between is overrun with paperwork and costumes. It was supposed to be our business office, but it’s become more of a dumping ground for things that don’t require our immediate attention or that don’t fit me anymore.
I push down on the door handle to make the click as quiet as possible, then slip inside, Tory knowing he should hurry. I close the door behind him and flip on the small purple lamp next to my bed. It paints my room in color. I don’t bother to kick away the clothes I left on the floor or hide the makeup scattered around my vanity, and Tory doesn’t even seem to notice any of it’s there. He continues his trip through my life in pictures, now standing in front of the corkboard next to my closet door. It’s filled with pictures, most of them things I’ve printed out from my phone.
“Why is June always so grumpy?” He points to the one I took the night of his party a few months back, when June got locked in the garage with Lucas. I laugh and pull my phone from my pocket to sort through and find more images of my friend.
“It’s sort of this thing I do with her. I take random pictures of her expressions. I won’t lie, I love to catch her when she’s pissed off. It pushes her buttons, and maybe I like the negative reinforcement.” I laugh, handing him my phone.
He takes it, sliding through a few of them and wincing at the ones that are truly bad.
“I know,” I say, covering my face in fake shame. “But it’s not like I print all of them.”
“June knows you do this?” He turns the phone to show me the one in which her cheeks are puffed out and her face is red. She was about to punch me in the shoulder for that one.
I smile and nod.
“She does. I give her the right to rip them off the board if she hates them. She knows they make me happy, though.”
Tory’s face scrunches and his brows lift as he shakes his head, not totally understanding my most important female relationship. He doesn’t have to. I’m sure he has weird traditions with Lucas or his brother, and I so don’t want to know about them.
He hands me back my phone, but on the exchange, my hand covers his, and we both jerk back, like we touched a hot skillet mid-air. My phone tumbles to the floor, and I giggle with embarrassment while he apologizes profusely and we both bend down to retrieve it. We stop when our heads are an inch from banging into one another and I brace myself, grabbing his shoulders and falling forward to my knees.
“Whoa,” he hums, steadying me with his hands on my hips.
My adrenaline-fueled smile mixes with a breathy laugh until I look up and we come face-to-face. Every molecule between us is palpable; the air has a taste to it, somewhere between sweetness and intoxicating liquor. My lips part with a breath and his eyes flit to my open mouth. We’re slow dancing without moving, facing each other on our knees, alone in my room, which I purposely cloaked in mood lighting. I can’t lie to myself any more. I’m painfully attracted to Tory D’Angelo. I’m also regrettably committed to his brother.
We’re young, and relationships at our age are so fluid, and if it were anyone else, this would just be a life lesson, a moment of growth or an innocent mistake fanned by teenage hormones. But it’s Tory, and then Hayden.
I swallow hard. His gaze falls to my throat and back to my eyes.
“What happened at therapy?”
In his world, it’s the worst possible time for this question, but it’s also probably the best. Things are going on between us that need time to sort themselves out, just as I’m sure there are things happening in his head that need attention. I’m not sure if he realizes it or not, but Tory needs someone to listen.
“No judgement,” I continue.
We’re inches apart, a breath away from making dangerous decisions.
“Why are you with my brother?” His stare is unrelenting. My stomach is sick but at the same time, my heart is pounding. I am the center of a tug-of-war, the part of the rope that is fraying. I don’t know how to keep it from splitting, but I do know that his question cuts to the very core of it all. He reaches forward and tucks a