Every Little Piece - By Kate Ashton Page 0,37

it squeezes my chest.

I tear my gaze away from him and study her. Adoration simmers off of her. She loves him or is close to it. Jealousy floods my heart. The happy times they probably spent together in the past year, the smiles, the touches, the laughter. The kisses, gentle and sweet, that used to be mine. I want to grab a butter knife and cut the smile off her face.

I close my eyes and swallow. I have no claim over Seth. Of course he’s moved on. Over the past year I’ve thought about him off and on but never saw him with another girl. Someone to replace me. Tears prick my eyes and that pisses me off. I gesture to the seating area.

“Find a seat.” But my voice comes out hoarse and the pressure chokes me. I need fresh air. I can’t breathe, and I need to be alone.

By this time, Justine notices and rushes over. She grabs my arm. “Go take a break out back. I’ll cover this.”

Then she hugs Seth and shakes hands with his girlfriend. She takes over as if I was never there. I stumble through the kitchen and out into the back with the dumpster. I sag against the brick wall and force breaths in and out. The vent hisses nearby with steam from the laundry. I slump down and fold my head into the crook of my arms. The numbness washes over me. The same lack of feeling I’ve had for the past year. I’m not sure how long I’ve sat there until the gravel crunches.

I whip my head up. A ping of disappointment that Seth didn’t find me is soon replaced with a flood of relief. “Hi, there.”

Tate, my boyfriend, my normal, stands a few feet away. I see my confidence in his strong arms, and my sanity in his rock-solid smile that he saves just for me, and my safety in the memories of us lurking in his brown eyes. He walks over and sits next to me. I lean into his hug and let him hold me. He doesn’t ask any questions. He knows my past because he went to high school with Noah, but we never talk about it. He knows it’s off limits. We had one fight, and he knows now that I’ll cut him from my life like a cancer if he pushes me to talk. But he always knows when I need someone. He’s always there. Like now. It’s uncanny. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my arms without saying anything.

Tate and I are more like dating friends. I rarely initiate a heartfelt kiss, never mind going any further. But it’s not enough. Not now.

I need to forget, and I push his arm away. I straddle on top of him, my skirt pushing up around my waist. If anyone turned the corner or if Tom came back to empty the trash, I’ll look like some sort of slut. But I don’t care. I kiss him and run my fingers through his light brown hair. His arms go to my side and the small of my back. This is nice. Kissing Tate is nice. It’s not like kissing Seth, which caused all sorts of feelings to go haywire inside me. Dammit. I don’t want to think about him while kissing another boy. I focus on Tate. The scar above his left eye, the soft feel of his hair, and how he’s been the one bright spot in my life this past year. I stayed afloat because of him and owe him so much.

His breath hitches. “Haley,” he whispers. “You know I’d do anything for you, but is this really what you want?”

My smile feels like a crack in plaster. I knew this would happen. He always ends our kisses, keeping our relationship almost platonic. I don’t question it. He’s being sensitive to me, but I’m not in the mood to deal with his stuffiness. I drop small kisses along his neck and his breathing quickens. “Do you really care where we are?”

He groans, and I laugh. This time it’s real. Tate’s good for me. I pull his hand down to my butt and push against him, eliciting another groan of pleasure.

“Haley,” he says, voice raspy.

The door slams. I jump off Tate and smooth my skirt down.

It’s Seth. He nods to Tate in recognition.

But his eyes. One second they flash pain then glaze over like he doesn’t care. He folds his arms across his chest,