Page 6 of Vicious Little Snakes
My phone buzzes almost immediately with his response, but I ignore it in favor of scrolling through my playlist. When it stops and starts again, I smirk. Now that Grey and Donovan are an unofficial-official thing and the three of us made peace, I especially love throwing out jabs to make Grey lose it.
He’s too easy. And it’s always fun.
I hit shuffle, bobbing my head as music fills the room, place my phone on the counter, and cross the black and white heated tile floors to turn on the shower. The double showerheads rain down as my hand cuts through the water, testing it before jumping in. The minute the hot water washes over my tired muscles, I groan, rubbing my head and wiping down my face.
“Fuck.”
A familiar song begins to play. One that moves me to turn on the Bluetooth speaker inside my shower. Marcy Playground, an old band Kai introduced me to, dances around with the steam, inviting me to lean into the memory of the last time I heard this song. I grab the washcloth, soaping it up, and scrub over my chest as I hum along.
Damn, I was drunk that night, too drunk, or maybe not enough, but that whole party at the cabin was crazy. There are parts of the night that are hazier than others, but I do vividly remember dedicating this fucking song to Caroline—bathed in the light of a bonfire with a bottle of Jack in hand and that ever-present scowl on her face.
Riling that girl up should count as a hobby, considering how much I do it. Or used to do it. It’s been a week, and I still haven’t forgiven her for that cafeteria setup. I was beyond pissed when it all went down, but after Grey shared all the details, I got even madder.
Outside of one hallway encounter, I’ve been treating her like she has the plague. It’s fucked up and unfair to forgive Grey and not her, but recognizing that doesn’t change how I feel.
What she did meant more.
I whisper the lyrics to myself, running the soapy washcloth across my stomach before submerging my whole body under the stream. The water pours over me, cascading down around my eyes, keeping them shut as I give in to the daydream.
“You’re drunk, Brooks.”
I’m nodding as I stare at her. I am drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough to be standing here, messing with the queen of mean. But her hair is pretty, so chocolate that it looks black. I like it this way, her real color. I drop the bottle from my mouth with a pucker, sucking the liquor from my bottom lip.
“But you love me drunk. Admit it.”
She waves a hand, dismissing me.
It’s what she always does. Although, every once in a while, I get an honest conversation and a smile. Glimpses of Caroline.
“Come on, admit you secretly love me,” I drawl, moving in closer.
I already know the answer. It’s been definitively “no” since our sophomore year, and Kai showed up to take my place as her favorite. A fact that still grates my nerves and makes me mean—but only sometimes, because I crave her more than I hate her.
“I tolerate you at best, Liam. And only because you’re Grey’s best friend, which means I don’t have a choice, now do I.”
I laugh as someone comes up beside me, slapping my back while I’m mid-swig announcing, “I think Grey and Donovan just got here. And Kai is looking for you, Caroline.”
She starts to walk off, shrugging. “Kai’s calling.”
I grin. “Whatever. Your replacement’s here, anyway.”
She narrows her eyes as I smile broader. I know she hates it when I say shit like that, even though I always tell her I’m fucking with her. But something about her reaction—like she wants to be my favorite. I don’t know. It makes me keep doing it—acting like an immature prick. I can’t stop.
This time I don’t reduce my words down to just a joke. Instead, I stare at Caroline, mentally daring her to do something.
She doesn’t. So I cave.
“Hey, you wanna know something? A secret?”
My body moves in closer, plucking at her white cropped T-shirt that’s hanging right above her belly button. Her chin lifts, she’s still glaring at me, but I feel like a giant looking down at her. God, she’s so tiny. I want to pick her up and rub her all over me.
“No.”
The bottle in my hand dangles from my fingers, rubbing against her hip.
“You sure?”
I let my eyes drift over her body. It’s an indulgence I try to limit. But I fail.
