Still Waters (9 page)

T
he shifting bedsprings woke me. I opened my eyes.

Cyndra sat next to me, her hair falling in a fluffy wave. She leaned over just a little, not on top of me, but so close I could smell the flowery scent of her hair and feel the warmth of her hip next to mine.

“You frown even when you’re asleep.”

Every heartbeat struck an anvil behind my eyes. “I have a headache.”

She traced a feathery finger around my jaw. “I’m not surprised.” She lay down, propping her chin on a hand.

Her bathrobe opened a little. She curled her finger around a strand of my hair. “I could give you something to make you feel better.”

She leaned forward, lips parted.

I turned my head toward her. She tasted like strawberries.

She pulled my shirt up, snaking a hand underneath. The kiss got deeper.

She climbed on top of me.

I pushed the robe off her shoulders and we kissed some more. I used the robe to trap her elbows and rolled over on top of her.

The room was dark except for the flickering light from the music channel. I worked a hand under the robe and pulled it open.

She was perfect.

She lifted my shirt. We stopped kissing long enough for me to pull it over my head. Her hands roamed my back and found the ridge of tissue there, but she didn’t stop and didn’t say anything.

I think I loved her.

She slid a hand into my jeans.

I kissed her mouth, her neck, moved lower.

“Stop.”

I pushed up, head on fire.

Cyndra scooted over and pulled a condom packet out of her bedside drawer.

We had sex. Because she was prepared. Because she acted like it was no big deal. Because I was stupid enough to think that it wouldn’t change anything.

When we were done, she rested her head on my shoulder, her hand across my stomach. It was nice, holding her, smelling her hair, not thinking about anything, just watching some singer scream a song about love as buildings exploded around him.

Her hand rubbed up and down my stomach. “Monique is going to be so jealous.”

The bet.

It was all I could do to hold still. All I could do to keep from shoving her off me and onto the floor. Because of course, it was never about her actually liking me. The constant teasing, trying to get under my skin, none of it for me.

But for her. Using me, taking what she wanted, not to feel good for a moment, but just to win the fucking bet.

“Mmm.” She nuzzled my ear. “I could lie here all night, but we’ve got to go to the party.”

She got off the bed and walked to her closet. Her perfect skin gleamed in the light from the TV. She slipped a short, shimmery dress over her head and pulled on high heels. She didn’t put on underwear.

“Wear this,” she said, digging a light blue shirt and dark jeans out of the department store bag. She went into the bathroom.

I pulled on the jeans and walked over to the full-length mirror. If Michael looked into these pale eyes, would they give anything away? A dark bruise spread across my jaw. Another shadowed my side.

I pulled on the shirt before sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. Put on the black work-style boots, so new they creaked.

After a while, Cyndra came back from the bathroom. Her hair was fluffier, and dramatic makeup made her look like a model.

I stood as she picked up a tiny purse and jingled her keys. “Before I forget.” She held out a folded bill. “For your”—her voice trailed off until I met her eyes—“time.”

My face burned. I took the fifty, crumpling it into my pocket. Made myself meet her eyes.

“Just kidding.” Cyndra’s voice was singsongy, like we’re so close now she can say anything and it won’t be misunderstood. Like that was just a joke:
Don’t get mad, I was just playing.

We left her house and drove to the party. It didn’t take long, which was good, because each time the Mercedes came to a stop, I nearly jumped out. Because when her slender legs worked the pedals and her hand gripped the stick shift, it reminded me of how competently she’d controlled me.

We parked and walked to the front of another mansion. This one was white, with gaslights flickering along a path and on either side of the door. It looked like an old house, but you could tell it wasn’t. Music blasted inside. I slowed my steps, falling behind Cyndra as I texted the address to Clay.

At the door, Cyndra ran a hand into her hair. “Why are you dragging?” she asked, waving me forward.

“I just wanted to get a picture of the view.” I leered at her as I slid the cell back in my pocket.

Cyndra giggled and brushed the front of my new shirt like it had something on it.

“All right, then. Showtime.”

Her bright eyes made me dread the moment when she told the others that she’d won the bet.

I told myself I didn’t care.

It wasn’t like I loved her or anything pointless like that.

My head thumped in time with the music.

I followed her inside, past throngs of people and outside toward the back of the house, where more kids stood around a crystalline pool. There were kids I didn’t recognize and some I did.

Beast, Dwight, and T-Man were by a keg, clutching plastic cups, standing with their legs as far apart as possible without looking completely ridiculous. Michael leaned against a low wall, his arm around Monique. His black eye was darker, but less swollen, and did nothing to mar his looks. His eyes widened momentarily at my jaw, but he didn’t mention it.

“Cyn. Ice. You’ve arrived,” he said instead.

“Hey, Ice.” Monique waved her eyelashes in my direction but didn’t budge from Michael’s side. She licked her lips, and for a moment I actually looked forward to when Cyndra told her the bet had been won.

“Jason.” Michael lifted his arm off Monique and held out his hand. I shook it and he dislodged Cyndra long enough to give me a one-armed hug.

“We need to talk.” I spoke through gritted teeth. Remembering my father in the doorway.

“How’d you get that shiner?” Monique asked me. “I thought you were invincible.”

Crossing my arms, I leaned against the wall. Felt Cyndra’s heat next to me.

“Shut up, Mona.” Michael stepped away from the girls. “Come on, Ice. Let’s get you set up.”

I followed him back into the house and over to a bar. Some girls had climbed on top and were dancing. One waved her shirt as she tossed her head around.

I grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “Wait.”

He turned, moved back against the wall.

“Why the hell did you send Cyndra to my house?” I shoved him. A controlled threat. “I should blacken your other eye.”

Michael’s eyes tracked down to my jaw. The muscles around his eyes eased.

If he turned that pity-filled gaze up, I
would
punch him.

He kept looking at my jaw. “Your dad.” His voice was soft. More confirmation than accusation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted his wounded gaze up. “I mean I didn’t know he’d react like that. To her picking you up. I mean, that’s crazy. I’m sorry.”

My fists squeezed. Eased.

“I really didn’t think.” His gaze was open and steady. A slight furrow to his eyebrows. “It won’t happen again.”

I dropped my arms. Nodded.

A clean smile, wide and easy, shined from his face. He squeezed a quick hand on my upper arm. It felt brotherly.

I stifled the surge of pleasure it gave me. Stepped back from his grip.

“We’ve got to meet someone, but he won’t be here for a little while. Let’s get you that drink while we wait, all right?” Michael walked to the bar and poured two drinks. Jerked his chin for me to follow. We weaved our way through the party, back outside where the others waited.

“Having fun?” Cyndra asked me.

“Sure.” I leaned against the wall.

“You don’t look it.”

Michael draped his arms over her. She leaned back against him.

“That’s his having-fun face,” he told her. “You’ve seen it, right?”

I didn’t know if his words were supposed to mean something. If he was saying he knew we’d had sex, testing her or me to see what we’d do.

I ignored him.

Dwight and T-Man started shoving each other. It got out of hand fast, Dwight tweaking T-Man’s ear and T-Man yelling curses as they grappled.

People from another school shouted as T-Man and Dwight crashed into their group.

Michael took his arms off Cyndra and pushed between T-Man and Dwight, making them stop. “I’ve got a better idea.” He glanced back at me. “Let’s play One Hit.”

Cyndra perched on the wall next to me.

“How do you play?” Dwight cracked his knuckles as he glanced back at me.

“It’s easy,” Michael said. “Two guys stand about this distance apart.” He moved up to Dwight, squaring off. “You plant your feet like this.” He moved his feet into a narrow stance. “And then you each throw a punch. Only to the stomach. One hit each. And you can’t block. Try not to stumble. Don’t move your feet at all.”

T-Man stopped jumping and twitched his head from side to side like he was limbering up. “How do you know who wins?”

Michael smiled. “You’ll know.”

“Yeah, baby.” T-Man laughed.

A cup was pressed into my hand. Cyndra smiled and tipped her own beer up to her lips.

The beer was warm, but I was thirsty, so I didn’t mind.

“I’ll go first. Who wants me?” Michael waggled his eyebrows.

Mike-Lite stepped out. “I’ve got it.”

T-Man and Dwight looked disappointed.

I felt the heat of Cyndra’s leg next to mine. LaShonda whispered into T-Man’s ear. T-Man snickered and glanced at Dwight, like he was going to call him out next.

Mike-Lite and Michael squared off in the middle of the patio. Some girls I didn’t recognize walked by, trying to get to the keg and ignoring us, until Michael took his shirt off.

“Anywhere you wanna go, gorgeous,” one of the girls said, stopping on a dime.

“Taken, bitch. Keep walking,” Cyndra called.

The girl laughed. Her friend pulled her away.

Mike-Lite took his shirt off. They didn’t look like an even match, standing across from each other. Mike-Lite was burly and half a head taller. Michael’s muscles were more defined, but he also clearly weighed less.

I still felt sorry for Mike-Lite.

Michael shrugged. “You wanna go first?”

“Okay.” Mike-Lite dropped a shoulder and drove a fist at Michael’s stomach. The hit sounded like a dull clap. Michael let out a grunt and leaned forward a bit.

Mike-Lite shook out his hand. He looked pleased with himself.

“That looked like it hurt,” Cyndra murmured beside me.

I shook my head. “It was nothing.”

Michael rubbed his stomach, like it actually was sore. He stood up. “Whew. My turn.” Without any other warning, he slammed a fist into Mike-Lite’s stomach.

Mike-Lite doubled over, gasping. He stumbled.

“Woooo!” T-Man shouted.

Michael threw an arm around Mike-Lite. The generous victor.

It wasn’t surprising that Michael knew how to throw a punch, or that he wasn’t afraid to follow it all the way through.

T-Man jumped up and down on the patio. “Who wants me?”

Beast smiled and ambled out. He took off his shirt and looked less like a person than a flesh-colored mountain. T-Man wasn’t daunted in the least.

Beast smiled and took up the stance. T-Man jogged in place, fists up like a boxer warming up. A crowd started to gather, people drifting out from the house, thinking a fight was going to start.

T-Man held out his arms and turned in a circle. Beast popped his knuckles and waved a paw in a you-go-first gesture when T-Man was done posing.

T-Man punched Beast in the gut. It looked good, but Beast just shrugged it off.

“Aw, shit,” T-Man said, but he looked eager.

Beast slung a fist at T-Man’s abdomen. Beast’s fist didn’t turn over, smacking into T-Man’s stomach vertically, and driving him back so hard he fell over.

The crowd hooted and clapped. Beast helped T-Man up.

Michael jogged back into the middle of the patio. “Me again.”

Dwight took off his shirt and joined him. More people gathered, music and beers forgotten for the moment.

Dwight punched, driving his shoulder behind his fist like someone’d given him a few pointers. Michael stumbled and nearly fell. Michael’s return fist was faster and hit deeper. Dwight coughed and stumbled.

It looked like a draw to most watchers.

Suddenly guys from other schools were joining in. Squaring off in little groups scattered around the patio and pool, shirts off, taking turns punching each other in the gut. Sometimes there were two, or even three pairs going at once. Guys who didn’t go to the same school matched up. Michael partnered with a golden boy—someone from another school who almost looked like his equal in looks and popularity.

Michael’s punch drove him to the ground.

Mike-Lite and Dwight punched. Dwight toasted him. Beast was unstoppable, and soon people stopped calling him out. He put on his shirt and came back to lean against the low wall.

“Good job,” Cyndra told him. Beast smiled like she’d kissed him.

I felt my ribs, because part of me wanted to go take a few shots. Because I felt like shit for all of it. For being Michael’s friend or muscle for hire. For sleeping with Cyndra, who just wanted to win a bet. For being someone who felt out of place here unless punches were being thrown.

But I didn’t go out. Mostly because I guessed it was what Michael wanted. And it’d look like boasting, which only shows people that you’ve got something to prove.

And I didn’t have to prove a goddamn thing to anyone here.

The music got louder. Guys who’d been hitting each other a moment before were smiling, arms draped over shoulders. They stood around with their shirts off for the girls, and fewer and fewer went out to play the game.

I guess they’d had enough.

I exhaled and leaned over, elbows on my knees. It was probably a good thing no one had remembered me or decided to try their luck, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to stop with just one hit.

“Don’t breathe a sigh of relief yet,” Cyndra murmured. “Dwight’s burning you up.”