Page 16 of Fright Night
She huffs, tugging on my hoodie’s sleeve one more time before giving up, instead standing between my legs. It’d be so easy to haul her onto my lap. I’m tempted to, to see how long it’d take for her to pull away, scared by her desires.
“Why would I do that? If we’re going by your count, the next trick is mine. Trick the Trickster and all that.”
Her lovely throat moves with her swallow—an enticing display of anxiety. I wonder what it’d look like with my hand wrapped around it. With my fingers gripping that pulse and compelling it to new speeds.
Time will tell because Oakley has plenty of absence to make up for.
“Pretty sure you evened it the other night.” Her gaze flicks to the mask in my arms, cheeks reddening. “Jacking off on me is a new low, creep.”
It’s actually a new high. Possibly the best high I’ve ever had so far. Infinitely better than the drugs that once landed me in this situation. Her hands, mouth, and pussy will be an ethereal level high.
I stand, abandoning the coffee and mask, enjoying how she backs up again and stutters, “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Getting you to realize why we’re not even. I didn’t come here seeking an apology, only an explanation. The last couple of years havesucked, all because this pretty little mouth”—my thumb presses into her bottom lip—“forgot to speak up. So, it’s only fair I have another turn. Be ready, my Trickster. You have a lot to make up for. You stole my life, I’ll take yours.”
And keep it for myself.
“I said sorry.” Her whispered words are hindered by my thumb.
“Except I don’t care.”
Releasing her, I grab my things and turn for the door, only for my attention to snag on a picture frame resting on a side table.
Her mother is big into professional photography. If there’s an event, she’s hiring cameras. Probably where Oakley’s love for event planning came from. This photo is one I recall being taken like it was yesterday.
Jill and my father wed outdoors in a local provincial park; a setting that doesn’t suit either of them, but apparently they were trying to make a statement. The backdrop is the wide-open blue sky with a waterfall crashing into the lake below, while the four of us were positioned on the cliff overlooking it. Our parents were seated on a bench the poor photography crew had to haul up there at Jill’s shrilly insistence, while Oakley and I stood behind them. I’m in a black suit nearly identical to the one Dad wore, while Oakley wore a light purple dress that matched the flowers of Jill’s bouquet, and never failed to take my breath away.
It was the only thing that day that made missing the game I was otherwise supposed to play with friends worth it. The rest of the day sucked ass. It was wedding number two for them both, so did it really matter if I attended? They thought so; I didn’t.
When the wedding photos came back, Jill insisted Oakley and I each pick one to keep. I saw which one Oakley chose—this one—but hid my choice until she left the room.
It was one of the few things I took with me when being kicked out of town. A picture of only Oakley and me, same background, with my arm resting on her waist, after the photographer insisted on a few with us without the bride and groom.
The wedding happened weeks before our stupid teenage hate-rivalry really kicked off. At some point, I played a stupid trick on her by hiding her toothpaste to see how much she’d overreact. Instead of running her mouth to our parents, she retaliated by crushing my very expensive deodorant into mush, forcing me to buy more.
I couldn’t stop laughing, even when ordering the replacement. My new stepsister was feisty, though also couldn’t decide to be scared or not around me. She addicted me early on.
Which almost makes her final trick even funnier. It was ballsy.
Without another word, I finally look away from the old wedding photo and head for the door, aware I’ll be seeing Oakley againverysoon.
An hour later, after a stop to change and shower, I head to the fancy five-star restaurant Oakley is sitting at with our parents. The fact she’s there while exhausted by shitIdid last night brings a smile to my face as I straighten my hoodie—the opposite of this place’s dress code—and jerk a finger in greeting to the maître d’ before gesturing to the table by the window my party is already seated at, three plates of food just being served.
Right on time.
Even this fancy place is decked out for the holiday, and I pass a waitress delivering a themed coffee drink that reminds me of something Oakley would drink.
At the last second, I pause by the woman, murmuring, “One of those delivered there,” while pointing at Oakley.
Our parents are seated facing away so it’s Oakley who spots me first, her fork clanging onto the delicate glass plate as I swing into the empty chair beside her, like they saved it all for me. I throw an arm around her back while my foot hooks into a chair leg and drags her close enough her bare thigh in her pretty black dress touches my jean-clad leg.
“Knox,” Jill breathes, hand hovering halfway to her mouth. Her shock is too apparent, eyes jerking between me and Dad, who only watches on coolly because heaven forbid the man make a scene, especially in a place like this. Clearly, he never told his wife I’m home.
I jerk my chin in greeting but focus all my attention on my father before making a show of my arm around Oakley’s back,fingering the ends of her curled hair. Curled, with her makeup done, and an outfit fancier than what her job later will require because breakfast with Dad could be nothing less.
Fucking sick.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.”
