The liquor is cheap and burns like fire going down, but it doesn’t take long before my body is warm and numb. The room spins, but I welcome it. I’m on a fucking merry-go-round anyway, so what’s the difference?
Waverly shouldn’t have thrown herself at me. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She deserves rainbows and hearts and flowers and shit like that. She deserves a boyfriend with a letterman’s jacket and a Camaro, not me. I’d fuck her over without even trying. I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling any of those saccharine, disgusting, lovesick emotions, anyway. It’s just not how I’m built.
She needs to get laid, just not by me. Not that I don’t want that. I’d fuck the hell out of that. But my cock does better buried in something it doesn’t give two shits about.
She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s sweet and kind, if slightly confused. She’s a good girl, and she was better off before I opened my big, fat mouth all because I was bored. This would probably be the one time in my life I’d ever agree with Josiah Mackey—I don’t deserve someone like her. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to see her married off to some polygamist asshole, but I had no business fucking with her and opening that can of worms.
I hope she doesn’t stir shit up with her dad. He’s going to want to know why she doesn’t want to talk to me all of a sudden, and I’m pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he starts piecing things together.
If he hasn’t already.
It would’ve been fun to fuck her, though. Those round, untouched tits begging to be fondled. That perky ass in desperate need of grabbing. I’m sure her pussy’s just as tightly wound as her personality.
I close my eyes and imagine her tongue running the length of my cock, her hand gently massaging my balls. My dick swells, filling my boxers, and I know there’s only one remedy.
I won’t fuck Waverly in real life, but I’ll fuck the shit out of her in my fantasies.
Whatever helps me sleep, right?
***
Breakfast is rough. I sit at the end of the table across from Bellamy and Waverly. I keep sneaking looks at Bellamy, trying to see if I can get a read on her. She sits there with her slacks and blouse and pearls, everything covered up. Not a single blonde hair out of place or a single bag under her eyes. No indication whatsoever that she was out all night doing God-knows-what.
She’s good. She’s fucking good.
Bellamy catches my glance and doesn’t make a face or shoot me a look. For all intents and purposes, I may as well have been dreaming about catching her hiding in the bushes.
Waverly eats in silence. At the opposite end of the table Mark is deep in conversation with his three brides. By the looks of it, they’re clinging to his every word like he’s preaching the gospel.
All the younger kids sit in the middle of the table, laughing and telling knock-knock jokes. They’re carefree, those kids. They have no clue how hard life’s about to get for them in the near future. It’s a miracle the Millers have been able to keep their lifestyle under wraps for so long.
Bellamy is the first to rise. She dabs her mouth on a napkin, runs her hand over her hair, waves bye to her family, and flits out the door, her heels clicking on the tile. Waverly is next. Then me. We walk outside a few feet apart, saying nothing to one another.
Her hair’s piled on top of her head and two diamond studs adorn her ears. She’s dressed down today, a University of Utah hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. I’m guessing she was too tired to dress in her usual twin-set uniform, but she still looks damn good.
We drive to class, me following her the same way but not intentionally. I give her space when she heads inside, sitting out in my truck until she disappears in the building.
I’m bombarded by Claire Fahnlander the second I reach my locker. Last I knew, hers was in a different hallway in the opposite side of the building.
Stalker.
“Hey, Jensen.” She twirls her long dark hair around her finger and smiles. I can almost see my reflection in her lip-gloss. “So… that party tonight at my place. Are you coming?”
I switch my books out and hang up my bag. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
She swats my arm and laughs, dropping her jaw like she thinks I’m flirting with her. I’m not.
“What could you possibly be doing tonight that’s going to be more fun than my party?” She bats her thick, spidery eyelashes.
I glance up at the clock. Two minutes until class. “Not sure.”
“Please tell me you’re not hanging out with Waverly.” She rolls her eyes clear into the back of her head. It’s slightly over the top. There’s obviously some bad blood between them, but I don’t give two shits about the details.
“Why would you think that?”
“I’ve seen your truck at her house almost every night this past week.”
“So you’re stalking me?”
“We’re neighbors. Don’t flatter yourself.” Claire gives a cutesy wave to a girl who passes by. The girl wears a matching Resting Bitch Face. “Anyway, you know the Millers are poly, right? You’ve met the rest of them, haven’t you?”
My stomach drops. I don’t agree with their lifestyle, but I sure as hell don’t want to out them. It’s not my place. “Probably just a rumor. I think I’d know.”
Claire laughs and grabs my forearm. “It’s not a rumor. I know. We used to be best friends, back when Waverly was allowed to have friends. I’ve been over there. The backyards are all interconnected. Have you seen that massive dining room table? They’re totally poly.”
“Is that really your business?”
“So you do admit it. You know.”
“I’m not admitting anything. I just think you ought to be careful about starting up any rumors.”
Claire puckers her lips and waves her hand away. “Don’t worry. I mentioned it to a few people a few years ago and her dad came after my dad with something about a lawsuit. Defamation of character, or some shit like that. Being LDS in this town will get you a gold star. Being poly will get you run out of town.”
I’m not sure why she’s telling me all this. It’s almost as if she’s spent a lot of time fixating on Waverly and the rest of the Millers.
“My brother dated Bellamy in high school. Bellamy’s cool.”
Bellamy dated? I thought that wasn’t allowed?
I suppose it’s fitting, knowing what I know now. I’m sure she did all kinds of rebellious things. Firstborns are like that.
“Waverly’s cool, too.”
“Not really.” Claire sticks her hand out, admiring her neon pink nails.
I slam my locker. “At least she’s not a stuck-up bitch.”
I don’t wait for her to react. I head straight into Chem and take my seat next to Waverly. Waverly might be difficult, but she’s not malicious. And in some weird, fucked up, spiritual way, we’re technically family.
I’ll stand up for her because it’s the right thing to do.
I’ll stand up for her because people can be shitheads sometimes for no fucking reason.
I’ll stand up for her because no one ever stood up for me.
“Hey.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “Are we not speaking?”
She turns to me. “What’s there to talk about?”
“I dunno. We can talk about what a bitch Claire Fahnlander is.”
I don’t usually make it a thing to talk shit about other people because it’s generally a huge waste of my time, but in this case, I’m making an exception. Waverly’s lips crack into a smile, which disappears in a flash.
“You shouldn’t say that about people,” she scolds me, but I know she’s amused. I can tell by way her eyes spark. I’m simply saying what she’s too polite to say. Besides, she can’t stay mad at me forever, and just because I won’t fuck her doesn’t mean we can’t try to forge some kind of friendship. We’ve got plenty in common. We’re in this weird family together, and we’re both trying to make it to the end of our senior year. We both hate Claire-fucking-Fahnlander.