He tucks a strand of hair near my temple behind my ear. “What can I say? You make me want to do things I’ve never done before.”
I am a paperclip and he is a magnet. I arch up on my toes to meet his lips. He tastes like the mint toothpaste I smelled on his breath. His stubble tickles my skin, but I love the scratch. His hands wrap around the small of my back and draw me closer until we are flush together. My fingers slide up the hard lines of his stomach and chest to wrap around his neck and tangle in the silky strands of his hair.
I am breathless and achy. A ball of heat coils in my belly and sinks low. His tongue slides through my lips and meets mine. He is delicious and decadent. I am spiraling out of control, losing myself to his savory sweetness.
I force myself to pull away. “We better study,” I manage.
His tongue flicks out and tastes his lips before he smiles. “If you insist, but I’m making us drinks first.”
“What’s in the bottle?”
“A special surprise.”
He gets to work, heating water in the kettle, and soon enough we are each sitting on the floor with a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
He has me translate while he watches. He doesn’t look at his phone or even look bored, though I am slow and the work is tedious. He examines my most recent translation for a moment and frowns.
“You’re confusing third-person present singular with third-person present plural,” he says. “Try again.”
I groan, letting my head fall into my hands. “I’m going to fail. This is useless.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Harlow. No way Ms. Edmonds will give you anything less than an A.”
I take a sip of my hot chocolate and swallow. The burn that flares in my belly surprises me.
My eyes go wide, and I look up to see Ian already staring at me. He smirks and it’s entirely devilish. “It’s good, right?”
I sniff the cup like I’m smelling for poison and take another sip. “What’s in it?”
“Peppermint schnapps.”
I choke, barely managing to not spew over my notes.
Ian laughs, deep and throaty and mischievous.
The threads that mended my heart after William begin to give way, tearing apart one by one like teeth on a zipper separating. I swallow away the lump at the back of my throat and take a big gulp.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
I nod and take another sip and then another. Oh, no. My cup is almost empty, and the lump is still there, trying to choke me.
“It’s very good,” I manage, “like mint chocolate.”
He grins and drinks from his cup. “That’s why I like it too.”
He leans across the papers and books, his breath hot against the coolness of my flesh.
“Harlow,” he whispers, running his thumb across the line of my jaw.
The zipper tears open a little more, and a thousand thoughts pop inside my head at once.
He is so beautiful. It should be illegal to be so devastatingly beautiful.
I am betraying Molly. I should be ashamed. I am Harlow the horrible friend.
He doesn’t break hearts. He outright steals them and never gives them back, so that when he’s gone, you’re not even a human being, just a shell of skin and bone.
I am selfish. Maybe if I thought about anyone but myself, William would be alive.
Tears spring to my eyes and then fall.
Ian’s mouth drops open. He looks shocked, and he should be. I am a mess.
“Don’t cry, sweetness,” he breathes.
“We can’t do this,” I manage, blinking away the tears. I am suffocating from the inside out. The darkness peeks out from the tornado of thoughts swirling in my brain and waves a shadowy hand. “I can’t do this, Ian.”
I try to pull away, but he holds me firm.
“Why, Harlow?” he growls, his fingers biting into my forearm. “This doesn’t help Molly. No one can help Molly, not even you.”
“You are fire, and I am paper,” I manage with a sob. “If I give in, then I lose everything I am, everything I stand for.”
He shakes his head violently as he rips away from me and stands. His hair is a little messy, unruly black strands poking everywhere.
“You’ve got it backward, Stormy,” he growls, his teeth baring with the words. “You are consuming me alive, but I don’t want to exist without the burn.”
Then he leaves, slamming my door behind him.
24
Ian
As the door shuts behind me, I glimpse the tears and splotches of crimson marring her otherwise perfect face.
She looks devastated, but devastation fits her like she was born for ruin. Only she’s bringing me with her, chewing me up and spitting me out like a goddamn wood chipper.
I am going to be nothing when she’s finally done with me, a dickless pile of splinters and shreds. I must have lost my fucking mind. Since when do I let anyone or anything bother me? Yet here I am, letting a girl destroy me.
I don’t even see the hallway I walk down or the doors I pass. Her angelic image clouds my vision as her scent, apples and cinnamon, clogs my nostrils. My fingertips remember the feel of goosebumps bespeckling her skin. My tongue recalls the minty bite of toothpaste lingering on her breath. The sound of her breathing, soft and steady against my throat, hums inside my ears.
I am submerged in her existence.
I am suffocating.
Fuck.
My fists curl at my sides while my head pounds like a jackhammer is doing its business against my temple.
I want to punch something.
I want to go back in time and beat the shit out of fourteen-year-old me.
I screwed up everything, and I’m not used to screwing up anything. There’s that platitude we have all been told: with wealth comes power. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—fine, honestly, I really don’t care either way—but it’s true. And to my benefit, I was
