Interim (25 page)

Regan fought down the words she so wanted to blurt: “Come with me! Stay with me! Get away from them as fast as you can!”

She turned on her heel, instead, and left the cafeteria.

~

There’s gotta be a Bully Code out there somewhere. That’s why so many are good at it. Yeah, basic internal evil helps a lot, but the really good ones are studying up. They’re making notes in the margins. Asking questions. Making sure they get it just right—just the right amount of intimidation to make someone pee themselves. What these assholes probably aren’t aware of is the fact that there’s a Victim Code, too. It can’t prevent the punches and hurtful words, but it can help victims cope with the aftereffects. The code looks something like this:

1. Don’t acknowledge a bully by looking directly at his face. You’re just inviting trouble when you do that. He’s going to go after you regardless. No need to piss him off any further.

2. Don’t fight back. You’ll just get it ten times worse. (See No. 7 for exception to this rule.)

3. Relinquish whatever he wants. Hey, lunch isn’t all that important, right?

4. Don’t discuss victimization with other victims. Banding together does nothing. Find maybe one other victim to hang with, but talk about anything other than bullying.

5. When you’re getting pummeled, go into “shutdown” mode. Erase your thoughts. Think large, black, empty space. This helps dull the pain from both physical and verbal assaults.

6. Don’t cry. Just don’t. I repeat: don’t fucking cry.

7. If the opportunity presents itself, throw a punch, but only if you KNOW you’ll make contact, and you KNOW you can escape right after. Otherwise, you’re the idiot who tried to make a difference.

8. Don’t bother telling adults about the bullying. They don’t do shit about it anyway.

9. Find music that inspires you to take revenge in your fantasies. Listen to it at night before bed to pump you up for the next school day. Only way you’re making it through.

10. Don’t get a girlfriend or boyfriend. Just don’t. Then you’ve dragged them into it, and that’s a jerk move.

~

She stood a few feet away, trembling with hurt. Emotional damage—far worse than any punch to the face, the gut. Far worse than any jab to the ribs. Broken bones? They eventually heal. A broken mind? Much harder.

It was easy to be angry with her. Those people weren’t good for her! She knew it. He knew it. But he also realized that they were her reality for three years. One of them was her reality for far longer. He couldn’t expect her to get over it so easily. He couldn’t expect her to move on overnight. He couldn’t expect her heart to heal so fast. No one’s heart heals that fast. His still hadn’t, though he knew the catalyst for a speedier recovery.

“I know I shouldn’t cry!” she said, tears and snot coursing her face.

He abandoned the Camaro and grabbed a Kleenex box from the counter. She pulled a tissue and blew her nose. He waited for the sobs to subside, listening to the hitching in her chest—her heart jerking and halting, searching for a normal rhythm.

“Has Casey said anything?” Jeremy asked.

Regan shook her head.

“Well, that’s one good thing,” he offered.

She nodded.

He didn’t ask about Brandon. He already heard the rumors of their sexual escapades and Regan’s inexperience. In detail. The words were meant to humiliate her, and they did. But he was oddly happy for them. He liked the idea of her not knowing much. He wanted her to discover those things with him.

He stood close to her, looking down at the top of her head, her bright white part juxtaposed against dark strands of silky hair. He thought he’d put his fingers in it. It was unfair to entertain lustful feelings when she was obviously upset, but he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes moved to hers, rimmed with black from her smudged mascara. His heart thumped madly behind his breast, and despite her leaking face, he knew this was the moment.

I’m going the distance
, he thought, recalling one of his favorite songs. He listened for the melody inside his head and imagined the fist pump. The two twenty-five he was about to bench press. The starting line, and his chance to be the winner.

So, now you’re fucking awesome? She’s got raccoon eyes, and that makes you awesome? Go ahead and kiss her. She’ll sock you. This is Regan we’re talking about.

No, she won’t,
he argued with certainty.

You’re quite sure of yourself.

I am.
He smiled.

You’ve got something to prove?

I do.

“What are you doing?” Regan whispered, staring at him staring at her.

He studied her flushed face, watched another tear trail her dewy cheek.

“You wanna be better?” he asked.

She nodded automatically, not understanding.

“Me, too,” he said.

He cupped her face. He knew his fingers were damp with sweat and soiled with engine grease. He had no business touching her with those hands, and yet, he felt he had every right. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous. But determination was a strange and powerful thing—stronger than any self-doubt. He knew he was inches from her face. He knew his scar screamed loud and angry at her. It was ugly. And he didn’t care because he knew. He knew her. He knew what she wanted but was too chickenshit to ask. He’d make it easy for her. He’d make the first move. Be a man for her.

“I’m taking you away from them for good,” he said softly. “And you’re gonna like it.”

Regan’s lips parted. He didn’t know if she’d protest, and he didn’t wait to find out. He pressed his mouth to hers. He wasn’t forceful. He wasn’t gentle. He was resolute.

Her hands went to his wrists, and she wrapped her fingers around them. She didn’t push away. She didn’t draw him closer. She simply accepted it. And then she craved it. He felt it in the slight movement of her hips. He was crushing her against the counter and didn’t realize it.

“Don’t do that,” he said into her mouth.

He could feel the grin and took it as an invitation. He slipped his tongue in her mouth, and she gave him hers. He was kissing Regan Walters! Tasting her for the first time. And, God, the way she tasted! Like icing on the sweetest cupcake. That’s all he could think about. Those cupcakes she brought him several weeks ago.

He pinned her tighter against the counter, begging silently for the movement of her hips—the same movement he’d just admonished her for. She shifted, encouraging his erection as her tongue explored his mouth. She pulled away a fraction of a second to lick his lip ring.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever!” she squealed, and he thought he’d tear her clothes off right there.

His kisses became more feverish. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders to her hips. The mess he made! He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop holding her against his body. Regan. The girl of his dreams. Kissing her. Holding her. Touching her. Wait. Who do you think you are touching her? She’s too good for you. She’s always been too good for you. She’s everything. You’re nothing . . .

His confidence collapsed on top of him, transforming into weighted doubt. He drew away, turned his back on her, hung his head.

You’re a loser, Jeremy? Did you forget that?

“Jeremy?” he heard behind him.

He didn’t answer.

“Jeremy?”

Nothing.

“JEREMY!”

He shifted the slightest bit.

“You don’t just kiss me like that and then turn away,” Regan said.

“I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Well, gosh. Am I that bad?”

“No!” He whirled around, then blushed profusely as their eyes met. “No, not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I shouldn’t have just come at you like that. It was wrong. Selfish.”

Regan touched her lips lightly. “But I liked it.”

“You did?”

“Did you not feel me kiss you back?”

“I did. I thought you were just being nice.”

She burst out laughing. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Believe me. If I didn’t want you kissing me, you wouldn’t have kissed me. I’m not ‘nice’ about things like that,” she said finally.

He nodded.

“It
was
out of the blue,” she pointed out.

“Surge of testosterone,” he explained.

She looked down at her shirt smeared with grit and grime. He grimaced.

“I’m sorry for that. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. I want this one,” she said, fingering the fabric. Then her hand moved to her cheek. She knew that was smeared with grease as well.

Something surged inside of her—a feeling she’d never experienced with Brandon. It was feral, and she thought it was because Jeremy marked her. Claimed her. So that was that. She was his.

“Do it again,” she said.

“Do what? Kiss you?”

She nodded.

“I’m filthy,” he said, presenting his palms to her.

“Good.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I need you to kiss me again,” she said patiently. “And not be nice about it.”

She didn’t understand her own words.
This must be lust
, she thought.
This must be desire. Real desire.

He leaned into her and bent his head. His lips grazed her neck, trailing light kisses. He really didn’t know what he was doing, but sensuality seemed to come fairly easy for him. Maybe it was instinctual.
Well that would account for all the babies
, he thought absurdly. She moaned softly, and he stilled his lips.

What is she asking me?
he thought.

Stop thinking so much!

But what do I do?

“KISS ME!” Regan cried in his ear.

He jerked up, smacking the side of her head with his own.

“Oh God! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he said, stroking her temple.

She swatted his hand and grabbed his face. “Whatever you were thinking right before you kissed me for the first time, I want you to think about it again. Got it?”

He nodded.
Go the distance. Go the distance. Go the fucking distance, Jeremy.

He took hold of her hips and lifted her onto the counter.

Go the distance.

He wedged his body between her legs, eliciting a shocked “Oh!” from her lips.

Go the distance.

He cupped her face once more, holding her in a near death grip, staring at her like she was dinner.

Go the distance.

Lips to lips. A squirm. A shudder. Desire to be closer when they both knew they couldn’t. Not yet. Much too soon. But the desire, building building in their hearts, their mouths, forcing heated kisses, wet with want.

She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer. He encircled her lower back and pulled her to him, crushing himself against her so that she could have no doubt of his yearning for her. It throbbed between her legs, exciting her own sexual response. She grew wet for him, and instinct commanded her hips. She jerked and thrust against him, searching for release.

Not right not right!
her mind screamed. She knew it wasn’t right. But her body moved against her will, desperate for undoing. She wanted this boy to undo her. She whimpered into his mouth.

He eased off of her, knowing what she wanted. Knowing it wasn’t the right moment to give it to her.

“Seriously?!” she cried.

“What?”

“I . . . you . . .” She gripped the counter, certain of leaving fingernail marks.

Jeremy waited.

“Why are you teasing me?” she asked helplessly.

“I’m not trying to. You asked me to take control. I’m just doing what you asked,” he replied.

“You know what I want, and you’re not giving it to me!” she whined.

He smirked. “You’re damn right.”

He never thought consternation could look so beautiful. There she sat trapped in sexual frustration, smeared with muck, her breath coming in short, hard pants. For the first time in his life, he wielded the power. So this is what it felt like for her—to possess ultimate control. It swelled his heart, his chest, his muscles. He could feel himself growing, stretching, transforming into The Hulk. He could make her do anything with that power. So why did he have the sudden urge to kneel before her instead?

“Make me come! Yeah, that’s right! I said it! Make me come!”

“No.”

“But you don’t even have to do anything! Just lean against me!”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because we’ve only just kissed.”

“So what?”

“I wanna take it slow.”

“Bullshit. No guy wants to take it slow. You just want to make me beg for it.”

He chuckled. “I really don’t.” Eh, partial truth.

“Yes, you do!”

“Regan, I swear, I couldn’t handle all that right now, anyway. You’ve gotta trust me. Do you know how hard it was for me to muster the courage to kiss you? If I make you come, too, I’ll probably die. Is that what you want?”

She grinned and shook her head.

“Do you understand what’s happening to my insides right now? You think I imagined for a second that I’d ever kiss you? I’m Jeremy. You’re . . .
you
. I’m having a hard time making sense of this. Am I dreaming?”

She shook her head again.

“Do you even like me?”

She reared back. “How could you ask me that?”

“Well, maybe you just wanted to make out.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Um, do you think that’s a thing I do—just make out with whatever guy happens to be around at the time?”

“No,” he replied, embarrassed. “I just meant that I know you’re hurting right now, and maybe all you really wanted was comfort.” He paused. “Or something.”

“Listen up, buddy. I’m not hurting over Brandon, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t miss him at all. And yeah, I am hurting over Casey. That’s just gonna take some time. But I sure as hell didn’t come over here with the intention of using you to make myself feel better. If I wanted to get off, I’d just go home and do it myself.”