Absinthe Of The Heart (Sins Of The Heart Book 1) Page 11

  Belle is one of the only people I know who doesn’t get sick. It’s just not in her DNA to catch a cold or even have a headache. So it goes without saying I’m concerned.

  She sighs and reaches for a bottle of water from her bag. “I think I ate a bad burrito. I feel so bloated.” To emphasize her point, she snaps the elastic waist of her sweats. “See, even my stretchy pants are tight.”

  I don’t mean to laugh, but Belle is anything but fat. She’s got a dancer body thanks to all the ballet classes her mom made her take when she was a kid. However, no matter how many times I tell her this, she doesn’t believe it. Thanks to her mom saying she could lose five pounds every chance she gets, Belle’s insecurity about her looks worsens every day.

  “I’m not going tonight. My dress probably won’t even fit.”

  I jerk backward in surprise. “You definitely aren’t feeling well.” I reach across the middle console and playfully feel her forehead. She shrugs from my hold, smiling half-heartedly.

  We pull into peak-hour traffic, both groaning at the gridlock ahead. Belle taps her fingers against the wheel, rapping in time to a song on the radio. She seems edgy, and I wonder what’s wrong.

  “Spit it out,” I bark, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

  She turns slowly, her mouth parted like she’s not sure if she should say what’s on her mind. “It’s fine,” she finally says, which means it’s totally not.

  “Belle,” I press. For the past couple of weeks, she’s been off and hasn’t been herself. I’ve asked her if everything was all right. All I got back was a mere shrug and her getting lost in whatever place her mind wanders to.

  She sighs heavily, her shoulders drooping in defeat. “I know you don’t want to discuss him…”

  I sit up taller in my seat, my curiosity piqued. “You’re my best friend; you can tell me anything.” I’m hungry for any small shred of information she wants to share. I should feel pathetic, but I don’t.

  Her straight white teeth tug at her bottom lip, but she finally spills the beans. “I think Sin is losing interest in me.”

  My insides do a double back flip, but I quickly quash down the urge to break into song. “Why do you think that?”

  She shrugs in defeat. “It’s just a feeling I have. He hardly seems excited to take me to prom. And we don’t talk anymore. I think he’s going to dump me.”

  When her lower lip trembles and she sniffs intermittently, I feel like the world’s worst friend for not being as upset as I should. I hate that she’s hurting, and I would take away her pain if I could, but a small part of me is…happy.

  And the award for the biggest bitch goes to…

  I can deal with my personal judgment later because all that matters right now is Belle.

  Reaching across the console, I gently stroke her hand. “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “That’s the problem, he won’t talk. He’s shut off…from everything. I’m used to him not being a big talker, but I thought he liked me.” A single tear traces down her porcelain cheek, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand.

  My heart breaks for her. Although we have one another, I know she’s craving a partner to fill the gaping void of belonging to someone mind, body, and soul.

  “I see you and Lincoln together and wish I had that with Sin.” I furl my lips together tightly, afraid of what I’ll say if I don’t.

  Lincoln is nice, but that’s all he is. He doesn’t give me butterflies, or that tiny flutter you read about in every Jane Austen novel. With him, I feel safe. There are no complications, no altercations, no nothing, and a small part of me is so bored that sometimes, I want to pick a fight on purpose.

  Something must be seriously wrong with me.

  Focusing on Belle, however, I reply, “Lincoln and I have our issues, too. It’s not all hearts and roses.” Which is true. I blame my study on the fact I don’t want to stay over or see him every day. I blame my job, needing to wash my hair every second day, walking the dog—any excuse I can muster to why we haven’t had sex yet.

  Every time we get close, I just…I freak out. All I can think about is kissing beneath a sycamore tree under a starlit sky.

  “I know that, but at least he likes you. I don’t even know if Sin likes me,” Belle says, breaking my train of thought.

  All Belle wants is to be loved. I blame her constant search for approval on her parents.

  Sighing, I try my best to console her. “How can he not like you, Belle? You’re beautiful, funny, not to mention you’re totally thumbing your nose at him for talking to me when I’m sure he’d rather you find a new best friend. I bet that just eats him up inside.” His annoyance has me smiling like a deranged circus clown.

  However, when she remains quiet, I feel like I’ve just swallowed lead. “Right?”

  She toys with the gold ring on her pointer, as if stalling for words. “Not really. He doesn’t really say anything about you. It’s like you don’t exist.”

  And there it is…the truth. It hurts more than humanly possible. Every part of me deflates like a punctured balloon. I want to scream, cry, but most of all, I want him to call me princess just one more time.

  “Are you…upset?” The pause reveals Belle’s surprise, and also her regret that she said anything.

  Needing to get my head in the game, I pull back my shoulders with a scoff. “Please, upset? I couldn’t be happier. You do remember I hated his guts, right?”

  The slipup is small, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Belle. “Hated?” she questions, turning to look at me. Her eyes may be covered, but I can feel her watching me, watching for any wrong move.

  My fingers tremble as I tug at the frayed hole in my jeans. “Yes, hated, because just like Sin, I’ve forgotten he exists too.”

  If only that were the truth. My life would be so much easier if it were.

  My excuse seems to appease her when she turns her eyes back to the road. “So you’re sure you’re not coming tonight?”

  “One hundred percent,” I counter without pause. She seems somewhat relieved, and I suddenly wonder why.

  We travel the rest of the way in silence, but the silence speaks volumes and fills in the blanks.

  “This is really good work, Holland.”

  After my shitty morning, it’s nice to get this news, especially news which cements me getting the fuck out of Dodge. The red A+ on my lit paper is one step closer to Stanford, and Mrs. Anthony, my English teacher, is the one I need to thank.

  Mrs. Anthony is everything you’d expect a sixty-plus-year-old English teacher to look like. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a hair out of place or looking less than refined. She was always eager to share her wisdom with her pupils, but sadly, her expertise wasn’t sought out by many.

  “I’m going to miss you. You’ve been one of my favorite students,” she whispers from behind her wrinkly hand.

  I smile, honored she thinks so highly of me, because once upon a time, she was a rock star in the literary world. She penned three novels, all international bestsellers, but now, she teaches twelfth grade English to jaded, uninterested students.

  Mrs. Anthony wrote a glowing letter of recommendation to Stanford on my behalf, and I have no doubt her praise helped me get in. I’ll miss her dearly. She’s one of the few happy memories I’ll take away with me.

  “You know,” she says, gathering her books into a neat pile on her desk. “You could always do the rest of your work via correspondence. Use the spare time to get ready for Stanford.”

  I pause from placing the paper into my backpack, both eyebrows raised in question. “I can do that?”

  Peering down her nose over the rim of her silver framed glasses, she nods. “Yes. You don’t need any extra credit. All you need to do is sit the exams. With that scholarship under your belt, you just have to make sure your grades don’t drop.”

  All of this is news to me, but it’s fantastic. “It’s definitely something to think about. Thank you, Mrs. Anthony. I’m r
eally going to miss your classes.”

  She appears genuinely touched by my admission. “Just don’t forget about me.”

  “Not a chance.” I wave goodbye, squashing down my tears, because it’s people like Mrs. Anthony who have made my time at Harvard-Westlake bearable.

  Stepping out into the hall, I pause in the doorway, holding my books to my chest as I take in the bustling corridors and study the faces of people I’ve known for more than half my life. I wish I could say we’re a mixed bunch, but we’re not. With age hasn’t come wisdom. But when we all leave here, we’ll be fresh meat, and the hierarchy will shift. My peers will no longer be king or queen, and a small part of me can’t wait to watch them fall from their thrones.

  A small titter has me wondering just where Belle and I will be once high school ends. She hasn’t been too worried about where she’ll end up because her dad knows every board member on the school facility at Berkeley. Regardless of her grades, she’ll get in. It must be nice to know people in high places.

  The laughter continues, and when I see Belle and Lincoln, heads locked in chatter, I smile, thankful they get along so well. To onlookers, it may appear like they’re more than just friends, but I know better. I know she’s head over heels for Sin.

  I watch with interest as she whispers behind her hand, which has Lincoln leaning against the lockers, smirking. Belle has always been flirty by nature, and even when she caresses his bicep, not a lick of jealousy arises. I ignore why that is and instead focus on the fact that I trust her. I trust them both.

  However, I don’t trust myself whenever he enters a room, like right now. I don’t know whether I want to slap or hug him, but London Sinclair has elicited that response from me for as long as I can remember.

  He looks his usual aloof self and doesn’t raise an eyebrow when he sees Belle yank away from Lincoln, guiltily brushing away invisible lint from his football jersey. I’m too far away to listen in, but when Belle’s mouth suddenly hits the ground and Lincoln clenches his fist, I know the topic of conversation is most likely me.

  I cling to my books, the walls closing in on me as I watch a few heated words being exchanged between both boys before Belle turns a sickly green. Her eyes snap my way, as I’ve caught her attention. She bites her lip, giving away her remorse. The action seems to give away my location to Sin, because with slow, calculated precision, he turns over his shoulder. Our eyes lock for a mere second, but it’s the best second, I’ve experienced in many months.

  I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be pinned by those stormy baby blues, but what I haven’t forgotten is the pull I still feel to him. Every part of me gets zapped with a million volts of electricity, panting for more. But I get doused with a reality check when he drills a hole straight through me, before focusing on a spot just above my head.

  We connected for a fraction of time, but that measly moment has left me jacked up and hungry for so much more. Lincoln snickers, which has Sin grinning his lopsided smirk, before continuing on his way as cool as a cucumber.

  Belle gnaws at her lip, eyes peeled to her mismatched sneakers, unable to look at me. That instantly sets off alarm bells. Excusing myself, I push through the crowd. Lincoln spins, only just aware of my presence.

  I don’t give him a chance to speak. “What did he want?”

  He sighs, fisting his light brown hair. “Babe, don’t worry about it.”

  I stubbornly shake my head. He should know me better by now. “Tell me.”

  “You know that whatever he has to say is not—”

  I cut him off, uninterested in his chivalry. “Lincoln, just tell me. I’m a big girl, and I don’t need you to protect me.”

  I’m expecting more of a fight from him, so I stand completely mute when he reveals, “He said that I was to make sure…you didn’t come to prom because he wasn’t interested in fighting over what’s his.”

  When I think I can speak without gasping for air, I exclaim, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” There is so much venom behind my words, Belle takes a physical step back.

  “I guess prom is a big deal to him. He wants to hold title to every high school tradition there is and doesn’t want to share his limelight with us.” When I scrunch up my nose, so lost in translation he may as well be speaking in Chinese, he spells it out. “Everyone knows it’s a dead heat between us for prom king and queen.”

  I shake my head. There must be some mistake. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about prom. Sin doesn’t care for such trivial bullshit either, but when I look at Belle, I know that she does. His comment is not only directed at the inconsequential title, it’s directed at Belle as well. In his eyes, Belle is his, and her losing something which she dearly wants is cause enough to pick a fight.

  No wonder she can’t look at me.

  They can shove their tiara where the sun don’t shine. I want to believe that Sin feels the same way, but I obviously don’t know him at all.

  I’m certain the entire corridor can hear my teeth grinding. I’m a woman scorned, and I want my revenge…and I want it now.

  “Holland, no.”

  Lincoln’s pleas fall on deaf ears as he knows better than to stop me. I tear down the hallway, bowling down anyone stupid enough to stand in my way. My peers part like the Red Sea because what is about to go down is of biblical proportions.

  I know where he’ll be, and even though it’s off-limits to any female with a brain, I push open both locker room doors and hunt down my prey. It’s everything I’d expect a boys’ locker room to look like, and usually, on any given day, I would turn redder than a tomato with so much flesh on display, but my bashfulness can take a back seat.

  The air is plumed with a light mist from the showers, but I could walk into here blind and still find him. My asshole compass finds my north. He’s topless, standing in front of his locker.

  I don’t even think twice about my actions as I march toward Sin, ignoring the catcalls from his teammates. He turns to see what the commotion is, but it’s too late. I shove at his chest with both hands and he stumbles back into his locker, completely caught off guard.

  “Who do you think you are?” I spit.

  It takes him a moment to register that I am actually in here, about to wage a war, but when he does, he attempts to turn. I latch onto his bicep, ignoring the volt of a billion currents which courses through my veins.

  His heavy, erratic breathing forces the hair from my cheeks, but he doesn’t speak. We’re caught in a stalemate, and I hate it. In the past, his insults have hurt, but ignoring me…that hurts more.

  I can’t stand the silent treatment a second longer. “What right do you have to tell me where I can or cannot be? You’ve ignored me for months, and now you think you can call the shots? Screw you, you arrogant, self-important asshole!”

  Just as I attempt to shove him again, he snatches both biceps and spins me so quickly, the world blurs around me in a kaleidoscope of color. He slams my back against the wall, pressing his very naked torso to my heaving chest to subdue me. I try to fight him, but a small part of me yields unreservedly.

  We’re caught between two sets of lockers, shielded from prying eyes. It should scare me that I’m bound and his potential prisoner, but I finally feel…something after feeling dead inside for so long.

  I’m unable to control my flouncing breaths because being this close to him is literally leaving me gasping. His blistering skin burns right through the thin cotton of my t-shirt, and the thought of being so close to him has an ardent whimper slipping past my parted lips.

  I muzzle it however, because I want answers, and I want them now.

  I lift my eyes, armed to exchange blows, but my plans are ambushed when he feverishly raises both my arms and locks my wrists in his huge palm. I’m suspended, trapped, with nowhere to go, as I’m pinned to the wall by this seething, beautiful boy.

  I’m shaking in anger, but I’m also bursting with anticipation. Now that he has me, I’m yearning to uncover what he plans to do.
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  “For someone who said I was to stay away from them, you sure as shit can’t seem to stay away,” he states, shaking his head with poise.

  They may not be ideal first words, but they’re better than no words at all.

  I want to snap back with something sarcastic, but I’m currently drowning in his musky, vanilla smell.

  “I don’t like being called a mistake,” he poses, going straight in for the kill.

  He remembers.

  I thought he’d forgotten me, but this entire time, it appears our last exchange was never far from his mind. I want to fight him, but I can’t. He’s right. I did tell him to stay away, but he’s so wrong about everything else.

  “And I especially don’t like liars.” The anger explodes from him, and then spreads like wildfire through my veins.

  I could argue, but what would be the point?

  This is the most he’s spoken to me in forever, and I’ll do anything to keep him talking.

  “Why don’t you want me there tonight?”

  He tightens his hold on me, a bittersweet sting. “You’re a clever girl; you’ll figure it out yourself.”

  “Figure what out?”

  With a languid speed, he lowers his face to mine, searching every plane. It’s been so long since we’ve been this close; I can’t consume him quick enough. My memory has done a poor job remembering him because it’s sensory overload and I don’t know what to appreciate first.

  The fullness of his pink lips lures me back to the moment they were pressed to mine. He wets his bottom lip, and I suppress a moan when I remember that tongue dominating my mouth with a ferocious appetite, intent on devouring me whole.

  My mind races a million miles a minute, but I take a moment to bask in the fact his thundering heart is thrashing wildly against mine. My eyes dip, impatiently taking in every stripped inch of him, but a gasp becomes imprisoned within when he sinks forward. Our bodies are pressed so close; I don’t even know where mine starts and his ends.

  I am so turned on, my flesh is igniting. My cheeks are a rosy red, and my center is suddenly throbbing. I’m horrified because I’m certain he can read my desire.