Page 19

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

CORTLAND

I shoot Storm a glare as we walk into our white, two-story house just off of campus.

I had my arm around Remi the entire time and as we walked, she slumped against me, stumbling near the end to the point I practically had to carry her ass in here.

Now, she stands by the doorway, leaned against the wall, her palms pressed behind her, a drunken smile on her face.

She hiccups, kicking off her white Chucks, and for a second, as I glance at them, my heart stops.

I remember them that night.

Pulling at the laces.

Storm closes and locks the door behind us before he comes to the foot of the stairs, just in front of me and Remi.

She hiccups again, then clamps a hand over her mouth and I glance at her, see her golden gaze on mine.

A smile curves her lips as she drops her hands.

She shouldn’t be drinking so much without supervision.

Storm covered my ass as I dragged her out of the party, ensuring Sloane didn’t see her and checking on her as he did. She was still straddling that boy in the living room. Shitty friend.

I turn my head to Storm. “How do you think that talk is gonna go?” I ask him.

His eyes are locked on mine. “You know you didn’t want to talk,” he says quietly, sliding his hands in the pockets of his black pants.

His black hoodie is etched with a skeleton, and I think about him at West. The running back, he never really loved the game.

But he was a wolf all the same, and in high school, we got away with everything.

We could probably do the same still.

That’s exactly what Storm’s light blue eyes seem to be saying as he stares at me now. I glance at Remi, and just as I do, she stumbles toward me, her hands coming to my chest.

I open my arms and let her rest her head against me, hugging me tight.

My entire body tenses.

I think of her in my truck, just a few hours before everything went to hell.

When we were both sober.

Mom was away for work that night. Dad was on the road, like usual. Being a trucker meant we got very few nights together. Tristan was back up in West Virginia with Dad’s brother, my uncle, Clave.

And Remi’s stepdad was gone, too.

It was the perfect setup. We didn’t get many entire nights together. Dating her was a challenge, because she was always scared of asking her stepdad to go out. It’s like she hid our relationship.

I didn’t mind. I’d take her any way I could get her. I loved her quiet disposition, her golden eyes, that easy smile on her face. She never relished in the spotlight, unlike Maya, and she was just kind.

I’d always planned to sleep with her that night.

It didn’t go quite how I wanted it too, but it definitely didn’t go how she said it did.

She giggles against me, and my throat constricts as she picks her head up, looking up at me through her long lashes. “We gotta tell Sloane,” she mumbles, “Sloane and Van.”

I arch a brow, looking over at Storm, who shrugs.

Van?

Still, her words register in my brain.

If her friends report her missing, I’ve got another problem on my hands and Remi Ocean has already given me too many fucking problems.

“Where’s your phone?” I ask her quietly as Storm watches.

She pulls back but keeps one arm around me as she shoves her other hand in her hoodie pocket and produces her phone, slapping it into my open hand.

I tilt it up and the screen brightens, a still from I Know What You Did Last Summer as her background. Dawson’s Beach.

My pulse picks up speed as I stare at it, remembering the last time I watched that movie.

A sour taste coats the inside of my mouth as I think about the taste of her blood. Her spent body tucked up next to mine in my bed.

I shove that all aside.

The phone is locked. I turn it toward her, and she looks at the screen, knowing what I want. It unlocks with her face.

“Sloane and Van?” I prompt her, opening up her messages with one hand.

There aren’t many. Sloane. Van. Silas.

Someone labeled “Guy in history class,” which I don’t really like because the last message he sent to her says, No problem, babe.

I push that all aside. Who she’s fucking isn’t my business.

“Yeah,” she answers me, that word slurred. “Slo and Van.”

I open up the group chat with both of them. “What do I tell them?” I ask her, flicking my gaze to her gold eyes. They’re mesmerizing, and for a second, I can’t stop staring at them, even as she sways in my arms and tries to give me input.

“Tell them I drove off a cliff.” She laughs with those words, but I glance at her wrist, hidden by her hoodie sleeve.

My stomach churns.

“Cute,” I tell her, “but for some reason, I don’t think they’re gonna believe that, baby.”

Storm shifts his weight at the bottom of the stairs. “Baby, huh?” he asks softly.

I don’t look at him and just keep staring at Remi. But as I do, a text comes through, brightening the screen again, and I see it’s a message from Sloane.

Sloane 3

Rems. Where r uuu? I think I’m going home with Asa don’t judge me.

A message from Van pops up not long after.

Van

Judging.

I roll my eyes, but I feel relief flood through me all the same. “Looks like your roomie won’t be home tonight.”

Remi grips my shirt in her fists and leans back.

I don’t stumble, but it is slightly uncomfortable.

I’m over a foot taller than her, and she’s skinnier than I remember, but she’s still using me like I’m a jungle gym.

She tilts her head back, her throat exposed, and I think about the porn I like to watch.

The way I like to fuck.

My dick gets hard thinking about it, but I look down at her phone and type out a reply with one hand.

Leaving now to the dorm, going to bed.

I scroll up and see what Remi usually signs her texts off with and I grit my teeth as I add, xx in a new message. There’re no mentions of me that I see, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

I pocket her phone as she sticks her tongue out, neck still arched. I catch a flash of her tongue ring and I grip her hoodie, yanking her to me, her head dipping down as I do.

“I’m not a playground.” I nod toward the stairs that Storm is still standing by. “Let’s go.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Bad, bad idea,” she slurs, but she turns anyway, headed for the stairs.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and Storm folds his across his chest, moving out of the way.

“Bad, bad idea,” he repeats as we go up the steps and he just watches.

My hand drifts down to her round ass and I squeeze her, hard, making her laugh. Feels good to me.

After I close my door and flip the lock, glancing around my room, thankful it’s clean, Remi spins around and bursts into a fit of giggles.

I freeze, wondering if she’s faking her drunk and this was some kind of weird plan to get me in prison, where I’m sure she thinks I belong.

But she just wraps her arms around me, standing on her tiptoes, pressing her body to mine.

I stand with my hands by my sides, still. Grabbing her ass was one thing. Imagining all the ways I want to fuck her is, too. But now we’re actually in here. Alone.

And I’m not so sure I can do any of those things.

My heart is thumping in my chest and my lungs feel like they’re burning. I glance at my computer on my desk, think about the porn, and that night, and…

“Remi,” I swallow down the tightness in my throat, “what are you doing?”

I want to touch her. I want to fuck her. I want to make her tell me she lied that morning, when she went to the police.

I want her to beg for my fucking forgiveness.

But there’s another truth, too.

One I don’t want to face. And that one has my hands by my sides. It’s a little voice in my head saying I fucked up, too.

She presses her body into mine, and for the first time tonight, I’m thankful for that hoodie she’s wearing. I can still feel the swell of her breasts on my core, but with the layer of fuzzy material between us, at least I can fucking breathe.

She cocks her head, and her eyes look almost as if they match her hair, the way the overhead light reflects on them. Her lips are pulled into a playful smile, but she’s swaying with her arms around my neck, still on her toes.

I clench my teeth together, thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t seen that guy in the bushes. “Come sleep with me,” she says, then she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

All the blood seems to rush to my dick, and I curl my fingers into fists to keep my hands by my sides.

I don’t even glance at the bed at her back.

Orange sheets, team colors. A superstition my dad put in my head since I was a kid.

Team colors for my bedding, no matter what.

He’d already bought and washed them before I’d left the hospital with Tristan in my passenger seat and I’d told Dad I wasn’t leaving Ellicottville.

But instead of lingering on any of that, I reach up, grab Remi’s wrists and pull her hands off of my neck.

“Remi,” I say, dipping my chin and staring into her eyes, holding her hands down between us, “why don’t you get in bed? I’m going to sleep on the couch downstairs.”

She frowns, hurt flushing across her fair skin in blossoms of pink. There’s a bead of sweat on her temple probably from our walk back, making the baby orange hairs stick to her forehead.

I want to pull this hoodie off of her, but if I do, I’m not walking out of here.

So I’m relieved when, instead of begging me to sleep with her again, her words sound angry as she says, “Why do you hate me, Cort?” She chews the inside of her cheek, rips her arms from me and stumbles back a step.

Jerking her chin up to meet my gaze, she says, “You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.

” There’s conviction in those words. It makes my stomach twist into knots.

“Remi, what are you talking about?” I take a step toward her, and she takes one back. Suddenly, some of my trepidation about fucking with her is leaving me.