“Yeah, thanks.”
He reached for the cooler, but I was faster. I lifted it up and dumped the entire contents over his head. I dropped the cooler and ran. I got a few seconds head start, but I could have had a few minutes head start, and it wouldn't have made a difference.
He moved with the speed of a cheetah, those strong, inked and extremely wet arms wrapping around my waist. He hauled me back to press me against his very wet body. “Brat.”
I was laughing too hard to reply until he kissed my neck, right in the spot that caused those delicious little chills. My body went boneless and his grew harder. He seemed to realize where we were and loosened his hold.
He pressed his lips to my ear. “I can't get enough of you.”
A shiver went through me that had nothing to do with being cold. “That makes two of us.”
He lowered me to my feet and I wasted no time turning to face him, because the boy was shirtless, wet and sexy as hell. I liked the bandana especially with the tats. Yeah, he was magnificent.
“What are you thinking?” He asked.
“You should dress like that more often.”
“In private, for you? Anytime.”
Well, hell, I might just swoon right here on the soccer field. I grew exceedingly hot under my suddenly constricting clothing.
“You look flustered.” He said.
“I'm suddenly very warm.”
“Really? I'd offer you some water, but...”
“I'll take being parched, because the visual of you getting doused with water is already stored in my happy place.”
“Happy place?” He asked.
“Where all my good memories go. I don't have many, but the ones I have are perfect.”
He linked our fingers and a tender smile touched his lips. “I hope I fill your happy place with memories.”
“You're doing really good so far.”
His hold on my hand tightened and though he didn't say anything, I had a feeling he was thinking a great deal. “I should get you home.” He said. “But Lark?”
I looked up into those eyes and saw mischief brewing. “What?”
“Paybacks are a bitch.”
Chapter Six
After school one day, Bastian took me to the local diner for dinner. Once we were seated across from each other, the waitress, Peggy, came over to take our order and as she walked away, I wondered if her red hair was natural.
Bastian's attention was on me when my focus turned back to him. He seemed a bit off—distracted might be a better word. “What's wrong?”
He fiddled with his fork, but when I asked this, his fingers stilled. He glanced up at me. “My birthday is coming up, which means I'm required to go to the club with my parents for dinner.” Another hesitation before he added, “I know it's sort of sudden, but any chance you'll come with me?”
“When's your birthday?”
“October 6th.”
“Good to know. What's the club?”
“Pearl River Country Club.”
Ostentatious was the word that came to mind in regards to the club and certainly not the place I would picture Bastian. “And you want me to have dinner with you and your parents there?”
He didn't answer with words, but then his direct and searching gaze was answer enough. I couldn't lie—I was thrilled that he wanted me with him. The heady sensation didn't last for long though because the thought of meeting his parents terrified me. “When?” I asked warily.
“In two weeks.” He reached across the table for my hand, “What's wrong?”
“I've never met parents before and I suspect that yours aren't going to like me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they're pro-Kira.”
“Pro-Kira’s parents, not so much Kira.”
“Well, my aunt and uncle are middle-class. My mom was a drug-using alcoholic, so I'm guessing I'm way down on their list of eligible ladies.”
“Do you really care, Lark?”
I cared how I would become one more thing in his life that they'd find unacceptable, particularly since we were just getting to know each other. “I care how being with me will come back on you. Maybe you should take Kira.”
“I'll take you or I'll go alone.” The belligerence in his tone made me cave. He was adorable when grumpy.
“Okay, I'll go with you.”
Surprise flashed over his face in response. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The smile that took over his entire face formed his only reply.
All through dinner, I tried not to worry about meeting his parents and failed. Bastian, sensing my mood, reached across the table for my hand again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I tried for a smile but it wasn't a very convincing one.
Bastian knew where my thoughts were when he said, “It's just dinner. The rest doesn't matter. They don't matter.”
I wanted to believe that but I had a terrible feeling that we were going to be over before we ever really had a chance to get started.
***
Pep rally. Two small and innocuous words, but at my school, pep rallies were anything but. The coach of the football team, Coach Farlay, had taken the concept of school spirit and turned it into something very similar to the pagan rituals I imagined the gods performed in the days of old. No one died during these heathen gatherings of the student body, but someone was always sacrificed. In truth, it was the coach's wife who was behind the theatrics of the pep rally. She trained as a thespian, but when her dream of Broadway didn't pan out, she pursued her second passion, teaching. Through the years she managed to take over directing the school's musicals. Clearly it wasn't just the musicals she had an influence over.
The football team selected one unsuspecting female from the audience and she became Victory. She was dragged from the bleachers and a football jersey pulled over her head before being lifted into the air by the football team to the cheers and chants of the entire school. That wasn't all, oh no. Then a boy was selected as the Guardian of Victory. They were handcuffed together—this was really just symbolic since the handcuffs didn't require a key which made it easy for Victory and her Guardian to separate when nature called—and for the rest of the day Victory and her Guardian had to go to one another's classes. As her last act of school spirit, on the night of the game, Victory led the football team out onto the field. In all honesty, the student body loved the entire practice and most were eager to be Victory or her Guardian. I, however, was not a fan. Although I did love that it was all so left of center, and that it wasn't just the students but also the administration who ate it up.
I had somehow managed in my high school career to avoid ever being Victory—yet another benefit of blending into the woodwork. So there I sat, continuing to blend into my surroundings, sinking just a little bit lower on the bleachers to avoid eye contact with every person on the gym floor.
“This is so exciting. I hope they pick me.” Sophia was practically jumping up and down.
“Sophia, stop drawing attention.”
“It's all in good fun. It wouldn't hurt for you to be Victory just once.”
“I'd rather have back surgery.”
As I sat there wondering just how painful back surgery was, I felt a warmth shimmy down my spine and looked up to see Bastian making his way up the bleachers to me. What the hell was he doing? Not that I wasn't happy to see him, especially since he was coming to sit with me, but he was drawing attention which made my attempts at invisibility moot.
“Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing?”
He only answered by grinning. Coach Farlay's voice echoed throughout the gym.
“It's time to pick Victory!”
Everyone launched to their feet, screaming like they were being murdered, while I tried to sink even lower. I felt Bastian's hand wrap around mine and at first I felt a wave of warmth over the gesture until a moment of clarity filled me. He wouldn’t. I tried to pull my hand from his, but couldn't. My gaze flew up only to see him smiling down at me like a lunatic.