Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1) Page 7

  Poe and I hold our positions in silence for a minute or so longer until he finally breaks the staring contest with me and saunters over to boost himself up on the counter holding the sinks. Running his long fingers through his thick, espresso-dark hair, he clicks his tongue softly at me from his perch as a few strands fall forward, partially covering one eye.

  Oh, shit. Is it hot in here?

  My thighs start to tingle.

  “Stella Bradleigh.” My name drips like sin from his perfect lips. “How nice to actually meet you, especially after you so recently had your tongue down my throat,” he chuckles. “Speaking of which, how is your tongue? I wouldn’t want to see it permanently damaged before I know fully what it can do.” I feel my cheeks pinken in frustration, though he seems to think it’s for another reason. “No need to be embarrassed, kitten. That was the best service I’ve ever gotten in an airport. And I didn’t even have to pay extra for it.” Frustration quickly flares to anger. Now he’s getting under my skin in a whole different way, the arrogant prick.

  “You’d best tread carefully, Poe. This kitten has claws.” I cross my arms, giving the underside of one a little pinch to keep my head in the game as he bares his perfect teeth in a grin. Tucking the corner of his full lower lip between those pearly whites, he slowly and tantalizingly lets it slide out.

  An invisible anticipatory shudder runs through my entire body.

  His grin widens.

  Okay, so maybe not totally invisible.

  Pushing himself off the edge of the counter, he moves slowly and intentionally toward me. My brain is telling me to back away, to run, but my stupid feet refuse to move. He stops a handbreadth away from me, cocking his head slightly as he studies my face. Once again, our gazes lock as I tilt my chin up in defiance, and he reaches out a hand to trail a finger over my cheekbone and down my jaw.

  “No, not a kitten, are you?” He pauses, and so does my pulse. “A star. With eyes like a summer night just before dawn.” Suddenly, both of his strong hands reach down and grip my waist. Before I can blink, he lifts me effortlessly and spins us around, depositing me in his vacant spot on the countertop. Tangling his fingers in my long hair and leaning down, he quickly captures my mouth with his, stealing my breath and wrapping me in the scent that is so uniquely him.

  When his tongue gently twines with mine, there is no pain from my earlier injury, only a warm, wet heat that builds in my center. Wanting more, my hands reach up of their own accord to thread through his silky hair, pulling him closer.

  Oh God, I’ve never tasted anything as good as Poe’s lips.

  Trailing his hands from the ends of my hair, down my sides, and across my thighs, his fingers grip my knees tightly and shove my legs apart, making me gasp into his mouth. Breaking our kiss, he holds my gaze steady and drops to his knees on the floor in front of me. The current of need running through my veins is almost painfully unbearable, and I let my head fall back as he hooks his strong forearms under my bare thighs and pulls me closer to him. The granite of the counter cold against my flushed bare legs, I lean back on one hand and fist the other against my mouth. As he feathers his lips teasingly over the sensitive skin on the inside of one knee, I can feel myself starting to squirm and wanting to moan loudly.

  Pushing my school-issued skirt higher, his breath is warm and almost reverent on my most sensitive area, still covered by my now soaking wet, and probably see-through, delicate white lace panties. Brushing his lips softly over the dampness, I can feel his mouth move into his familiar little smirk.

  “Star?” he whispers, pulling back slightly and leaving me aching at his absence.

  “Mmm? Yeah?” I mumble, eyes closed and voice thick with desire.

  “Stay away from Hali.”

  What did he just say?

  My eyes fly open in disbelief as Poe gets fluidly to his feet. With a very naughty wink, he licks his lips as he strolls out of the restroom, leaving me sitting on the counter, unsatisfied, with my legs splayed and my breathing heavy.

  I’ll say it again for those in the back row. What. The. Fuck?

  Sliding off the counter as Poe did earlier, I attempt to collect myself, quickly adjusting my skirt and fixing my smeared lip gloss, all while trying to pretend I don’t see the tears of frustration welling in my reflection’s eyes. With his head between my fucking legs, he brings up her name? Is this some kind of fucked up payback for the airport?

  As my lust fades and leaves me shaking, my anger surges. My last thought before pulling open the restroom door is that Poe Halliday is going to fucking pay for what he just did. He wants to play games? Bring it on.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time I get to class and slide into the empty seat next to Sunday, I’ve managed to get myself under some semblance of control, and to the average observer, I probably look completely normal. To anybody who knows me though, the slight pink flush high on my cheekbones and the small tight smile that doesn’t show any teeth are dead giveaways that my urge to punch somebody in the face is strong.

  Sunday eyeballs me appraisingly for a few seconds, then rummages through her bag and leans over with a hair elastic pinched between two fingers. A knowing grin on her face, she glances quickly at my head and shakes hers. Snatching the elastic from her hand, I quickly bundle my long dark hair into a messy high ponytail and subtly raise my middle finger at her in thanks. Blowing me a kiss like the sarcastic ass I’m learning she is, she turns her attention back to the front of the room, leaving me to quietly hatch over-elaborate revenge plots involving parts of Poe’s anatomy and sharp cutting tools.

  Finally, the next period bell rings, and I’m happy to escape to music class. I can tell Sunday is dying to know the details of what happened in the restroom after her, Roxy, and Aylie were ejected, but her questions will have to wait. To be honest, I’m okay with that right now. I just want to enjoy the relative peace of my last class of the day and go back to my aunt’s.

  The first thing I notice when I walk into the music room is that there are quite a few more people in it than there were yesterday. The second thing I notice is that Roxy is in this class too, and she sees me at almost the same time.

  “Hey! We finally have a class together!” Excitedly, she motions me over to the empty seat beside her, and I grin. Roxy seems like the type to approach everything exuberantly, and I both envy that and am grateful to be included in it. Just being around her makes people smile.

  We spend the next few minutes talking about each other’s musical influences and Roxy’s family’s involvement in the industry, which has me more than a little envious. And though she skirts the issue briefly once or twice, she’s considerate enough not to just come right out and ask what happened with Poe. It’s a relief to be able to have a relatively drama-free conversation, and Roxy seems like a decent human, so I’m happy to count her as another friend.

  My calm is short-lived, however.

  “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Halliday.” The portly music teacher greets him with the tone of an exasperated man who knows he can’t do a damn thing about it, and gets up to close the music room door behind the late arrival.

  My head swivels away from Roxy and toward the front of the class, where Poe stands surveying the room. Either the disbelief or the annoyance plainly visible on my face must be like catnip to him because, of course, he goes straight for the empty seats behind Roxy and me.

  Seriously, Universe, why do you have it in for me? I ask silently toward the ceiling. What the shit did I ever do to you?

  Gritting my teeth in seething frustration for forty-five minutes straight, I keep my head forward and focus as best I can on the lesson, which is difficult since Poe’s mere presence seems to suck all the air out of the room.

  Picking up on the connection between the jackass lounging casually in his seat with one arm draped over the back of it and the pulsing twitch in my clenched jaw muscles, Roxy does me a huge solid and runs interference without me even asking. As soon as the last bell rings, she n
udges me toward the door and turns the full force of her perkiness on an unsuspecting Poe, peppering him with questions about the upcoming gala, his parents, and surprisingly, Heller.

  Making my hasty escape, I beeline straight for my locker. Hurrying to get everything into my bag that I need for the mountain of homework I plan to scale this evening, I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel a hand on my upper arm. Spinning on my heel, ready to smack whoever the hand is attached to, I pause in confusion at the clean-cut face staring back at me.

  “Hi? Did you need something?” I ask the blond quarterback-next-door standing with his hands up and a generically pleasant smile on his face.

  “It’s Stella, right?” He lowers his hands slowly. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It takes more than that to scare me. Who are you again?”

  Let’s hurry this along, champ. I need to get out of here.

  “Bingham Ramsey, captain of the varsity football team. I’d like to offer to be the head of your welcoming committee.” Another pleasant smile, this time accompanied by a short laugh and a hand offered to me. Tentatively, I reach out and shake it. His grip is limp and as bland as his smile. “So, there’s a party on Saturday…”

  The rest of his sentence is lost on me as Poe rounds the corner and purposely slows his roll as he approaches Bingham and me.

  Dammit.

  Thinking fast, I reach out and rest my hand on the quarterback’s arm, laughing at whatever inane comment he just made. My arrow hits home as Poe’s brow darkens into a scowl, and he picks up his pace and noisily shoves his way through the parking lot doors. Bingham steps slightly left into my line of sight, effectively blocking the exit from my view.

  “You want to go then? What time should I come by?” Startled back to the conversation, I look at him questioningly.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask. “I think I missed that last bit?”

  “Saturday night. Roxy Rose’s party? What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  Something about this guy is tickling my creep detector, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Did I really just agree to go to Roxy’s party with him when I wasn’t paying attention? Not wanting to be rude, I play along.

  Damn you, Poe, and your annoyingly distracting self.

  “Nine o’clock, I guess? Ten? What time do parties get started around here?” I ask with a shrug. Bingham smiles, seemingly pleased, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Pick you up at nine.” He turns, with that slightly off-putting bland-but-still-blinding smile on his Malibu Ken face, and walks off toward the exit.

  “Uh, don’t you need my ad—” I start. Cutting me off with a wave over his shoulder, he laughs and answers without turning around.

  “Everybody knows where you live, Stella,” and then he’s out the door, leaving me staring after him feeling a little sideswiped.

  Squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head to clear the brain fog Bland Bingham left behind, I realize I’m now late for meeting up with Sunday to grab a ride home. I slam my locker shut, the noise echoing in the nearly empty hallway, and sprint out to the equally nearly empty parking lot.

  The scene that greets me has me snickering and somehow sweeps away the day’s bullshit in one shot. Sunday is lying on the hood of her Range Rover, back against the windshield, with her signature pink sunglasses on. That in itself wouldn’t be so bad, but the windows are all down with 50 Cent’s ‘P.I.M.P.’ playing on the stereo, and her seriously off-key sing-along has me in stitches.

  “You weren’t kidding about your vocal abilities, were you?” I poke as I walk up to the car.

  “You’re just jealous that I can look this damn good while sounding so damn bad,” she grins without turning her head toward me. I toss my bag in the backseat through the open window and climb up on the hood, settling in beside her. “So, Stellaaaaaaaaaa,” she drags my name out, still grinning and still not turning her head, “have fun in the restroom today?”

  “In the name of all that is holy, if I tell you what happened, will you please stop singing?” I plead, laughing and sticking my fingers in my ears for emphasis.

  “You got yourself a deal there, missy!” With an elbow jab in my ribs, she whips off her sunglasses and sits up cross-legged, turning her whole body to face me. Why do I have the feeling this isn’t the first time Sunday has used her wretched singing voice to get her way?

  Sighing, I resign myself to having to rehash all the sordid details of my bizarre-o restroom tryst, so I fold my arms across my stomach and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon breeze. I stay in the same position for the next ten minutes—three minutes of me telling her what and who went down, and the remaining seven minutes of her cycling through glee, shock, anger, and declarations of righteous vengeance as any true girlfriend would. When both she and the playlist pumping out of the car stereo run out of steam, I crack an eyelid and glance over at her suspicious face.

  “There’s something else you’re not telling me,” she pouts.

  Well, she’s not wrong.

  Figuring I might as well get it out into the open, I say it all at once.

  “I think I agreed to go to Roxy’s party with Malibu Ken, but Poe was walking by, and I was pissed at him and wasn’t paying attention when Malibu asked, and that’s the only reason I can think of that I would say yes, and now I have to go to the party with somebody I don’t even know.” My voice keeps getting higher, and Sunday’s eyes keep getting wider as my sentence keeps getting longer.

  We sit in silence for a few seconds; the breeze tickling through the trees the only sound around us in the now completely empty parking lot.

  “Stell, who the hell is Malibu Ken?” At her question, I drop my head into my hands.

  “He said his name was Bingham something,” I confess, head down and voice muffled.

  “Huh.” Pause. “Bingham Ramsey?” Another pause. “Bingham Ramsey asked you to go to Roxy’s party with him?” When I finally lift my head, I don’t like the look I see on my friend’s face. It too closely resembles the odd, vaguely creepy vibe I was feeling about him earlier.

  “What? Is he an ax murderer?” I try to joke. When she doesn’t answer me and just sort of frowns instead, I get apprehensive. “No, seriously, Sun, am I going to end up chopped into bitty bits by this guy? Is he going to want me to ‘put the lotion on its skin’? I refuse to get Buffalo Bill-ed my first week here, so spill it, Easton!” I’m mentally cataloging how many different ways I know to take this Ramsey fucker down should the need arise when Sunday finally speaks.

  “Ax murderer? No.” She chews her lower lip pensively, looking like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “There were some rumors last year. Nothing serious. But, Stell, really? Bingham Ramsey? Isn’t he kind of, I don’t know, icky?”

  “Rumors about Malibu Ken? What kind of rumors?” A small nervous laugh escapes me. “He seems so bland. Like vanilla pudding. Or a mushy banana.”

  “Just be careful, okay, Stell? At least he’s bringing you to Roxy’s, so we’ll all be there too.” Trying to lighten the gray mood that’s fallen over both of us, Sunday slides off the hood of the car. As she’s getting into the driver’s seat, she teasingly says, “I’ve seen him sniffing around Hali lately, so that speaks volumes about both his IQ and his taste in women. Wonder what that says about you?” She flutters her eyelashes at me, all innocent-like.

  Flipping her the bird for the second time today, I climb off the car and into the passenger seat. I’m awarded the honor of choosing the music for the ride to my aunt’s house, so I crank up the Deftones and spend the entire fifteen-minute drive wondering what Bingham Ramsey’s deal is.

  Chapter Ten

  My attitude manages to appear casually neutral for about three minutes after we walk into the cafeteria. Then Raff sits down right beside her, and for some fucked up reason, I want to throat punch him. Being the ass that he is, the bastard turns his megawatt charm on full force, know
ing it will get to me, and flashes her the grin that has set legions of girls’ panties on fire. The kick to his shin under the table and my brief glare sparks his laughter, but he shifts his attention away from her and starts arguing with Heller about cars instead.

  When we finish eating, and Heller sets her back on her feet, we are out the door. I’m striding away, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and temptation, when Payne hollers to hold up for a minute. He backtracks, following the swell of mocking teenage laughter tumbling through the cafeteria doors behind us.

  Christ, what now?

  He comes rushing back out and weighing his available options on the fly, grabs Sunday, pulling her back into the lunchroom with him. Curious now, and also somehow knowing whatever is going on in there is going to severely piss me off, I sidle up to the doorway just in time to see Stella spit directly in Hali’s face.

  My immediate reaction is to cheer and fist bump everybody in the room, but instead, I attempt to keep my face expressionless and lean back against the door frame, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Sunday and Roxy pretty much steamroll Stella out of the cafeteria, and as she passes me, blood smeared across her lower lip, it’s all I can do to stop myself from reaching out and wiping it away from her gorgeous mouth. Once the girls are past me and out of sight, I walk up behind my three best friends who have taken it upon themselves to block Hali should she try to go after Stella. Hali’s blustering and posturing stop as soon as she sees me coming, and her threats of violent retaliation turn to simpering pouts.

  “Poe, did you see what that horrible girl did to me?” she whines, her fat crocodile tears imploring me to take her side. “All I did was ask her how she liked being here, and she got so upset she tripped and fell. Then she turned around and spit on me!” Sniffling and carefully wiping under her eyes to avoid smearing her makeup, she adds a little tremble to her lower lip for extra effect.