B. Celeste

His natural musky scent wraps around me, overwhelming my senses until my heart thumps wildly in my chest. It doesn’t take away the memories of lingering touches, gentle kisses, and an overpowering sense of belonging. And less than twelve hours ago, I belonged to Everett Tucker in ways I never thought possible in the ten years of knowing him.

His touches scorched me.

His kisses burned me.

And his body…

The mattress dips with the shift of his weight. I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’s awake. When his soft snores echo in the half-empty room, I release the breath and white knuckle the sheets against my breasts. Carefully, I sit up and squeeze my eyes closed like it’ll soften the blow of reality.

I wait for the pounding headache or quake of unavoidable nausea to punish me, but my conscience reminds me of what I already know. I wasn’t drunk last night. What I’ve done can’t be blamed on alcohol.

My hand drags across my bare neck until my heart thunders in pure panic over my missing possession. I swallow my anxiety when I catch the silver chain resting on the night stand and remember the very moment he took it off me.

Nothing but skin. That’s what he said he wanted between us. I’ve only taken this necklace off to shower and sleep. It goes everywhere with me, the silver paint palette and brush charm sweeping over my heartbeat as a reminder that he cares. But in the moment I had him as more than a wish, a hope, a dream, he didn’t want it lingering.

Nothing but skin.

My fingertips touch the newest charm, a cracked heart, and I suck in a short breath when the contact shocks me. Clenching the sheets tighter to me, I turn slightly to peek through my peripheral and see a tussle of dirty blond hair against my starch white pillow case.

Look, my conscience taunts. Look at him.

Slivers of tan skin make their way into my sight as I shift, my gaze drifting up the mountain of hard muscles that form his toned biceps as they wrap around a pillow. Worrying my bottom lip, my heart somersaults in my chest when the curve of his square jaw comes into view. The sharp line of it is coated with early morning shadow that he’ll shave despite preferring a thin layer of stubble.

He looks peaceful when he’s sleeping; the hard edge he normally radiates eased to a laxed slumber. From this angle, I can see the faded white scar that stretches from the bottom of his left ear along the curve of his throat, landing just above his pulse. You wouldn’t know

it’s there unless you know the story, and he doesn’t tell just anyone.

But I’m not just anyone.

Especially not now.

My throat tightens from the emotions lodging in the back of it as I scope out his sculpted body. He works hard for every muscle, spends countless hours in the gym or training at the fire department, and it shows. The man sleeping beside me has been a figment of my imagination that I’ve conjured thousands of times, but his body is a masterpiece I never could have perfected unless I saw it in person.

I absorb the memory of his body spread on my mattress, bare to me. Every vulnerability laying in a mess of sheets, open to pull apart and dissect and regret when the sun fully rises.

Less than twelve hours ago I belonged to the minty eyed boy I’ve loved since I was thirteen. But Everett Tucker isn’t mine to love.

He stirs when I rise from bed.

“Everett,” I whisper brokenly, my heart shattering inside my chest. I can feel the pieces splintering apart as I choke out my final words. “We made a mistake.”

trying to talk to you, and you keep spacing out. What’s your deal?”

Shit.

Oliver’s parents have been in the long process of adoption. For about two years, they’ve talked about adding on to their family. I know this because I spend ninety percent of my time at the James’ residence. Bridgette and Robert are practically parents to me, so I know how big today is for them because they’re finally signing papers to get some pre-teen they’ve spent time with for a while now.

He tries tricking me by darting left, but my reflexes are better. I easily block him and steal the ball. “Why aren’t you with them right now?”

Managing to get the ball back, we battle it out until he gets a shot in on me. “It’s not like I haven’t met the girl before. They tried fostering

I lived with a middle-aged couple and another foster, a boy named Trevor.

A short gasp pulls my attention over to the corner of the room, where a short redheaded girl stands in the corner. Her eyes

“There’s a second set of stairs over there,” I point toward the back end of the room, “that lead just outside of Robert’s study. The guys won’t come down here that way.”

Her small fingers wrap around the edge of the plate. When the door to the room opens and footsteps plow down them, I go to stall the idiots only to see River has already bolted in the direction I pointed her to.

Damn, she’s fast.

Peter scoffs. “You’re all sick. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Nobody says anything because no one believes him. York will do anything to get in with Oliver and the fact Oliver invited him should make him chill. It’ll probably just fuel him to stay in our circle, despite everyone hating him.

“Cool it, douches,” Oliver declares. “The game is back on.”

Nobody mentions River again.

When the bell rings, Perkins calls me over to her desk. Gripping my notebook in my palm, I stand in front of her and glance at the busy halls.

I’m trying to talk to you, and you keep spacing out. What’s your deal?”

Shit.

Oliver’s parents have been in the long process of adoption. For about two years, they’ve talked about adding on to their family. I know this because I spend ninety percent of my time at the James’ residence. Bridgette and Robert are practically parents to me, so I know how big today is for them because they’re finally signing papers to get some pre-teen they’ve spent time with for a while now.

He tries tricking me by darting left, but my reflexes are better. I easily block him and steal the ball. “Why aren’t you with them right now?”

Managing to get the ball back, we battle it out until he gets a shot in on me. “It’s not like I haven’t met the girl before. They tried fostering her once before, remember? But something fell through on their application, so they settled for us meeting her in stages.”

I grunt. “Still think you should be there.”

He shrugs, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got a bio test today that I actually studied for. They understand.”

Coach has been on his ass about keeping his grades up, because the ten-week progress reports showed a less than stellar grade point average. Anyone getting a sixty-five or lower in any class has to sit out on games. It’s school policy.

When we realize the bell is going to ring in less than five minutes, we head to the storage room and toss the ball back on the rack. “What’s she like anyway?”

“Quiet.”

My brow quirks.

He shoves the locker room door open. “I don’t know, Rhett. She’s not very talkative, even when my parents asked her questions about herself. Her social worker had to fill us in any time we met.”

Sounds normal given the circumstances. I’m not keen on opening up to strangers about my personal life either.

“What’s her story?”

He splashes water on his face. “Not sure. Mom and Dad didn’t really fill me in on why she’s in foster care, just that she doesn’t have anybody else to take care of her.”

I just nod and wait until he has his books before we walk out into the hall as the bell rings. Crowds of high schoolers swarm the narrow hallways leading to the different wings of Freemont High. It’s not a big school by physical size or number of enrollees considering we’re