Page 43 of Five Stolen Rings

Contain yourself,I think.Con. Tain. Your. Self.

Except Stella tilts her head, and her lips begin to move, and?—

And I snap.

I hear myself groan as I give in, a growl of frustration and longing andwant,my hands dropping to her waist to pull her closer. She gasps into my mouth, but I don’t let go; she’ll tell me if she needs me to stop, if she’s uncomfortable, if she’s going to deny me what I once longed for more than life itself?—

My lips slant over hers, demanding, chasing, as her body collides with mine, warm and soft. I let my hands travel up her sides, jump to her shoulders, trail up her neck;everywhere she touches me is electric, her arms tight around me, her nails digging into my back.

My entire body is on fire, and I will kiss her forever, and she’s kissing me impossibly like she wants the same thing—her hands move, her fingers curling almost painfully into my hair, pulling as my blood spikes in my veins.

“You said no tongue,” she gasps against my lips.

“Come back,” I breathe desperately as I find her once again. “Come back?—”

Are you still obsessed with this girl?The words from the other night ring faintly in my head, and I answer with every stroke of my lips.

I’m not,I insist, lick the smile from her lips, chase the stars.

I’m not.My heartbeat—my heartbeat?—

I’m not.

I’m not?—

“Look, guys,” a loud, nervous voice says, cutting through the haze in my mind. “We are super happy you’re in love, but maybe could you go over in a corner or something? Or get a room?”

“Not to worry,” Benny’s voice says cheerfully, “I’ll handle it.”

And ice water crashes over me—literalice water. I break away from Stella with a gasp as an ice cube hits the side of my head. She startles backward, her eyes wide, her lips redder than I’ve ever seen them.

I’ve taken the brunt of the water, and when my head whips toward Benny, I find him giving me a smug smirk, an empty fluted glass in his hand. People are staring, I realize, including Nat Flindowski and Stella’s old boyfriend, and mortification floods me—pure humiliationand chagrin and who knows what else, because I’m being completely inappropriate in a public space?—

I nod at the few people looking at us, forcing a small smile. “Apologies,” I say. My voice comes out gruff, raw. Then, without looking at Stella—who I might never be able to face again—I say, “I’ll be in the car.” I turn on my heel and book it toward the nearest exit, my hair dripping water, my dignity in tatters.

JACK

I don’t get in the car when I reach the parking lot. I don’t even standbythe car. I just pace, back and forth, back and forth, resisting the urge to tear all my hair out.

I need my hair. I can’t tear it out. But I’m tempted. I end up wringing my hands instead and wondering vaguely if my therapist would answer if I called.

“Get it together,” I mutter—yes, talking to myself again, but there’s no one around to hear me now. “It’s just a kiss. Nothing more than a small setback.”

A setback inwhat, I’m not sure. Fat snowflakes fall from the low-hanging clouds, taunting me with their peace, drifting lazily in the wind as my thoughts whirl, dozens of tornadoes confined in my skull.

What finally emerges in the forefront of my mind as the top priority isdamage assessment,followed bydamage control.

I need to know what Stella is thinking and feeling; I need to know what this has done to our barely-there friendship.

What do you want it to do?

“Nothing,” I say through gritted teeth. “Nothing.” I brush my hands over my head, feeling my hair gradually accumulate more snow.

It’s not as soft as Stella’s was.

Stop it!

“Jack.”

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