Page 23 of Tulips and Lost Time

“Consider her the fuckin’ plague. Touch her, and you die a painful death in six to ten days.” I stomp forward and send the pussy football player spilling back until he’s through the tree’s curtain. He falls on his ass and lands with a muffled thump. But he twists, quick as a snake, and scrambles back to his feet. “Don’t let me see you again, Beaterman!”

“You’re an asshole!” Kari punches the meaty part of my arm, her bony knuckles digging in and changing the scowl I wore for Beaterman, to a frown as I reach across and rub the stinging pain away. “We were talking, Luca!”

“Uh huh.” Finally, I turn from the space Garth occupied a moment ago and glance down to study Kari’s furious eyes. Glittering green, even in the dark. “It always starts as talking, Bear. Then our spaghetti strap falls to the side, and next thing we know, a dude’s hand is on your shoulder. Then his lips.”

Her nostrils flare with rage. “You’d know. You spend tons of time with the female variety. All different kinds. Rarely the same one, two weekends in a row.”

“Uh huh. That’s exactly how I know!” I blow past the girl and head back to the portion of the weeping branches I stomped through. Slicing my hand through the thick greenery and pushing a few of them aside, I look out to the back of the band. Our music, still playing. Dancers, still dancing. “I know what Beaterman was gonna do with you, Bear, because I do the same shit, same moves, and have the same end goal.” I release the tree and turn back to face the girl way too classy to be undressed out at the lake. “Different chicks. Same intentions.”

“That makes you a pig.”

“Yep. But it also makes me knowledgeable on the matter.” I glance out into the dark and find Britt, Laine, and Jess huddled together thirty feet from the stage. Dudes watch them, too. The guys are the lions, and the girls, gazelles. It could be even worse, considering those three are a year younger than Kari. But the one superpower they cling on to is the fact they move as a group.

Sure, they’re still gazelles. Sure, they’re still targets.

But they stick together, and three beautiful, giggling girls is like kryptonite to any confident dude who wants to make a move. He could try… but the risk, if he fails, is huge.

Kari, on the other hand, is a fucking loner by nature.

That’s what makes her a target to the hyena pussy that is Beaterman.

“You and I had a deal, Kari.” Bringing my gaze back around, I look her up and down and shake my head. “You said you’d come out and hang with the girls. You swore you’d be careful and do the right thing.”

“I wasn’t doing?—”

“Sneaking under a weeping willow with a football player is dangerous!” I want to grab her. To shake her. I want to knock a little sense into her too-young mind. Because fuck, this is why Marcus worries all the damn time. “This wasn’t smart.”

“We were just talking!”

“Yeah. And I assure you,” I step closer, her gulp audibly hits my ears as I stare down into her eyes, “Sassy St James and I started out talking, too.”

Kari’s lips instantly wrinkle in disgust.

“It always starts out the same. Guys have a fuckin’ playbook.”

“The fact that you admit it repulses me.”

“Good. Let it repulse you. Let all guys repulse you. Because you’re getting to an age now where they’re looking for one thing. And you’re still young enough, they know they’re gonna be first.”

She balls her fists, anger rocking through her too-small frame.

“High school girls have something to give, Bear. And high school boys are in a race to be the one to plant their flag.”

“You’re despicable.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I get you’re young, and fuck knows, Marc isn’t gonna tell you this shit. He wants to wrap you up in that cute, little pink blanket you still keep near your bed for the nights you have bad dreams, and if it were up to him, he would never give you the talk.”

“The talk?”

“You’re older than the other girls. A whole grade ahead of them. Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is. You’ll be exposed to stuff before the rest of them, and you won’t have that mob mentality the others cling to. Because you prefer solitude.”

“Oh god.” She whirls away and shakes her head. “The talk.”

“You’re getting to the age, Bear! And then we have the added complication of Marcus.”

At that, she spins back. “What about Marcus?”

“You’re a protected species. Like,” I laugh, though the sound holds no humor, “wildly protected. He doesn’t let you walk home alone in the middle of the afternoon. He doesn’t let you go anywhere unless he’s around. He’s checking in on you every three seconds of the day.”

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