm held prisoner in my towel as his lips capture mine, and for once I don't fight back. I surrender.

I feel a desire I've never known before, and I know without question that I was right to wait. I didn't hold on to my virginity out of principle, I just never felt like I wanted to have sex. But right now I'm desperate to know what it's like to feel this fire everywhere.

Tucker pulls away, his chest heaving with exertion, and touches his forehead to mine. “I've wanted to do that for
years
,” he admits.

My pulse races in excitement and my heart beats wildly, but my buzz is no longer from the alcohol. I am high on Tucker Green. “What stopped you?” I whisper.

“You think I don't know you're too good for me, Princess?” He shakes his head. “But God help me, right now, I can't seem to give a fuck.” His gaze drops back down to my lips, and like he can't even help himself, he's kissing me again as if I'm the oxygen he needs to breathe. I shrug off my towel, my fingers aching to touch him, and I rush to trace the lines of his obscenely defined abs.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck this, let's get out of here.”

I nod my eager agreement.

“Stay here.”

I hate being ordered around, normally. But right now, I obey him without question, and I don't dwell on what the reason for that might be.

Tucker heads back to the yard and returns a minute later with my cover-up and bag, his shorts pulled over his still-damp swimsuit. I slip my cover-up over my head and Tucker is pulling me around to the front drive before I can even fish out my phone to text Tina that I'm leaving.

We climb into Tucker's car, and he starts texting someone, and my heart plummets at the thought that it might be Sarah.

“I'm designated driver and Cap's supposed to stay at my place tonight,” he explains. “Just telling him to Uber it home instead.”

“You're just going to leave him?” I ask.

“He'll understand, trust me,” Tuck says cryptically.

I don't question him further; I don't want him to change his mind.

We ride in silence. I practically tremble with nerves, but they are the nerves of certainty. The nerves of knowing I won't turn back—the surrealness of being here, with
him
, about to do what I've fantasized about for longer than I'd care to admit.

He pulls into his drive, murmuring something about his mom being away—visiting her sister or something. When we get to the front door, Tucker pauses. A brief, strange look masks his features before he inhales long and harsh, as if he's trying to slow things down. For a moment I worry he's having second thoughts about crossing this line.