Page 8 of Roses in Summer

“Nah, Gem. You’re too good for me.” What I don’t say is that I’m too consumed with thoughts of a different woman to devote my attention elsewhere.

“One of these days, Linc, I’ll have you. And when I do, I might not let you go.” She stands up from her chair and leans over my body. Using her long limbs to cage me in, she plants a kiss on the corner of my mouth before pulling back to watch my face.

“Gem,” I warn, leaning farther away from her. While the invitations to her bed aren’t new, the physical touch is.

“Linc,” she mimics my tone. “You taste good.” She winks before pushing herself up and sauntering away, swaying her hips to an imaginary beat in her head.

Shaking my head at her retreating form, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I’m disappointed when all I see are a few texts from Dante and Grey in our group chat.

Dante: Yo, fuckfaces. Party tonight on Norfolk Ave.

Grey: Don’t call me a fuckface.

Dante: Cry about it, you little dick.

Rolling my eyes at their exchange, I type out a text.

Lincoln: Fine. I’ll meet you there from the restaurant. Who’s going?

I don’t have to wait long for a response. Dante must be sitting by his phone, waiting for our acknowledgment of a night out. Truthfully, we haven’t gone out much recently; both Grey and Dante have their dicks wrapped in a vice by Ava and Celeste, their girlfriends, while I’ve been killing myself at the restaurant and filling my spare time with texts to Seraphina.

Dante: Us and the girls.

By the girls, I assume he means Ava, Celeste, and Serena.

Lincoln: Fine.

Pocketing my phone, I stand from the folding chair in the employee break room and make my way to the row of private bathrooms, resolving that I’ll call Seraphina on my way back to Jersey.

3

Seraphina

“Mitch, what do you want now?” I sigh, exasperated by the pseudo-stalking that seems to be happening here. Mitch appeared from the same door I exited, seemingly tracing my steps from the library to the back lot. Quite frankly, I’m creeped out and uncomfortable.

“Fin, thank God.” Mitch throws his arms around me, pulling me flush to his body.

I blanch at the contact, pushing against his chest as he squeezes me. “What the hell are you doing, Mitchell? Get off me,” I order, struggling against his hold. I don’t relax when I break free, keeping my guard up in case he tries for any other wayward touches.

“You never used to curse.” There’s a frown in his voice, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the comment. I don’t dignify it with a response; I wait silently for him to explain why he’s following me.

He must sense that he’s getting nothing else from me because he clears his throat and turns away, almost like he’s afraid to look at me in the eyes. “We need to get back together.”

“No.” My answer is swift and immediate.

“You don’t understand. We need to get back together.” There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, one I’m not used to hearing. My eyes narrow at his tone, and I take in his appearance. Mitch is always well put-together, like a walking advertisement for Brooks Brothers or Vineyard Vines. His longer hair is always slicked back, and his clothes are typically pressed and well-tailored. But today, he’s disheveled.

His hair lacks gel and sticks out like a fraudulent halo around his head. His clothes are rumpled and worn, giving a “slept-in” effect. Part of me, a small, minuscule, tiny part, wants to ask if he’s okay and verify that he isn’t on drugs or something worse. But a large part of me remembers why we broke up two months ago and has no sympathy for him.

“Again, no.”

“Seraphina. We have to!” he bellows at me, his face turning red from the rage. “You think I want to be tied to you, a whore who wanted me to fuck her before marriage, like all of the other sluts in this school? No, I don’t. But we have to.”

“Sluts? You mean women who want to explore their sexuality with their partner and not feel shamed for it? But yet you trying to have anal sex for the last four months is okay? You’re an asshole, Mitch, and you don’t deserve a minute of my time, let alone me back in your life.”

I turn to leave, clutching my cell phone tightly so that I’m not tempted to throw it at his head. Before I can head back into the comfort of the library, my sanctuary here at school, I’m stopped by Mitch’s perfectly manicured hand. “You don’t understand, Seraphina. We have to get back together. You’ll regret it if we don’t.”

Stiffening at his words, I turn back around slowly. “Are you threatening me?” My voice sounds incredulous, even to my own ears.

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