Yannik
I don't want to accept it, but all I want to inhale with every breath I take is the mix of cigarettes and the sweet musk of his perfume.
Not the smell of fucking honeyed cider.
"Are you alright?"
Selena fucking Reyes. Damn it, this guy has no taste at all.
Does Tiago know he's not supposed to be fucking around if he wants to get a girl who goes to church every fucking Sunday?
For fuck's sake.
"Yannik?"
The feeling of a touch on my hand makes my whole body twitch. I lift my eyesâCormac is sitting in front of me, his face reflecting light worry.
He's handsome. He just is, with his father being a model and his mother a rich big shark in fashion, but today he's definitely outdone himself.
For me?
If only he'd done this a few months ago...
"Sorry, I'm just lost in all these fancy names..."
I would have ended up impressed.
Maybe we would have had a real date, one I'd actually enjoy. Maybe we'd kiss under the Ferris wheel, and I'd even end up riding him in his carâa fancy and spacious car, the best kind to have sex in, especially with guys as cute as Cormac.
But it won't happen. He may know it by now, or he may notâit doesn't matter to me.
"Right, I should've considered you're not used to places like thisâ" The nervous chuckle Cormac lets out instantly fades as he hears himself, true terror flashing in his eyes. "Oh my God, sorry, I didn't mean it that way... I'm sorry, I sounded like aâ"
"It's alright," I say before he spirals into hating himself for pointing out his date doesn't have as much money as him.
I was raised by a single dad who had me when he was barely nineteenâwhat money are we talking about?
"I'm really sorry, Yannik," Cormac exhales. I don't know what it isâthe true guilt on his face or my desire for revengeâbut I reach across the table and place my hand on top of his.
"Just order whatever you want," I say, a smile on my face so fake I wonder how Cormac actually buys it. "No mushrooms, though. I hate them."
He nods, smiling back, his eyes on our hands. "No mushrooms."
I let him order whatever he thinks I'd like while I check my phone for new messages.
Nessa: What do you mean you're on a date with Cormac?
Nessa: Girl, you have to call me after.
I text back something quick and simple, my mind busy with the one thing that really matters.
What does he think about this?
Does Tiago even care that I'm on a date with a guy he nearly hates?
Of course he does. There's no way he doesn't. I see how he looks at me, I feel how his entire body reacts to me.
I know how he can beg for just a little bit of me.
But I can't get Selena's name out of my head anyway. Always just a shadow of her childhood friend Claire, she's one of the cheerleader group I never cared about.
Defenseless, soft, too shy to even stand up for herself without bursting into tearsâI used to feel bad every time I saw her.
But now? I don't fucking care. She can't just take what's mine and get away with it.
"How'd you like your steak, Yan?"
Cormac and the waitress both look at me, and I lift my brows, caught in my own thoughts.
"Blue," I reply.
"Well, ain't you a carnivore?" He smirks, nodding to the waitress already taking the order. I force a smile back, watching as the girl licks her lips, stretched into a smile while looking at Cormac.
Don't be dumb, Yannik. How many times have you been accused of stealing boyfriends? Take that one time when you got suspended last year...
It's not Selena's fault Tiago's a jerk.
He doesn't act like a playboy, though...
"Looks like you got a fan," I smirk, taking a sip of my mocktail.
A jet of vodka wouldn't hurt, but life sucks when you're just eighteen.
"Layla?" Cormac nods toward the direction the waitress went, a confused smile frozen on his lips. "I come here often. She knows me."
I just nod back like I'm satisfied with the explanation I never even cared about.
I want to get back to putting Tiago's name and every insult I know in the same sentence, but Cormac has other plans. His eyes slightly squint, a playful grin on his face.
"Are you jealous, Yannik?" he asks. It sounds like a joke, but deep down, I know he's dying for me to admit it.
"You're handsome," I smirk, watching his honey-colored eyes widen as he understands I'm not joking. "No wonder girls are obsessed with you."
Cormac is hot when he's tense in anticipation of a flirt.
Every guy is hot like that.
My eyes skim over his handsâskin untouched by the strong Australian sun, no ink on his knucklesâup to his face, touched with suspicion.
"What are you doing, Yannik?" he asks, careful and honest.
"Telling the truth," I say, one corner of my lips curling into a smirk.
Cormac bites his bottom lip, but there's no intention of flirting in itâjust a nervous gesture.
He knows this game because he's been playing it for a long time now.
Since the first time we saw each other after the final game of the junior year, when he asked me to come to his party later that night.
He never won. Not even when I was drunk, high after hitting the bong with Enzo and TJ, trying to take his pants off without even kissing him.
Was it then that I ended up screwing one of the numbers? Which was it, seventy-one?
Oh, yeah. Seventy-one. I remember his chick picking a fight with me a week later.
Guess who won.
Cormac lost, thoughâhe could've been number seventy-one instead of that guy, and he definitely could've fucked me.
He didn't. Because he happens to be a gentleman with the girls he actually catches feelings for.
"Listen," sighs Cormac, shifting in his chair, trying to make his body language more confident. "I'm sorry about what happened back at the party."
"Don't be," I say, cracking my knuckles. "I get it."
I don't.
He was always so obsessed with me, yet he couldn't kiss me there because it wasn't how he wanted it to happen.
Too fucking bad. He should've been grateful I even considered kissing him.
Tiago should be grateful tooâI don't want to fuck every guy I see, and I certainly don't do blowjob charity.
Motherfucker. Why is every man rejecting me now?
"I'm glad you called," Cormac admits. "I didn't expect you to, though."
"It was Tiago's idea, actually," I say, recalling the moment.
Yeah, it was his ideaâright after he said he prefers slim virgin girls lighter than the pigskin he's used to throw across the entire field like it's a fucking grenade.
Cormac's eyebrows lift, the ghost of a lopsided smile on his face. "Really?"
I nod, pouting my lips as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.
This is starting to get boring. I don't care about Cormac or his shitty talks about life andâof courseâfootball, but I can't just skip this dull phase to get to the real fun.
"Sorry," he murmurs, pushing his phone away. I shrug, catching the way his eyes flicker to my lips.
"Talk to me," I say, plastic enthusiasm lacing my voice. "Excited about the game this Friday?"
I can taste it alreadyâthe sweet, sparkling rush of success spreading over my tongue.
His lips are full, plump. He keeps licking them as he talks, and even when we're eating, I can't stop watching.
The anticipation creeps up my spine, spreading through my bones like a slow, crawling fire.
I want it more than anything. I've wanted this for almost half a year now.
A kiss. A slow, teasing kiss.
I want Cormac to crave it as much as I do. And I know he already does when he stares at me for a little too long once we step out of the restaurant.
He does nothing.
When we get into his carâexpensive, fresh-smelling, sweetâI imagine him pulling over once we're past the highway.
Grabbing me like I already belong to him. Pressing his lips against mine.
Maybe me shifting into his lap, rolling my hips, letting him slide his hands under my black dress.
Feeling his tattooed fingers grazing my thighs, inhaling the mix of cigarettes and woody cologne as I drag my nose along the bronze skin of his neck. Gripping his dark, almost-black hair, tugging until his cyan blue eyes darken with arousal.
But Cormac's hair is light brown. His skin is warm olive.
No ink. No scars.
I want to see them againâthose faint marks on his forearms. To meet his eyes and do anythingâanythingâto make the pain buried in them go away.
To make him understand how beautiful his butterflies are.
"Thank you," Cormac murmurs, tilting his head back as he pulls into my driveway.
My heart pounds against my ribs.
"I thought we'd never have a real date."
Kiss me.
Come on, kiss me.
Make me forget this fucker with the charming Aussie accent and the deep, warm voice.
"Well, it's real now," I purr, my lips numb from smiling so sweetly. "I am real."
He looks peaceful. Too calm. Like he has no idea I'm about to take the only thing I want from him.
So I move. Shift closer. My hand slides over his forearm, down to his hand, our fingers lacing together.
Kiss me.
Do it.
Kiss. Me.
"Yannik?" His golden, honeyed eyes widen, caught between surprise and frozen desire.
And I picture it againâhis hands on my hips, his body under mine.
It's not what I'm used to. It's not what I usually do.
But it feels so bad, yet so rightâto let his touch erase the ghost of Tiago's fingertips.
"You sure youâ"
"Hush," I whisper, cupping his face with both hands.
Cormac doesn't resist. A breathy sigh escapes himâhalf a moan, barely audibleâas he leans in.
Our lips collide, the kiss so gentle it makes no sense.
But I play along, sucking his bottom lip, drawing a shuddering exhale from him, burning my mouth with his breath.
No fireworks. No rush of satisfaction. No dizzying, destructive thrill.
Only the unbearable, gnawing need to get one fucking name out of my head.
Santiago fucking Jones.
Fuck.
"Yanâ" Cormac says, his voice hoarse as I break the kiss just long enough to shift onto his lap.
Screw the dress riding up my hips. Screw the seatbelt digging into his chest.
My fingers fumble for the handle on the side of the driver's seat, and as it reclines, Cormac sinks beneath me. His fingers dig into my hips, but there's no desperation in his touch.
"Wait, Yannik..."
Another kiss silences him. He kisses me back, but there's no hunger, no urgency.
My hands slide over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with erratic movements.
Kiss me.
Get me over him.
Fuck me.
Get me over him.
Did Savannah feel the same way?
Just fucking do it, Cormac.
Sink your dick as deep inside me as you can. Make me scream, bite your lips, wriggle on top of you.
Get me over him.
I don't want this guilt spreading through me like a sickness.
Was she as obsessed with him?
"Wait, Yannikâstop."
My whole body freezes. My lungs seize up, and I gasp, desperate for air, but it's not enough. Nothing is enough. I feel like I'm drowning.
Cormac's eyes are liquid goldâfresh, sweet honey as he looks at me. His cheeks are slightly red, his face serious, concerned. No dimples this time.
He's holding my wrists, gentle and soft. I could break free if I wanted to.
I don't. My heart pounds somewhere in my throat, hammering against my bones, aching with sour anger.
"I can't do this." Cormac's breath is shallow.
I can feel himâhard against my thighâbut I say nothing.
He's rejecting me.
He has the chance he never had, and he's wasting it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
There's no fucking way I'll get this goddamn name out of my head.
Santiago Jones. A boy with butterflies as beautiful as his name.
"My dad's not home." I motion toward the driveway, where the missing red Jeep means Dad is still out with Donny after his last shift of the week. "We can go inside and get comfortable, if youâ"
"Yannik."
It sounds so wrong, hearing Cormac talk to me this softly. Like he's not hard beneath me. Like he's not aroused.
He tucks my hair behind my ear, his touch delicate. "I don't want to rush and make you do something you'll regret."
"I know what I'm doing," I snap.
Fucker.
He thinks he knows me better than I do.
Nobody knows me. Not even myself.
"You don't," he murmurs, his fingers brushing my cheek.
The car suddenly feels small. Too tight. I can't breathe.
"This is your only chance, Cormac," I say, voice sharp, daring. A threat. "If I leave now, you'll never have me again."
His brows twitch. I feel the win.
"Then you don't want me like you think you do." His voice is soft. Steady. Soothing as his thumb slowly strokes my cheek. "And I don't want to make you regret this, sweetheart."
Number ninety-seven.
Cormac Cooper.
Always a gentleman. A man who cared about me from the moment we met.
And me?
Always Savannah. A slut who doesn't care.
I open the car door, the night air rushing in, chilling my skin. Cormac swallows hard, but doesn't stop me.
"Good night, Cormac," I mutter.
He nods, biting his lipâstill swollen, still marked from my kiss.
My victory.
"Good night, Yannik."
I step out, pulling my dress downâlower than it needs to be. My hands are shaking, and I want to blame the cold breeze, but my whole body is burning.
I won.
So why does it feel like I just had the worst night of my life?
The headlights flicker on, and as his car slowly rolls away. I watch it disappear down the street.
Cormac Cooper.
Number ninety-seven.
Did she ever feel shattered?
I suck in a breath, but it's shallow. Hollow.
My insides feel like glassâcracked, broken, shards sinking into my flesh.
I press my lips together, clench my teeth, but the pain is intoxicating, unbearable, and suddenly, a sob rips out of me.
My entire world is spinning. My vision blurs, flickering over the empty houseâwhere I could've been right now, numbing myself, filling the void in my chest, the one that's bleeding.
But I'm alone.
As I step inside my room, where all the rot is glazed over with pink, I'm still alone.
Because Savannah is.
Because she never could let anybody inside her heart, no matter how much the hole in it begged to be filled.
Does she ever feel regret?
I sit on the edge of my bed, my eyes locking onto the closet doors in front of me.
Hiding the worst secret I've ever had.
Something I'll never escape.
Tears streak down my face, burning hot, but they don't bring the relief I crave. Instead, pain floods my chest, tightening around my ribs.
I picture the old box. The one that carries the essence of who I am.
I sob.
Powerless. Pathetic.
It muffles the sound behind me.
The quiet, careful slide of the window opening.