Fall: A High School Bully Romance (Sunset Beach High Book 1) Page 17

  “Like with your future career plans?” I says, remembering the conversation at dinner and how Trevor looked as his father talked about what he'd study in college.

  He purses his lips, then nods. “Pretty much. My dad is used to giving orders. Not super big on feedback. That's how I know Holly's family isn't going to call the cops.”

  I nod.

  “So he told me to be home and I said I'd be there,” he explains. “I called Holly, she came over, and then it all went to shit.”

  “Just like that.”

  He nods. “Just like that.”

  “So why'd you even call her then?” I ask. Then I hold a hand up. “You know what? I actually don't care. I don't need the details.”

  “You want the details,” he says, smiling.

  “Not if they involve you sticking your dick in her, I don't.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “You're hilarious. She wanted me to, but I didn't. This time.”

  I'm not sure if he means he's had sex with her in the past or if he plans to in the future, but I don't ask.

  “I sort of thought you'd get pissed when you saw her,” he says. “And I was right.”

  “I was pissed because I saw her with you,” I tell him. “Because we did...whatever it was we did and you were just onto the next thing.”

  His smile fades. “I wasn't onto the next thing, Presley. That was your interpretation. You decided that. And then you told that motherfucker Morgan that you'd go to the dance with him.” He shrugs and there's a coolness to him now that wasn't there before. “So, whatever.”

  “You fucking stormed out on me after we slept together,” I say. “What the fuck else was I supposed to think?”

  “I didn't storm out on you,” he says. “I asked you to go surfing, you said no and that you had to go. It was pretty much a hit and run on your end. So I figured okay, whatever. Do your thing.” He stares at me. “And I'll do mine.”

  I shake my head. “The world doesn't revolve around you.”

  “A lot of times it does.”

  “If my dad had caught me, I would've been screwed,” I tell him.

  “More than you are now?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes because I know he just won't let it go. “Whatever. I didn't storm out on you. And I've never even hit, much less hit and run.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “Brett told me that, too. For real?”

  “Yep. So maybe rethink your whole hit and run scenario, alright?”

  He looks away for a long moment before looking at me again.

  “But you did agree to go out with Morgan,” he says. “And that's bullshit.”

  I can see that it's an argument he's not going to let me win. There's no point in going in circles. I look at the street. “Where's your truck?”

  “Left it home today,” he says. “Driving something else.”

  “Where is it?”

  He jerks his thumb toward the driveway. “Over there.”

  I can't see from where I'm standing.

  “Come look,” he says.

  Before I can tell him no, he turns and walks away. I hesitate, then set the bag of chips on the ground and follow him around the walk.

  To a motorcycle.

  I don't know anything about motorcycles, but I do know that this one is gorgeous. It's black and silver and midnight blue and looks like a blur, like it's gone so fast that all of it's parts have melted to make it look like a rocket ship.

  “I don't drive it to school because some asshole will hit it or knock it over,” he says, standing there, admiring it. “I don't want it fucked up.”

  It's motionless in the driveway, but somehow manages to look like it's ready to jettison off into space. It's energy personified.

  “You ever ridden one?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You want to?”

  I look at him. “I'm grounded. I can't leave the house.”

  He looks at the house, then at me. “No one else is home, though, right?”

  I don't say anything.

  “So your dad won't know if you're gone for a little bit,” he says.

  “I can't,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can't,” I say.

  “Can't?” he asks. “Or won't?”

  “What's the difference?”

  He walks over to the bike and throws one leg over the machine. He leans back and looks at me. “Come on. Short ride to the beach and back. You'll love it.”

  I don't say anything.

  “I can see it on your face,” he says, smiling. “You want to...straddle it.”

  I make a face and he laughs.

  “Okay, get on,” he says, tapping the seat behind him. “If you don't want to go anywhere, we won't go. If you just wanna see what it feels like to sit on it, we'll just sit here.”

  “You'll take off,” I say. “I know you will.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I won't, Presley. I won't go anywhere unless you tell me to.”

  I can't lie. I do want to sit on the back of the bike. And I want to feel like what it's like to hold onto him on the back of it. I don't want to want either of those things, but I do.

  I look at him. “Tell me about the picture.”

  “The picture?”

  “That you drew. Of me.”

  He looks away for a second, rubs at his chin, then looks at me. “I drew the picture of you because I can't stop thinking about you. It's a way to see you when I'm not around you.”

  Again, I'm not expecting the directness, the bluntness. It freezes me for a moment because it seems like the rare bit of honesty I get from him.

  “I didn't know that you're an artist,” I say.

  “Not sure I am,” he answers. “I draw. I mess around with shit.”

  “What I saw was good. Really good.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “Are you getting on with me or not?”

  I hesitate, then walk to the back of the bike. I awkwardly throw my leg over, doing my best not to touch him. I wobble on the back of it, but get my weight centered over the seat, and keep myself righted.

  “Can you feel it?” he asks.

  “Feel what?”

  “All that power,” he says. “Between your legs.”

  I make a fist and pound it into his back.

  He leans forward, laughing. “What? I'm not kidding. Don't you feel it? It's like riding thunder or something.”

  He isn't wrong. There's an energy from the bike that I swear I feel.

  “You want me to turn it on?” he says.

  I know what the right answer is, but give him the wrong anyway. “Yes.”

  He pushes a button and the bike vibrates beneath us, humming to life. It's like if a tiger is purring and we're on it's back. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

  “We can be back in five minutes,” he says over his shoulder. “Quick spin and we'll be back. Swear I'll turn around as soon as you tell me to.”

  I'm still angry with him. I still don't understand him. And I still remember what it was like being with him in his bed.

  So I give him the wrong answer again.

  I wrap my arms around his waist. “Yes. Go.”

  FORTY FIVE

  It is like riding thunder.

  We back out of my driveway and the bike shoots forward, rocketing down the street. Trevor's body is like a rock and I lock my arms around him, pressing into the back of him. He slows as we reach the corner, then flicks his wrist, and the bike shoots forward again through the intersection, the bottom dropping out of my stomach like it might on a roller coaster. The wind whistles into my ears and I turn my head to the side, pressing the side of my face against his back.

  We coast to a stop at another stop sign. He flicks his wrist again and the engine roars beneath us, but we don't move. He revs it several times, like he's making it sing.

  Trevor turns back over his shoulder. “Hang on.”

  I'm not sure I can hold on to him any ti
ghter, but I make sure my arms are locked around his middle. The engine soars again and this time, we do take off, blasting away from the stop sign, everything around us a blur of wind and air. My stomach drops again and I grit my teeth, refusing to scream. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  The bike dips and turns, slows down and catapults forward, the engine changing volume levels every so often. I have no idea where we're heading because I can't open my eyes. The side of my face is glued to Trevor's back and my arms are clamped around his midsection.

  But I'm not scared.

  It's thrilling and even though my stomach keeps trying to leave my body, it's better than the best amusement park ride I've ever been on.

  Finally, the motorcycle coasts to a stop and the engine goes quiet. Trevor steadies us with his feet, clicks the stand into place, and I slowly open my eyes.

  We're at the beach.

  “Thought you could use the fresh air,” he says.

  My arms ache from holding onto him so tightly. I unclench them and lean off of his body. The sand is nearly barren and the water is empty. The breeze coming off the ocean feels good.

  He contorts himself enough to get his leg over the bike and steps off. He reaches for me and lifts me off the bike by my hips before I can object, treating me like I weigh no more than a paperclip. He sets me gently on the pavement and lets go of me.

  He turns to the water. “It's quiet down here in the middle of the day. That's why I cut class when I can and come down here.”

  “How do you cut class?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “It's, like, an auto call thing that comes to the house. I get it before my dad does and I just call back in, telling them I was out for some bullshit reason. They don't care.” He laughs. “They literally don't care.” He points at the sand. “You wanna go down there?”

  I hesitate.

  “Or I can take you back,” he says. “Your call.”

  I'm not used to him even giving me a choice and it unnerves me.

  I walk past him without saying anything and head to the sand.

  It's warm beneath my feet as I sink it into it. It's been groomed and barely walked on, unlike the lumpy mounds it becomes later in the day with hundreds of people tromping all over it. The waves are small and the water is quiet, even next to the pier.

  “You been underneath the pier?” he asks, coming up next to me.

  I shake my head.

  He takes my hand without asking and pulls me toward it. I look up, remembering how I felt up there with him, right before we jumped, and my stomach feels the same way again as we walk toward it.

  It's a massive wooden structure and, underneath it, I feel like we are looking at its bones. The wood is weathered and damp and different pieces seem to be standing at odd angles, but the water echoes off the pilings as it rolls in, creating a kind of tunnel effect, and it's hypnotizing to listen to.

  We step into the water and the cold temperature, like always, shocks me at first. Trevor walks in like he doesn't even notice he's not on the dry sand. My fingers are folded into his and they are the warmest part of my body.

  He passes a set of pilings and we are in the water up to our calves. He points to the end of the pier. “There's a space out there where you can shoot from one side of the pier to the other if you catch the wave right.”

  “Shoot the pier,” I say.

  He looks at me. “Have you done it?”

  I shake my head. “No. Just read about it.” I pause. “Have you?”

  He smiles. “All the time. Especially this time of day when it's wide open out here.”

  “Seems kinda scary.”

  “You could do it,” he says. “You're good enough.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I watched you,” he says. “You're good enough.”

  I'm not sure what to say, but I like that he thinks I'm good enough. I can feel the anger I had toward him seeping out of me. I want to hold onto it, but it doesn't want to stick around.

  “I didn't know it was your first time,” he says, his voice quieter. “You should've told me.”

  “What? Like announced it?” I say, frowning. “Might've ruined the moment.”

  “I don't know,” he says, glancing at me. “I just...I didn't know.”

  “No way you would've,” I tell him, leaning back against one of the massive pilings.

  He steps over to me and looks down at me. “I would've stopped if you'd asked me to.”

  My heart starts racing. “I didn't want you to. And would you have been any different in the morning?”

  He stares at me for a long moment.

  I'm trying to find my breath.

  “I don't know,” he says. “Maybe.”

  The water splashes around our legs and he leans down and kisses me. I wrap my arm around his neck and kiss him back. He tastes like salt and heat and mint. He leans into me, pinning me against the wooden post and I wrap one leg around his, pulling him tight to me.

  His mouth moves from mine to my ear. “Presley.”

  His whisper makes me want him more and I grind my hips against his, my body on fire as the water ebbs and flows around us. My hands move to his waist and I unbutton his shorts.

  “You sure?” he asks. “Right here?”

  “Yes,” I say, moving his shorts down just far enough so I can take him in my hand. “Right here.”

  He groans and his hands move down the sides of my body, ranging underneath my skirt. His hands move to my ass and he lifts me up, as my skirt rides up my thighs. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold onto him, smashing my mouth into his. He keeps one arm around me, holding me up against the piling and the fingers on his free hand pull my underwear aside just enough for him to slide into me.

  I moan and bury my face in his neck. There's no pain this time, just a rush of adrenaline as we move together. I rock against him, pushing against him, and he whispers my name again.

  “Presley.”

  It comes at me in a rush and I cry out as my body spasms against him, a wave of heat and light exploding through me. My nails are digging into his skin and I feel like a rag doll, flopping against him, as a second wave crashes through me, right behind the first. I'm light-headed as I feel him slip out of me, groan, and shiver against me, his spasms mirroring mine.

  We stay like that for awhile and the only things I hear are our breathing and the ocean moving around us. I'm clinging to him like a small child and his hot breath tickles my neck. My back aches against the wood, but I don't care.

  “Can you stand?” he finally asks.

  I nod and loosen my legs from around him, sliding down his body until my feet are in the ocean again. He keeps his one arm around me, but uses the other to pull his shorts back into place.

  He puts his forehead against mine. “I didn't bring you down here for this. Just fyi.”

  “Didn't say you did,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around him.

  “You are...something else,” he says and he's smiling as he says it.

  “Thanks,” I says. “I think.”

  We stand like that for awhile, the water rushing in around us, the shadows of the pier getting longer on the water. I'm not sure how I can want to be with someone who drives me so insane, but I know that standing with him is the only place I want to be.

  But I know we can't stay.

  “I should go home,” I finally say.

  I brace for a moment, thinking he'll object, remembering how he flew off the handle before when I told him I needed to leave his house.

  But he doesn't do anything other than take my hand and walk me back up the sand. We get back on the bike and it purrs to life beneath us. I put my arms around him again, getting as close to him as I can. And, while I don't say it out loud, there's just one thing running through my head.

  I'm falling in love with Trevor Robinson.

  FORTY SIX

  We are back in my driveway and I kiss the back of Trevor's neck before I get off the motorcycle. He pulls me back to him when
my feet hit the ground and kisses me, only letting me go when I pull away. For a moment, I think about bringing him into the house and letting it all play out again, but I'm not brave enough to offer that.

  “I'm glad I came over,” he says, smiling.

  “Thanks...for the ride,” I say.

  We both laugh and I'm not even a little embarrassed.

  He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.

  I want to devour him, right there on the bike.

  “Maybe I'll come by again tomorrow,” he says.

  “I'll be here,” I say. “Won't be at school, that's for sure.”

  “Yeah,” he says, then folds his arms across his chest. “So when are you gonna tell him?”

  “Tell who what?”

  “Tell Morgan you can't go to the dance with his sorry ass,” he says.

  I haven't spent a second thinking about Derek or the dance or anything related to either.

  “Oh,” I say. “I don't know.”

  “Should call him now,” Trevor says. “Tell him you aren't going.”

  “I mean...I will,” I say. “I haven't even thought about it, to be honest.”

  “But you're not going with him,” Trevor says.

  It's not even a question and it lights that fire of anger that's been diffused for the previous couple of hours.

  “Like I said,” I tell him. “I haven't even thought about it. He's not on my mind. At all. Relax.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. “You're not going with him.”

  “I mean, as of right this second, if you want to get technical about it, I actually am,” I tell him, backing away from him and the bike.

  It's not that I want to go with Derek. After everything that's happened with Trevor, I don't want to go with Derek. I don't want to do anything with him. But the way Trevor just puts it out there, as if he's dictating the terms, makes me push back.

  “The fuck you are,” he says. “That shit isn't happening.”

  “Are you even listening to me? And you don't get to say whether it happens or not,” I tell him. “How about if you let me make that decision? Because it's not yours to make.”