Page 94

CHAPTER

SIXTY-NINE

REMI

Van

Meet me for lunch.

I can’t.

I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder, hurrying off toward my dorm.

I forgot my paper in there, and it’s due in twenty minutes, before our break for Thanksgiving.

Cortland’s brother and his dad are coming tomorrow for the game, and I’m nervous as hell about being properly introduced to them.

I haven’t been to a single game yet, so I’ll probably be able to stall for time, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Van

You suck.

I roll my eyes, typing with one hand as I speed walk across campus, the November chill biting through my West River hoodie.

Borrowed from Cort when I slipped out of his bed this morning.

I’ve been spending more nights with him than I have at the dorm, which is why I got the location of my paper all fucked up.

Dick.

Van

God you’re dirty now, cuz.

My phone is yanked from my hand before I can respond, my laughter turning into anger as I whip my head around, only to see Cortland Adler scowling down at my screen.

I reach for my phone, but he holds it over my head, out of my grasp.

“Why the fuck is he talking to you like that? And you don’t suck dick Remi.” He narrows his gray eyes at me. “You suck my dick.”

He starts typing on my phone, still holding it over my head with both hands, his charcoal sweater clinging to his defined torso as he does.

For a moment, I’m distracted by his body.

Then I realize he’s trying to ruin my friendship and I jump in the air, grabbing at my phone. “Cort, I’m late!” I jump again as Cortland keeps frowning at my phone, still typing. “I have a paper due and?—”

“I know,” he says absentmindedly. “It’s on your desk.”

I stop trying to grab my phone as I stare at him, confused. “How the hell do you know that?”

He must finish typing because he lowers his arms, then presses my phone into my hand, arching a brow as he adjusts the straps on his backpack.

“Because Sloane let me in.”

I’m staring at the message he typed but before I can take it in, my pulse picks up speed and I stare up at him, annoyed. “You were in my dorm with Sloane? Without me?”

He smiles, a dimple flashing in his handsome face. “Yeah, doesn’t feel so good, huh? Flirting with your friends?”

I clench my phone in my fist, my stomach flipping as I smack the back of my hand over his chest. He catches it, and pulls it to his lips, running his piercing over my skin before he kisses me with an open mouth over the back of my hand.

Then he threads his fingers through mine and drops our entwined hands between us.

“Come on,” he says. “You know I only wanna fuck you. Let’s go get your paper, pretty baby.” Then he jerks me forward, toward the road to cross over to my dorm.

Exasperated, I glance down at the message he sent Van, from me.

I only ever want to suck Cortland Adler’s dick. For the rest of my life. Fuck off.

That anger grows under my skin, but I can’t help but laugh, too.

“I’ll be right there,” Cort says as he kisses the top of my head once we reach my dorm room. Then he turns from me and pulls his phone from his pocket, so I assume he has a call.

Grumbling under my breath, I unlock my door and let myself in. The scent of strawberries greets me, even though Sloane is in class. Smiling to myself, I turn to my bed.

And stop as the door closes behind me.

My paper, several dozen pages long, is stacked on my bed, in the middle of a stack of horror novels and DVDs, fanned out like a heart on my bed.

I take an uncertain step toward it, seeing a bag of Reese’s in the center, just behind my paper.

I didn’t write about four boys and one girl who came together for one night of horror in the woods. That wasn’t my pivotal moment.

I wrote about my friends. The moments I realized just how loved I was. The last time I wanted to cut myself, when Sloane walked in. When Van tried to drag me away from someone he thought would hurt me.

When Cortland left me on that porch, crying and alone, to keep me safe.

I wrapped all those moments up into my paper, and I didn’t mention Storm, or Brinklin, or Chase. Didn’t mention Silas, either, or even my mom.

Just those three. The three who love me most in the world.

A smile curves my lips as I reach for my paper, only to have annoyance obliterate all good feelings as I see Cortland has taken one of my orange glimmer pens and crossed out the first line of my paper

Love feels like dying. My words.

But the last word is scribbled out, and sloppy cursive takes its place, then a line is squeezed in underneath it. Living.

Love feels like living, pretty baby.