Page 34 of Burned By Sin
Spinning on my heels, I notice Addy tucking her phone away, a menacing grin on her face. Oh god, don’t tell me she filmed that whole thing?! She catches my eye and signs,that was so hot, whilst Rhys removes his jacket. I blink hard, pulling myself together and closing the door with my back.
“Um, it’s girl’s night,” I say weakly. Rhys wobbles slightly as he drops onto my side of the bed, reaching for the popcorn. He’s wasted.
“Sounds good. What are we watching?” he asks, indulging himself in our snacks. Heat creeps up my neck and lands in my cheeks. He’s sinfully gorgeous in the low lighting, shadows accentuating his sharp jaw and seeping into his inked skin. Finally shifting my gaze back to the TV, I can’t even remember the name of the film, but Addy saves me from answering anyway.
“Actually, we were about to paint our toenails. What color do you want, Master Waversea, strawberry margarita or cranberry flame?” She places the choices in Rhys’ lap as he chokes on his salted snack. I use his distraction to quickly sign.
“What are you doing?”
“Proving a point,”she bobs her brows. A tremor of disdain rattles through me. Rhys isn’t perfect, and his boredom creates havoc for anyone nearby, but he’s not some test subject. Maybe he has changed, as the hashtag suggests, but not because he was a problem that needed fixing. It’s because the version of him who he was supposed to be was beaten down and withered by his father, where it waited for the right person to set it free. Oblivious to the rage that’s stirring within me, Rhys downs my water to clear his throat.
“There’s no fucking way you’re painting my toenails,” he croaks. I catch Addy’s mischievous expression as she raises her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.
“I’m sure Clayton would?—”
“Give me the fucking cranberry,” Rhys spits. My jaw drops, whilst Addy makes a high pitched noise I grimace at. I’m getting far too tired for all this noise. Rhys removes his socks and jeans, reclining in just black tank top and boxers with yellow cordoned stripes around a sign in the center that reads, ‘Caution: May contain nuts.’
“You really don’t have to,” I tell Rhys but he’s already reclining against the headboard, his limbs growing limp.
“Have your girl’s night, do your girly things. I’ll just…lie here,” he mumbles, his eyelids lowering. Five bucks says he’ll pass out before she’s even done. Humming a little tune to herself, Addy paints Rhys’ toenails at lightning speed, pushing the brush back into the pot with a satisfied nod of her head.
“All done princess,” she teases to his sleeping form, and I give her a glare. Excusing herself to the bathroom, I catch up with her in the hallway by dragging her arm backwards.
“That wasn’t cool,”I sign, in case of eavesdroppers. A frown forms on Addy’s face.
“I didn’t mean to cause offence,”she shakes her head slightly.“I’m sorry, I thought we were having fun.”
“Well next time, don’t do it at his expense. He’s not some lab rat to be tested for the amusement of others.”My hands are a flurry of movement, shaking slightly, and I head back to the dorm.
“Harper,” Addy calls after me out loud. “Harper, wait.” I don’t wait. I slip inside and nudge Rhys to wake up.
“Hey, you can’t stay here,” I push against his arm until his blue eyes flicker back open. Staring at the ceiling, Rhys takes a minute to revive himself enough to realize where he is. “Let’s get you back home.”
“Home,” Rhys mutters, dragging himself upright by pure will. He leans against the wall whilst I grab some necessities and shove my feet into my biker boots. Dressing Rhys is a damn sight harder, but he rouses enough to do up his jeans button and throw on his jacket. “Is everything okay?” he asks, the thickness of his voice returning.
“All fine,” I smile weakly, shouldering my bag and leading him outinto the hallway. He hisses at the harsh lights. Addy lingers by the bathroom, watching us leave, her face the picture of confusion. A stab of guilt bursts in my chest, wondering if I’ve made a mistake, if my gut feeling to protect Rhys has caused me to misinterpret Addy’s intentions.
Either way, we step out into the cold, heading back to the house I was adamant I wasn’t going to stay in whilst Clay was on campus. I didn’t want to be seen choosing a side, or inadvertently cut ties I’m not ready to cut. Rhys keeps his arm around me, only stumbling a few times whilst trying to get a glimpse of my face in the streetlamps.
“When we get back, will you tell me what’s upset you?” he asks. I huff a cloud of white in front of my face, although my cheeks are on fire.
“Maybe,” I settle down, looking both ways as we cross the road to his pathway. “Depends how much whiskey you’ve got left.”
Chapter Twenty One
The ball smacks into my palms, and instinct takes over. I tear down the court, sneakers squealing against the polished floor, the familiar rhythm of the dribble echoing through the gym. A few bodies dart into my path, teammates and opponents alike, but I weave through them, muscles burning in the best possible way.
We’re all Waversea players out here today. After the disaster that was our last big game, Coach decided we’d have a monthly ‘friendly’scrimmage to sharpen up. There’s ten of us on the court, spilt evenly with four more watching from the side benches beside the cheer squad. Huxley and Garret are here too, leaning back in the bleachers amongst small groups of students littered throughout. Harper is front and center.
Her eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but grin, right up until Wavershit comes flying out of nowhere to slap the ball clean from my hand. I spin, trying to recover, but he’s already bouncing away and sinking the basket I’d been gunning for.
“Same team, asshole,” I grunt. There’s no doubt Rhys has been getting the practice in. His movements are smoother than before, and he’s working better with the others, but apparently that courtesydoesn’t extend to me. He shoulders past like I’m invisible, his focus already on Scott who’s caught the rebound.
His eyes widen in panic, quickly passing to Richie before jumping out of Rhys’s way. I hang back, watching as the tattooed predator stalks his prey with calculated movements. It’s laughable how the players scatter and duck out of his way, while he moves with deliberate slowness. Having that kind of power must be exhilarating, but I would rather be respected through loyalty than fear.
With the rest of the players staying too far back, Richie is left on his own inside the arc with the ball firmly gripped between his white knuckles. I have to give him credit, he doesn’t balk and toss the ball over to my waiting hands like I’d expected, but lines himself up with the net. Waiting for the exact moment Richie is about to shoot, Rhys vaults himself high enough to pluck the ball straight out of the air.
Interestingly, the rest of the opposing team have banded together to form a four-man wall to block Rhys’s return. I raise my eyebrows that they managed to find their balls in the last ten seconds of the match, internally commending them for at least trying.
