Page 149 of Crew
"Cross." My hands found his waist. I could feel his stomach trembling under my touch.
"Bren." My name was a whisper. He kissed a trail down my jawline, over my throat, lingering where my shirt met my chest. I'd worn a tank top today, and I was thankful for how low the cleavage dipped.
It was now my favorite shirt.
I ran my hands up his chest, skimming over his arms, and slipped them under his sleeves. His biceps moved, shifting under my touch, like I had awakened them.
His hand slid to the back of my neck and he held me. He straightened. I could feel his lips against my forehead, but he waited.
God.
I didn't want to.
I liked her. Whenever she showed up, I was protected. I was shielded. She protected me from the pain, the hurt. I didn't want to give that up.
"Bren, please." Cross' lips dipped back down to mine. I felt his breath. "Don't go."
Don't go.
His words repeated in my head.
I felt a strength I didn't know I had, bolstered from somewhere, flowing through me. And like an unconscious flip of a switch, the firefly was leaving again.
He'd pushed her away.
I missed her as soon as I felt her go, because I was raw once again. I was exposed.
I dropped my head to his chest. Cross wrapped his arms around me and rocked me back and forth, his hand sweeping up and down my back.
"Thank you."
When we left that closet, we didn't hold hands.
We walked straight and tall to the office together.
"You want me to do what?"
The new principal, Ken Brohgers, stared back at me from across his desk. They made Cross go back to class. He'd glanced to me, and I nodded, thinking it'd be fine. They said I wasn't in trouble. That was the only reason I was okay with Cross going. There'd been too much bad shit associated with it in the past. They said I wasn't in trouble, and this meeting was "absolutely necessary." Only good things would come of it.
What a crock of bullshit.
Principal Brohgers was almost as opposite of Neeon as possible. Mr. N was tall, six-three, and Brohgers barely topped five three. That wasn't true. He just looked like that sitting behind his desk. He was probably five-five when he stood up, with a head full of frizzy hair that was losing its reddish tint so it was half white at the same time. His face started off as round, then finished with a long and pointed chin. He had thick bushy eyebrows that jutted out over his eyes, which were wide-set and narrow. In his older fifties, Ken Brohgers was a thin rail of a man.
Superintendent Miller sat next to him, and they shared a look.
"Your father's lawyer reached out to the school because he's a part of a mentoring program," Principal Brohgers said again. "They would like to include our school, but there are stipulations since you're a student here. Normally you would be someone we'd ask to have included in the program--"
"No!" My decision was made before he finished.
I knew these programs. Convicts were supposed to mentor troubled kids until they went straight. It wasn't happening. I didn't give a rat's ass if my father's lawyer or anyone else thought I was troubled. That was the pot calling the kettle black.
"You guys need my brother's permission to even be asking me this."
"Well..." They looked at each other again.
The superintendent leaned forward this time. "That's the purpose of this meeting. We'd like to approach your brother about the program itself."
"Why? I already said I'm not going to do it."
