Page 51 of House of Hearts
Calvin clears his throat. “You don’t have to play the stupid game. We can get out of here.”
I should take his advice. I shouldn’t be ruled by this horrificallypetty part inside me. There are a million things I should be doing instead of grabbing this bottle.
“No, it’s okay,” I insist, flashing him a smile I don’t mean. “I’ll play.”
His brows knit, but there’s no time for him to argue. There’s no time for anything as the bottle spins and then slows in front of a lumberjack senior in my study hall. He’s handsome enough in a boy-next-door sort of way.
I think his name is Landon, but it’s the last thing on my mind as I lean in. He wastes no time smashing his lips to mine, and it’s an unwelcome sensation, as unpleasant as a shower gone cold. He’s sloppy, his mouth missing mine and his hands hovering awkwardly in the space behind my back.
His eyes might be squeezed shut, but mine stay open. I tell myself I don’t know what I’m looking for, but that’s not true. I immediately lock eyes with Calvin.
All he does is stare. Stare and stare and stare. It’s funny how quickly a brain can draw parallels: same blond hair, same wide-set shoulders. If I squinted, maybe I’d never know the difference, but I’m not squinting. I’m staring right at him. I’m kissing Landon even as Calvin’s eyes sear hot onto my skin.
Calvin staggers off, his legs trembling like he’s forgotten how to walk when he’d desperately like to run. I can’t think why he’s this upset. Unless he’s so utterly repulsed by the sight that he’s going to go throw up in the bushes.
I don’t know what compels me to follow him, but it has the circle jeering yet again. They laugh at us, smack their lips, but I can’t seem to care.
He doesn’t stop walking until his back is pressed against the wallof the dorms, his hand twisting furiously through his hair. He grinds his teeth together, squeezing his eyes shut like he might block out the memory of what happened if he focuses hard enough.
I try to softly approach, but a leaf crunches underfoot, and he stiffens at the sound of it. He raises his head, expression stricken at the very sight of me. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he says, words barely making it through his teeth.
“Why not?” I challenge, and his gaze darts to my swollen lips. A brief, infuriated stare.
“I’m sure Landon will miss you,” he barks, and there’s no denying the heat in his tone.
Hold on a minute. The realization hits me hard and fast, my subconscious unscrambling his expression and realizing I made a major miscalculation back at the gazebo. I test my new theory by leaning in, and surely enough, his breath catches strangely in his throat. He lets out a horrified little hiccup, but that’s not enough to stop me. Especially not as his lips part and his gaze goes half-lidded.
That wasn’t disgust I saw in his eyes. It was desire.
“Oh, I get it,” I whisper, my accusation skipping along his skin as I loop my fingers around his neck.
“Get what?” he asks, his voice ragged and his pupils blown wide. He regards me with sick fascination, terrified yet enraptured.
“You’re jealous.”
He shudders at the accusation, and there’s not a casual bone left in his body. It’s oddly alluring getting under his skin, so much so that I sweep a thumb against his throat. He gasps, and the bob of his Adam’s apple is far more tantalizing than it should be. I wait for the stereotypical markers of a first kiss: the tentative brush of lips, the hitch ofshared breath as his lips part, the dizzy leap in my stomach.
None of those happen. What does happen is an emotional sucker punch to the gut.
“You think I’m jealous?” he scoffs. Any desire I thought I saw is quickly extinguished. His features have rearranged themselves in seconds, and the face he wears now is one of pure shock and horror. “Violet, I’m sorry. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give to you. Don’t you remember? I’m the worst man on the planet. An incorrigible flirt. You don’t want this.”
I’m not wearing face paint, but I’d bet anything my cheeks are a horrible, cartoonish shade of red anyway. “A simple no would have sufficed. Shit, forget it. You’re right. Pretend this didn’t happen.”
He has the gall to lookpitying. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t! I don’t care. Blame it on stress-induced hysteria. A brief lapse in judgment. Whatever.”
He opens his mouth, but I’m spared the “it’s not you, it’s me” monologue by a series of loud cracks in the sky. Fireworks glimmer overhead like a pop of champagne before waterfalling down among the stars. That can only be the signal that Tripp teased. It might be beautiful if things were different.
Right now all I want to do is disappear into the earth. I break away from Calvin, already beelining for the gate. “That’s our cue.”
“Violet—”
“Already walking! Try and keep up!”
It’s a good thing we’re going to a grave site, because this awkward silence might kill me.
I’m trying my hardest not to look at Calvin, or speak to Calvin, or accidentally brush against Calvin, because if I do, I’ll be forced to acknowledge the most mortifying thing I’ve ever done, and I truly can’t handle that right now.
