Saint

23

From that night onward, there’s a strange shift between me and Saint during our late-night hookups. As if I’ve broken through a dam with my initial question to him to tell me something real, we find ourselves talking nearly as much as having sex. It’s confusing as hell, and I don’t know what to think about our relationship, or whatever the hell we’ve decided to call this thing between us.

We’re cautious with what we tell each other, but we’re at least telling each other things. He tells me more about his fucked-up family, though he never gets too terribly deep with his feelings on the matter. His father is a megalomaniac control freak who wants his son to follow in his exact footsteps, not only in his profession, but in his personal life as well. Mr. Angelle wants Saint to go to Stanford, just like he did, and wants him to marry a Laurel-type, because that’s who he married, and then have them produce even more demon spawns together.

Saint’s not interested in the life his dad has pla

One night, he flat out told me that was the main reason he didn’t want her anymore.

“I don’t want a girl who’s going to kiss my ass as often as she sucks my dick. I want a girl who’ll call me on my bullshit—and then suck my dick.”

I called him an asshole, and then proceeded to suck his dick.

The only irritating thing about the new development in our thing together is that he constantly asks me to tell him more about the friend I hurt. He’s like a dog with a bone, and I can’t shake him from the topic. I refuse to expand on the topic because I just can’t go there. Not with him. Not with anyone.

“Why won’t you just tell me?” he asks me one night as we lay curled together in my bed.

“It’s none of your business, that’s why,” I snap back.

He grabs me and pulls me up and over him so I’m straddling his lap, his semi-hard cock pressing against my pussy.

“I’ve given you tons of real bullshit,” he growls. “You’re giving me nothing in return, Ellis.”

“Oh, really?” My voice is snarky as I reach beneath us and wrap my fingers around his dick. “I’m giving you nothing?”

He hardens completely in my hand and I line him up with my entrance. I sink down on top of him and make him forget all about my dirty little secrets. At least for the moment.

I know distracting him with sex won’t always be a solution, however, and I need to figure out what I’m going to do. He’s not satisfied with the small tidbits I feed him about Carley and the few happy memories from my childhood, and I understand why. He doesn’t want my crumbs. He wants the whole banquet that is my complicated, fucked-up life.

Outside of our nightly bang-fests and chat sessions, Saint and I maintain the façade that we still hate each other as thoroughly as we did before. The only other people who know about our thing are Liam and Gabe. Gabe seems cool with it and has even been treating me more and more like a friend, as if by being Saint’s fuck buddy, I’ve somehow made myself worthy of his kindness. Liam, on the other hand, refuses to give me the time of day. He hardly even looks at me anymore when we’re in English class or cross paths on campus.

Things between him and Saint seem to be more tense than usual as well. The one time I was brave enough to ask Saint about Liam, he briefly returned to his old, assholey self and told me to fuck off. I did just that, enraged, but he showed up at my door later that night and did crazy things with his tongue until I forgave him.

I let the matter drop after that. It’s their drama, not mine. I’ve got enough of my own shit to deal with.

Fall break is right around the corner, and apart from Saint, there’re two major events coming up that are occupying the entirety of my brain space. The first is the Halloween Masquerade Ball, which I’m busy helping Loni plan along with her committee. I still have no intention of going, despite Loni, and surprisingly Saint’s insistence that I should.

The second big event are tryouts for the swim team. I’m more than ready for them, but I can’t help feeling nervous. It’s been so long since I competed, I hope I’m ready for that pressure to be placed back on my shoulders.

The morning of the tryouts, I’m making my way across campus to the rec center to get ready, when I run into the very last person in the world I ever want to see.

Laurel.

She’s alone for once, no Trust Fund Barbies in sight, but a part of me expects them to burst out of the bushes at any moment and surprise attack me with socks filled with jewelry from Tiffany’s.

I stop in front of her, wary.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, cocking my eyebrow.

She tilts her chin up and levels me with her cockiest glare. “Heard you were trying out for the swim team today.”

I shrug. “So? What’s that got to do with you?”

She folds her arms and juts out her hip. “Oh, I just wanted to wish you luck.”

“Fuck off,” I growl, moving to step around her, but she’s faster and blocks my path.

“I’m serious,” she insists.

Like I’d ever believe her bullshit.

“I don’t have time for this, Laurel. I need to get ready.”

Laurel shoves her hand against my chest to stop me. “Look, here’s the truth. I want you to make the team because if you’re busy with swimming, you won’t have time to distract Saint.”

I blink. Several times. “Distract Saint?”

She gives me a look that tells me she thinks I’m a fool. “He’s obviously interested in you, but you’re just a shiny new toy for him to play with when he’s bored. If you’re not around to give him attention, he’ll get over you and come back to me.”

I can’t believe how desperate she is.

“Do you even really like Saint, Laurel, or do you just like that everyone else fears him?”

Her face goes bright red and I can tell I’ve pinched a nerve. Instead of screaming at me like I expect, however, she takes a moment to cool herself down before talking again. “I get it,” she mutters. “I can see why you’d think that, but what do you care? You don’t even like him. Wouldn’t you rather he pay attention to me and leave you alone?”

She clearly doesn’t know Saint and I are sleeping together, which is a relief. The last thing I needed is her boiling a bu

“Look, I don’t know what your history with Saint is, and I don’t want to know. All I can say for certain is he’s a guy that won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. If he doesn’t want to do you, keeping me busy and away from him isn’t likely going to change that.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she hisses. “Look, you don’t need to believe me, but as a show of good faith, here.” She roots around in her giant designer bag for a moment and then produces a fancy glass bottle of water.

“What’s this?” I ask, instantly suspicious.

“A peace offering,” she explains. “Just for today. To say good luck on your tryouts.”

I eye the bottle like it’s a viper readying to strike.

“What’s in it?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fucking designer water. Look, the seals not even broken.”

I inspect it more closely, and she that she’s telling the truth about the seal at least. Hesitantly, I reach out and take the bottle from her.

“Thanks, I think…”