Page 64 of Wicked Scorn
Something deep within me tells me that Jeremiah is here for keeps, that he’ll never let anything happen to me.
“Do you want to let me in on what?” He offers, his eyes searching mine for any hint of the turmoil churning within me as he turns me around to face him. His skin is still damp from his after-practice shower. He takes more showers than anyone else I know and always has. That’s why I started calling him pretty boy. He was always determined to be clean and look like he walked off a freaking photo shoot.
“Thanks, Rem, but just thinking about classes and midterms,” I say, injecting false confidence into my words. I can’t rely on him to fix everything, no matter how tempting the thought may be. “What are you doing here? I thought Coach wanted you to review game tape?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, a grin spreading across his handsome face. “And nothing but feeling you in my arms would fix the craving.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, and I feel the heat flushing my cheeks as he cups my face and leans down to kiss me too roughly for the backdrop of our school library.
“And you’re fucking sexy when you blush, bunny,” he says as he pulls away from my lips long enough to drop a kiss to my forehead. Jeremiah grins when he sees Cindy walk by the aisle to glare at us. “My fan club is showing up. I guess that’s our cue to leave.”
Cindy huffs and stomps away, which makes me burst out in laughter, causing Jeremiah to cup the back of my head, pulling my face into his chest so I don’t get firedfor being too loud in the sacred St. Charles library. When I sober up, I look up at Jeremiah Blackwood and realize that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in his arms.
Chapter 24
Jeremiah
The heavy thud of the package hitting the doormat makes me jump. I glance at the grandfather clock in the hallway. It’s only noon, way too early for the mail, and he knows better than to throw our shit carelessly onto the porch.
I toss aside the textbook that’s been siphoning my attention for the past hour and stride to the door with an annoyed huff.
Furrowing my brow, the old wood creaks as I swing open the front door. A battered cardboard box sits innocuously on the deck. No return address, just my name scrawled in thick black marker.
“The fuck?” I mutter, scooping it up.
My sneakers clunk against the hardwood floors as I head for the kitchen. A couple raps with my knuckle reveals it’s definitely not clothes or anything soft inside. Solid and weighty.
I grab a steak knife and slice through the tape, my curiosity getting the better of me. Flipping open the box, I’mmet with a ratty old book, its leather cover cracked and faded. The scent of aged paper and leather wafts up to greet me.
“Jeremiah?” Oakley’s soft voice drifts in from the living room. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just some weird ass package showed up.” I turn the book over in my hands, searching for any kind of inscription or note tucked inside. Nothing.
Oakley pads into the kitchen, eyes going wide when she sees what I’m holding. She lets out a strangled gasp, both hands flying to cover her mouth.
“Oakley?” I frown, setting the book on the counter. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at the book with her big blue eyes damn near bugging out of her head. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with panicked breaths.
“Baby.” I cross the room in two strides, hands cupping her face. “Breathe. Talk to me.”
“That…that book,” she stammers, pointing a shaky finger. “It was on my desk. At the library. I had it yesterday, then…then it was just gone.”
“Gone?” I repeat, stomach sinking. “You’re telling me this just showed up on my doorstep after vanishing from work?”
She nods, worrying her plump lower lip between her teeth. “I didn’t want to tell you about it because I felt stupid, like I was overreacting. But now…”
“Dammit, Oakley, why the hell wouldn’t you tell me something like this?” The words burst from my lips before I can reel them back in. My hands clench around the leather-bound spine of the book, knuckles whitening.
Her eyes are brimming with apprehension, and it’s like I can see the wheels turning in her head. But she doesn’t have to say anything; the fear written all over her face says plenty.
“Jeremiah, I—I just…” Oakley stammers, her voice a hushed whisper swallowed up by the spaciousness of the room. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.”
“Nothing?” I scoff, tossing the book onto the coffee table. It lands with a thud, echoing against the walls of my family’s ridiculously oversized living room. “You think a book that by accounts looks old and probably valuable as shit just disappearing from your desk is nothing? Shit Oak, if you can’t call or tell me these things, then what the fuck are we even doing?”
“Please, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her plea wraps around me, soft but urgent, and I can almost feel the tug of her worry.
“Christ, bunny,” I mutter, rubbing my neck as I wrestle with the anger boiling inside me. “Do you have any idea who could be behind this? We’re talking about a rare-as-hell book just popping up after going missing. This is a fucking taunt. Whoever is fucking with you is taunting us, which means he was too fucking close to you at that goddamn library, again.”
