Lust

  And then she remembered Miranda. And the promise she’d made.

  “Sorry, Kane.” And she was—more than she could allow herself to let on. “Much as I’d like to take part in your sordid little plot, I think I’ll sit this one out. I do have a few principles, you know.”

  Kane looked skeptical. Even more so than usual.

  “Doesn’t sound like the Harper I know.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll still be here when you change your mind. And trust me, Grace: You will.”

  “He said he doesn’t really see you that way.”

  The words were still echoing through Miranda’s mind. She pressed herself against the locked door of the bathroom stall, trying to slow her panicky breathing.

  Harper seemed to think there was still hope, that Kane just needed to see the light—that he thought Miranda was smart, beautiful, funny, etc.

  Whatever.

  Miranda knew the truth and—she should just admit it to herself—she’d known it all along. Kane could never be interested in someone like her. She was too pale, too bland, too ugly—too everything. And, on the other hand, just not enough.

  Harper Grace’s loyal sidekick. Everyone’s best pal. Good for a joke—and not much else.

  Miranda had nodded calmly when Harper sat her down at lunch and gave her the bad news, then said, with a wry smile, “Well, his loss, right?”

  That was her thing, after all. Living on the surface, never taking things too hard, never letting bad news knock her off stride, the voice of reason and moderation to Harper’s nonstop drama. Always neurotic, but always staying just a few feet back from the edge. Harper was the one who lived life on the brink. Miranda just watched.

  She’d lasted ten minutes. One minute of deliberate deep breathing as Harper told her the bad news, and one minute of concerted effort to keep her face perfectly still and the tears from falling as Harper tried to console her. Two minutes of laughing it off, to convince Harper that consolation was uncalled for. Five minutes of forced gaiety when a group of girls sat down with them and began gossiping about homework and music videos and what they were planning to wear to the dance next week. And one minute of torture, as she pushed the food back and forth on her tray, blood thumping in her ears loudly enough to drown out the chatter swirling around her, the claustrophobic panic boiling within her threatening to burst out. Almost one minute too many, and that’s when she’d left—just in time.

  She’d pushed herself back from the table, walked slowly out of the cafeteria, and raced down the hallway to the nearest girls’ bathroom. It was only after she’d brushed past the two skater punks smoking by the sinks and slammed herself inside one of the stalls that she’d allowed herself to burst into silent tears.

  Chest heaving, she berated herself for getting her hopes up, for thinking she had a chance. Not with a guy like that.

  Lester Lawrence, captain of the chess team, who’d sent her one love letter, written in iambic pentameter, every week for a year? Vince Weiss, who’d taken her to the Starview Theater’s annual showing of It’s a Wonderful Life, spent the first hour trying to devour her with his large, saliva-covered lips and the second hour trying, unsuccessfully, to pick his gum out of her hair?

  That was her league. That was her life.

  Miranda felt her stomach churning and regretted the two brownies she’d scarfed down in the cafeteria, a chocolate chaser for the fries and meat loaf. Harper always lost her appetite when she was nervous or upset, but Miranda had no such luck. No crisis was too small, no emotional tailspin too shallow that Miranda’s appetite didn’t decide her woes deserved a piece of cake.

  Because when you’re truly upset, she thought bitterly, turning yourself into a fat, ugly blob is just what you need to make yourself feel better.

  She sagged against the cool wall of the stall and noticed, among the graffiti advising “Lacey” to “suck this” and suggesting that all guys were either “dicks,” “pigs,” or, in a nice display of creativity, “bottom-dwelling, scumsucking creatures of darkness,” a new warning etched into the plastic:“Remember, girls:This is a no purging zone! :)”

  Skinny, sanctimonious bitch, Miranda thought.

  It was the smiley face that really got her—she could imagine the girl’s perky voice warning of the evils of eating disorders and the benefits of a healthy diet. As if she, whoever she was, knew anything about—well, anything.

  With a grim smile, Miranda pulled out her thickest black pen and scribbled over the “no” in “no purging zone.”

  Then she leaned over the toilet, stuck her finger down her throat, and made it official.

  chapter

  10

  The words were completely innocent: “Kaia, can I see you after class for a moment, please?”

  But the tone told Kaia all she needed to know—specifically, that Jack Powell had finally gotten around to grading those pop quizzes. And had thus finally discovered her little invitation. Took him long enough.

  She stayed in her seat as the rest of the class filtered out of the room, alleviating her boredom and excising some nervous energy by mentally rating the girls who filed past her. Too fat, too short, too thin, too gawky, too geeky—no, not too much competition at all, Kaia decided. There was Harper, of course, undeniably gorgeous, if in a seedy, film noir kind of way; but from what Kaia had observed, Harper had too many other things on her mind to think about screwing their French teacher. Her forbidden fruit grew on a different tree. Still, the sultry brunette shot her a curious look as she stepped out of the room. Probably wondering whether to be pleased that Kaia was—to all outward appearances—getting into some kind of trouble, or dismayed because she had snagged some one-on-one face time with Haven High’s Most Wanted.

  When the room had emptied out, Kaia finally stood and walked slowly to the front of the room, where Jack Powell maintained his customary position, arms crossed behind his head and legs propped up on the desktop. A perpetual five o’clock shadow only added to his good looks; it gave a much-needed edge to his boyish charm. And Kaia was all about edge.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Powell?” she asked, sitting down across from him and watching his eyes follow her leg line up from her low heels to the high slit in her snug-fitting skirt. It was always nice to be appreciated. “Or should I just take this as a yes?”

  Powell looked taken aback, then leaned forward in his chair and grinned.

  “Well, you’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he told her. He pulled out a piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk—Kaia recognized her telltale scrawl across the page.

  “I’m sure you can guess why I’ve asked you here, Kaia,” he began.

  Oh, she could guess all right—although the classroom was a bit public for her tastes.

  “Well, I didn’t think it was to work on my pronunciation skills.”

  Powell laughed. “No, you’ve demonstrated quite a—proficiency in the subject matter,” he admitted. “I want to talk to you about what you wrote here,” he said, tapping the page with his index finger. “I’m flattered, Kaia, I really am.”

  “As you should be.” She smiled to let him know she was joking. Sort of.

  “But this sort of thing, teacher-student—it can’t happen.”

  She leaned in, giving him easy visual access down the dark crevasse of her cleavage, if he wanted it—which, she could tell, he did.

  “Oh, it can happen, Mr. Powell,” she assured him. “Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, folding the quiz in half and methodically tearing it into small pieces, letting them filter through his fingers and drift down into the trash can. “It won’t happen. Don’t be embarrassed,” he added quickly. “It’s very common that a student develops a crush on a teacher, especially since you’re new here. I’m sure it’s been a little tough for you to adjust. I can empathize.”

  “Mr. Powell,” she interrupted him coolly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea. This is not some sweet schoolgirl crush. I’m not in love with you, n
or do I dream of marrying you someday and bearing your British schoolteacher children.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “What I’m offering you is a simple physical relationship with a very attractive woman,” she informed him. “So if we’re going to talk about this, let’s do it adult to adult, instead of pretending I’m some kind of blushing virginal teenybopper. Because I’m not.”

  “That much is obvious.” His voice hardened, the genial warmth replaced by a sliver of ice. “You want to be treated as an adult?” he asked, offering a condescending smile. “I make it a policy not to get involved with my students—but even if that were not the case, I wouldn’t touch you, Ms. Sellers. Not if you paid me. You’re trouble dressed up in a miniskirt, and I’d have to be blind not to see it.”

  She tried to interrupt, but he cut her off.

  “Blind and stupid—which must be what you think of me if you imagined this little Lolita act was actually going to work.”

  “Mr. Powell, I—” Kaia broke off in midsentence. For once, she was speechless.

  He sat up straight and smiled at her, but the smile never touched his eyes.

  “Play all the games you want with the boys your own age, Kaia, and have fun.” He folded his arms on the desk and leaned toward her, their faces now separated by only a few inches of frosty air. “But trust me—I’m way out of your league.”

  Kaia left the classroom fuming … but intrigued. This new and improved Jack Powell was even sexier than the old one. Who didn’t prefer Colin Farrell to Colin Firth? No, this cold, calculating front was definitely hot. And promising.

  After all, any teacher willing to speak to a student like that clearly had a somewhat flexible understanding of standard school policy—whatever he may have said, she knew he’d be up for bending the rules. It was just a matter of getting him to bend in the right way.

  But she still needed something to keep her entertained in the meantime. Down but not out, she decided to take Mr. Powell’s advice and pick on a boy her own size.

  So, onward to the boys’ locker room. (Where else?)

  By her calculations, the swim team should be just about finished with their practice—which meant that Adam, who despite his halfhearted commitment to the sport was too much of a stand-up guy to ever skip a practice—should be on his way in. Hot, wet, and mostly naked. Perfect.

  She burst through the door, and the locker room echoed with enraged shouts of flustered jocks as they whipped towels around themselves and ran from Kaia’s prying eyes.

  “Get out of here!”

  “What gives!”

  “Hey, baby, you want some of this?”

  “Trust me, boys, I’ve seen it all before,” she said calmly as they shouted her down. And while that was true, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate a repeat performance. Once again, she marveled at the caliber of male bodies this tiny town had produced.

  She threaded her way through the crowd of flesh, searching for Adam, finally spotting him on the edge of the sea of muscles.

  Those orange bikini briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Kaia?” he asked, when she stopped just in front of him and stared him down. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said sweetly. “I just wanted to see you.” All of you, she could have added—but it seemed redundant.

  “It couldn’t have waited?” he asked, wrapping a towel around himself protectively and slowly inching away from her.

  “I’m tired of waiting,” she explained, taking his hand and threading her fingers through his. He pulled away and shot a quick look behind her, where the rest of the guys on the swim team were toweling off and throwing clothes onto their wet and sticky bodies as quickly as possible. Each was keeping a close eye on the live-action soap opera.

  “What are you talking about?” he hissed, dropping the towel and pulling on a pair of jeans over his sopping briefs. He grabbed the rest of his clothes and ushered her over to a—relatively—more private area behind a bank of lockers. “Tired of waiting for what?”

  “For this,” she said, and grabbed his face and kissed him, sucking in the taste of his soft lower lip before he harshly shoved her away.

  “Kaia, what the fuck …?”

  “What? You didn’t enjoy that? You didn’t want that?” she challenged him.

  “Can you please lower your voice?” he whispered frantically. He peered around the edge of the locker—the room had pretty much emptied out, but a few swimmers still lingered, hoping for some excitement.

  “Can you get out of here, guys?” he called out. “Come on, help me out here!”

  He turned back to Kaia.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” he asked in a low and urgent voice. He suddenly looked down and, realizing his chest was still bare, quickly pulled on a T-shirt, the thin white cotton clinging to his wet body. “It’s going to get back to Beth that you came looking for me here. She’ll freak.”

  “To be honest, Adam, I don’t really care,” Kaia explained patiently. “And I’m not sure why you do, either.”

  “Kaia, I’m in love with her,” he shouted in frustration. “You know that.You said you understood. That the whole thing, that other thing, was a mistake, that—”

  “Forget what I said,” she cut in. Now she knew she’d done the right thing, shucking the good girl act and coming after him hard and fast. Being soft and subtle, giving him time to think and regret before he acted, would never have worked. She needed him to stop thinking and start acting. And for that, he needed to know exactly what was on the table—exactly what he would be passing up.

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” she informed him. “When we were in that motel, I wanted you. Just like I want you now.” She placed a hand on the waistband of his jeans, then let it slide slowly downward. “And you can’t tell me you don’t want me, too.”

  He shoved her away. Hard. She slammed into the lockers behind her with a crash. The shock of impact was mirrored on his face when he saw how hard he’d pushed her. But he shook it off, letting anger sweep over him again—and she was glad of it. Finally, some real, deep emotion breaking through that placid surface. Some passion. Kaia knew what that meant—it was only a matter of time. She couldn’t suppress the smile.

  He saw the look on her face and shook his head violently, backing away.

  “Forget it, Kaia,” he snapped, stuffing his belongings into his backpack as quickly as he could. “It doesn’t matter what you want, or what you think I want. It can’t happen. It won’t happen.”

  It was the second time in an hour that Kaia had heard those words. This was getting old—but once again, Kaia was certain: He may have said no. But he meant soon.

  Adam slammed through the door of the locker room, with Kaia close behind him. This whole situation was maddening. Okay—flattering, too, but also completely out of control. Kaia was out of control. And word was sure to get back to Beth and—

  Uh-oh.

  Looks like word wouldn’t have to.

  Beth was standing in the hall outside the locker room, facing the door, so Adam got a good look at her face as he walked out—the tentative smile when she saw him, twisted into a grimace of disgust a moment later as Kaia emerged, the front of her shirt still soaking wet from when she’d pressed herself up against Adam’s bare and dripping chest.

  “See you later, Adam!” Kaia said pleasantly, as the couple stared at each other in silence. She smiled sweetly at Beth, then turned back to him. “Thanks so much for your help in there.” And she strode away down the hall.

  Adam stopped in the doorway, as if half considering a retreat back into the locker room. Maybe if he went inside, came out again, the world would give him a do-over, and he and Beth could start afresh.

  Unfortunately, Beth didn’t look like she was much in the mood for fresh starts. She stood a few feet away, pressed against the brick wall as if she needed it for support. Her hands were clasped in front of her,
in a loose and relaxed pose betrayed by the tension in her frozen face. She wore a light gray, short-sleeved sweater that he’d never seen before. It was the soft color of mist, the same gray that flecked her clear blue eyes. Her eyes, he noticed, were glassy, unshed tears pooling at the lids. She looked very angry—and very beautiful.

  “Beth,” he finally said. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you,” she said mechanically, staring off in the direction Kaia had gone. “I was going to apologize. One of the guys told me you were still in there. So I waited.”

  Thanks a lot, guys, Adam thought. That was some team loyalty for you.

  “I’m glad you did,” he said hesitantly, taking a step toward her and gently grasping her hand. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”

  The contact seemed to shake her out of her state of shock—she whipped her hand away.

  “I said I was going to apologize,” she corrected him. “Past tense. That was before I … interrupted you.” She looked away. “I guess you weren’t expecting to see me here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means.” She swiped a hand quickly across her eyes and finally met his gaze. Her lower lip was trembling—and she looked at him as if he were a mysteriously familiar stranger, someone she’d once known, long ago. “God, Adam, in public? In the locker room? What were you thinking? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about!” he protested. The best defense, after all, was a good offense. Not that he had anything to be defensive about. He hadn’t done anything—was it his fault that Kaia kept chasing after him? Wasn’t the point that he kept turning her away? Didn’t that, in fact, make him a better boyfriend? What more did she want from him?

  “What do you think happened in there?” he snapped, losing his patience. “You think I threw her down and did her? Right there on the floor in front of half the swim team? Do you even want to know what really happened? Maybe you’d rather just assume the worst.” He heard the words coming out as if someone else had spoken them—surely it hadn’t been him. Surely he wouldn’t say something so hurtful to someone he loved. Surely he wasn’t that kind of guy.