Page 31 of Lilies in Autumn

I raise my eyebrows. His possessiveness sends a flare of heat through my body, and there’s an intense ache between my thighs. I shift my legs, pressing them together, and try to alleviate the pressure without snaking my hand below my shorts. I’m desperate to repeat the ministrations Greyson showed my body, but also hesitant to slide my hands inside myself. CeCe will be back soon, and I don’t want to risk stopping close to orgasm because my best friend came into the room while I was being a horny wench. We’re close, but not that close. I look at his next two texts.

Greyson: Vixen, I need you to know that whatever Felicity said, she was wrong.

Greyson: Vixen, are you going to answer me?

I chew on my lip, both grateful and annoyed that he presented the opening to question why he’s interested in me. My fingers hover over my phone, contemplating what to say in response. Do I ask him straight out why he’s pursuing me? Do I pretend that I don’t care and ghost him for a week, see if he reaches out to me? Do I do nothing and keep going as I am? A knot forms in the pit of my stomach; either I hide from him, or I hide from my worries. Either way, it’s a mess. What a clusterfuck.

Ava: Tell me about the bet.

Shit, I didn’t mean to send that. I see the text bubbles appear and disappear, almost like he’s typed out and then deleted his response. Is he thinking of a lie to feed me to cover his tracks? Or is he trying to let me down gently? More than ten minutes pass without a response; I should take that as my answer. I throw my phone back down on my bed just as CeCe comes back into the room.

“Aves, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just anxious about tomorrow.” It’s not exactly a lie. I am anxious about my classes tomorrow, especially with my neck covered in vampire bites. I omit that Greyson is also a part of that anxiety. I don’t want to see a pitying look on her face, so I keep his contribution to my nerves to myself. My phone starts vibrating in a pulsing rhythm, alerting me that a call is coming through. I grab my phone, fully expecting to see my mom’s contact picture on my screen, despite the late hour, but suck in a breath when I see Greyson’s name pop up. I press the ignore button on my phone.

CeCe is like a shark, smelling the blood in the water. “Who was that?” My phone starts vibrating again, and just like seconds ago, I press ignore on his call.

“Just my mom,” I lie. “She wanted to talk about my first day. I’ll call her tomorrow on my way to my class.” I look over at CeCe, a disbelieving look on her face. “I’ll just send her a text and let her know I’ll speak to her in the morning.” I unlock my phone and begin typing a text to Greyson when one comes through from him.

Greyson: Answer your goddamn phone.

Definitely no.

Ava: CeCe’s here, I can’t talk. Your lack of response said it all though. Don’t worry, I won’t lose sleep over you. Thanks for the orgasm. Have a nice life, Greyson.

This time, his response is immediate.

Greyson: Vixen, you promised that you wouldn’t ice me out. I’m not done with you. We’re just getting started. There’s no fucking bet. Let me explain.

I mull it over, annoyed that there’s any explanation needed. Shouldn’t it be a simple, “Yes, there’s a bet,” or “No, there’s no bet?” If there’s more to it than that, I’m not sure I want to hear it. I’m here, in college and away from home for the first time, to discover who I am outside of my family. I’m not prepared for Greyson, not physically or mentally, and I’m not prepared for the obvious drama that being with him provokes. Being in his orbit has already threatened my mental state, and I won’t be able to look at myself if I allow myself to succumb to the demons I fought so hard against. I refuse to allow myself to be reduced to the shell of a person I was at fifteen.

Ava: Bye, Greyson.

—

My phone’s alarm goes off at six-thirty, waking me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I turned my phone on do not disturb last night after sending my final text to Greyson. My dismissal of him hurt, especially after the intensity of our hookup, but I know I made the right decision. After a quick check of my phone, I realize that he didn’t respond to my last text. That’s good.

Great. Super.

CeCe’s first class is at one this afternoon, so I grab my clothes, toiletries, and makeup and head into the bathroom to get ready for my eight o’clock class. Why I signed up for an algebra class at the ass crack of dawn on Monday mornings is anyone’s guess. I pay careful attention to my makeup before running my concealer over my neck in an attempt to hide the bites and bruises that Greyson gave me. I scowl in disgust as I try blending the concealer with bronzer and my contour stick, making my neck look even worse than it did without the makeup. I look like I have a skin disease; there’s no covering this. Thank God I have a sleeveless turtleneck because if I show up to my classes like this, there’s no doubt everyone would question my sanity.

I run a makeup wipe over my neck, remove everything I just applied, and then pull the black sleeveless turtleneck over my head. Paired with my relaxed-fit jeans, white platform sneakers, and layered gold chains, I look like every other college girl on campus. I slide my oversize black frame glasses on my face and fluff my dark hair around my shoulders. It’s hot as balls outside, but my thick hair provides extra coverage of my neck.

Looking at myself critically in the mirror, I take in my appearance and accept the reflection there. I swipe on lip gloss before gathering my bags and walking back to my dorm room. I deposit my things on my desk—I’ll worry about putting them away when I get back—grab my backpack and make my way to the dining hall on the opposite side of campus. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to this ungodly math class with no caffeine in my veins.

It takes me ten minutes to get to the dining hall, and I’m surprised by the number of people I see through the windows. After swiping my student ID at the entrance, I make my way to the grill station, where fresh omelets dosed in butter are made to order. At least six people are waiting in line and judging by the pace of the omelet maker, it’s going to take way too long. Looks like yogurt and fruit are all I’m getting this morning. The yogurt selection is sparse while the fruit options are apples, apples, and more apples.

You know what? Coffee sounds great.

I stop in front of the coffee station which has two large vats of coffee with a selection of creamers and milk. At least they got this right; if they fucked up the coffee, I would cause a damn ruckus. With my to-go mug in hand, I pull the handle of the coffee dispenser, and then, hell breaks loose. Either I have Hulk-like strength or God hates me because as soon as I pull the lever to fill my mug, the handle breaks off and gallons of coffee start pouring out of the machine.

Fucking gallons.

I’m too shocked to do anything as the coffee runs with the force of the freaking rapids, spilling all over the floor and counter.

“Fucking shit.” My shock finally wears off and I spring into action, grabbing napkins from a nearby dispenser to try and soak up the mess. The flimsy, climate-friendly paper does nothing to clean the insane quantities of coffee coming out, and I start panicking. “How much coffee is in this shit?” I mutter to myself, burning my hand in the napkin-soaking business. “And why the hell is no one coming over to help me?” I look around, noticing that all eyes are, of course, right on me. Fucking hell, Celeste is going to find out about this and never let me live this down.

“Fuck your goddamn sister’s ass. Would you stop going, you fucking asshole?” I’ve lost all semblance of sanity. I am cursing at an inanimate object, and I don’t even care.

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