I see him and his friends approach.
“Jesus, it’s like the Disney channel puked all over this table,” he jokes, scanning the array of polka-dotted plastic bags and the flowery tablecloth.
I put my hands on my hips.
“Nice bow.” He jerks his chin, eyeing the top of my head. “If I pull it, does it have a string that makes you talk and move?”
A snort breaks into a laugh, and I shoot a glare over to Ten, standing behind Lyla. He hunches over just a little, his body shaking.
He glances up at me, sees my stare, and tries to hold it back. “I’m sorry, okay? It was funny.”
I arch an eyebrow and turn my eyes back to Masen. He cocks his head, looking delighted with himself.
I grab the collar of his black hoodie and pull his face close, leaning into his ear and covering my whisper with my hand. “You left bruises all over my tits this morning,” I tell him, “and if you’re not nice, I won’t let you kiss them better later.”
He sucks in a breath.
“Now buy some cookies,” I order, pushing him away.
A smile pulls at his mouth, but I raise my chin, watching him pull out his wallet.
He hands Lyla a hundred-dollar bill, and I blink, trying not to look like I’m taken off guard. Okay. I guess he’s okay on money, after all.
Where’d he get that much cash? An unnerving feeling settles in my gut.
“How much will this buy me?” he asks her but keeps his eyes on me.
She takes the bill and stares at it for a moment. But then she takes a package of ten cookies and shoves it at him. “Here.”
A laugh catches in my throat. That stack of sweets costs five bucks, but I don’t care that she’s hustling him. He deserves it.
He gives the package a look, clearly knowing he’s being swindled, but he keeps quiet and tosses it to a friend behind him. Slipping his wallet back into his pocket, he holds my eyes briefly before walking away, his crew following.
“Nice.” Lyla waves the hundred in front of me. “What did you say to him?”
“I forget.”
I don’t fear Lyla’s judgement about Masen, and part of me wants people to see him touch me, but for some reason, Masen still feels like a fling, and I don’t want to try to explain it to others. I’m still trying to figure him out myself.
And part of me likes the sneaking around. I love having this one thing that makes me happy that I don’t have to share with anyone else.
Kind of like Misha.
Misha. Why do I feel like I’m betraying him? He abandoned me.
After the national anthem and the first pitch, Lyla, Ten, and I call it a night, sending the other girls home and then packing up. Lyla grabs the rest of the snacks, saying we’ll just give them to the baseball team when they’re done, and Ten heads into the game, probably to find J.D. and the rest of our friends.
I hook my bag over my shoulder, grab my water bottle, and walk for the parking lot instead of the ball field.
“Where are you going?” Lyla asks, turning with the box of cookies in her arms.
I gesture to my bag. “Taking this to my car.”
I walk away, not waiting for a response, and head straight for my Jeep, seeing that Masen’s black Raptor is parked on the other side of the aisle.
His eyes are on me as he leans against his door and two of his pals stand in front of him, their heads turned and watching me, too.
Tossing my bag into the back, I reach up and unclip my bow and pull out the rubber band that held the top half of my hair back. I comb the strands with my fingers and fluff it up, letting it hang loose down my back. Turning around, I lean back on my Jeep and hang my elbows over the edge of the car, looking straight at him.
“I don’t know, man,” Finn Damaris muses, smirking. “She looks like she wants something. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” The one with the Mohawk whose name I don’t know nods and bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes fall down my body. “She definitely wants something.”
Masen watches behind them, amusement in his eyes.
“She’s so clean,” Finn comments, turning to his friend. “I’ll bet she likes to get dirty, though.”
Mohawk laughs. “Oh, yeah.”
I roll my eyes, waiting. I’m sure they’re loving this. The stuck-up girl playing with one of their own…
“You guys take off,” Masen says. “I got this.”
I walk over, fall gently into his chest as his friends disappear, snickering.
“So where are we going?” I hover over his lips.
He inhales a deep breath and plants a quick peck on my cheek, standing up straight. “Come on. Get in.”
I cross my arms over my chest to keep from fidgeting. “I should’ve changed my clothes.”
Masen peers over, driving past my neighborhood and deeper into the countryside. “Why?”
“Because if we’re seen doing whatever it is we’re doing,” I explain, “I won’t be hard to identify in a Falcon’s Well cheer uniform.”
He smiles to himself and looks back at the road. “You won’t be seen.”
I take in a deep breath and reach over and turn up the radio, trying to drown out the worry in my head as Breaking Bejamin’s “So Cold” plays.
I try to act like a badass, but honestly, I’m nervous as hell.
I should’ve told him no this morning. I’d stopped writing on the walls, and doing anything more illegal would be risking too much. I have acceptance letters to NYU, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Like I’m going to jeopardize that simply because I’m infatuated with him and will use any excuse to be close to him.