Chapter 19

In front of me,Carter holds up a bag of Twizzlers and a bag of Jolly Ranchers.
“Which one?” he asks.
“Trick question? We should obviously get both.”
Tossing both bags of candy into the blue shopping basket on his arm, he nods. “Respectable choice. I would’ve picked Jolly Ranchers.”
“I think it would be mean to make the Twizzlers homeless,” I offer.
He smiles down at me, wraps an arm around me, and leans in for a kiss.
A heavy sigh of irritation interrupts us as Erika Martin drops a box of 100-calorie snacks into the shopping basket. “Must be nice not to think about keeping your figure,” she comments. “We’ll have to meet up when we’re like 30, see if that sweet tooth catches up to you.”
I sigh, wrapping an arm around Carter’s waist. Erika narrows her eyes at me like I did it on purpose, but I don’t really care. She’s been such a bitch all night long, confirming my suspicions that hanging out with Carter and his friends was not a good idea.
He insisted, though. Made a good point that if we’re going to date, I’m going to have to be around his friends sometimes. Tonight, Cartwright invited a few people over to have a bonfire in his backyard, then watch a movie afterward. That sounded more accessible than one of their parties or a football game, so I decided this was the time to give in.
Even the least terrible thing I can do with these people is unpleasant. Carter I have such vastly different taste in friends.
“Got the marshmallows,” Brianna announces merrily, dropping them into Carter’s basket. “Oh, my God, I cannot wait for these s’mores.” Flashing me a smile, she asks, “Do you like s’mores, Zoey?”
“I do, but I don’t like my marshmallow burned,” I tell her. “I like it just warmed up, maybe a little bit brown.”
Brianna seems pretty okay. I was prepared for her to be standoffish like Erika since Carter called her out as someone he has also been intimate with, but theirs must have been a more casual arrangement—or she just didn’t care when it ended—because she has made several pleasant attempts to talk to me since Carter picked me up, and no one else has.
“So particular about what you put in your mouth,” Erika remarks.
“Can it, Erika,” Carter says.
Raising innocent eyes, she shoots him a wounded look. “What? We were talking about s’mores.”
“Keep being bitchy, you can haul your ass home,” he tells her.
Cartwright has no warmth for me either, but you wouldn’t know it now as he joins Carter’s team, dropping a pack of Hershey bars in the basket and mocking her. “What’s wrong, Erika? Is it that time of the month? Maybe we should open up these candy bars right here. When we get to the register, we can just tell ‘em it was a lady emergency.”
Erika rolls her eyes at him. “Ugh, spare me, Sparky. Do you fetch Carter his house slippers and the Sunday paper, too?”
“Pretty sure you’re the one who used to be his bitch, not me,” Cartwright offers back.
“Can we not start this again?” Brianna pleads. “Can you both just take a chill pill? Honestly.”
“Let’s see what Jake thinks—oh wait, he wasn’t invited,” Erika says, feigning surprise. “Bunch of fucking traitors.”
“Keep it up,” Carter tells her, his tone light enough, but carrying enough legitimate warning that she finally shuts her mouth and walks ahead of us.
Leaning in closer so I can address him without Erika overhearing, I say, “So, hangin’ out with your ex is super fun. We should do this more.”
Carter smirks. “See why I fucked the art teacher?”
“I might’ve fucked the art teacher too, if it was the only way to get away from her,” I admit.
“Oof, would watch,” he murmurs.
I grin, my cheeks flushing, and bump him in the side. “Behave yourself, Mr. Mahoney.”
“Never,” he murmurs back.
“Do we need anything else?” Erika calls back to us, halting at the end of the aisle, unsure which direction to turn.
“Yes,” Brianna volunteers. “Nail polish.”
“Nail polish?” Carter questions, looking over at her. “I said I’d buy you snacks, not make-up.”
Brianna rolls her eyes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Zoey.” She nods at my fingernails, bare of shiny, pigmented coating. “We need to get her a bottle of Longhorn blue. Duh. She’s gotta show her support for the team somehow, doesn’t she?”
“Good call,” Carter tells her, nodding. Glancing back at Erika, he says, “To the nail polish, wherever that is.”
Erika sighs as loudly as she can at him, but turns and leads us to the cosmetics anyway.
I did not sign up for supporting the team in any way, shape, or form, but I suppose since Carter is the quarterback, brushing some blue polish on my nails won’t kill me. As Brianna squats down and compares shades of blues to find the right one, she asks me, “You’re comin’ to the game tomorrow night, right?”
It’s a home game, so it would be an easy one to go to. The problem is, I really don’t want to. Not only because I can’t think of anything more boring than watching a football game, but because showing up at the sporting event that got me terrorized in the first place seems like a terrible idea.
“Of course she’s coming to the game,” Carter answers for me, his arm around me tightening ever so slightly.
Erika disappears for a couple minutes while Brianna outfits me with Longhorn-appropriate cosmetics, but I don’t think much of it. I know Erika doesn’t like me being here. I don’t entirely blame her; I wouldn’t like hanging out with my ex and the girl he’s dating now either, but then, I wouldn’t date someone in my friend group for that very reason. If I did and it bothered me, I would stop hanging out with him. I didn’t even know Carter when he dated her, so it’s not like I was one of the girls he cheated with. If she wants to be nasty to someone, she should be nasty to him. He’s the one bringing a new girl around with no consideration for her feelings. He’s the only one of us who might owe her something—I sure don’t.
When Erika comes sauntering back over to us, it’s with a sly smile on her face, the kind that belies a trick up her sleeve. She stops in front of us, her audience, and dangles a blue thong from her index finger.
“Something else for Zoey’s new Longhorn kit,” Erika offers, smirking at Carter. “Remember last time we bought these for her? I bet she never got to wear that pair.”
The sight of the panties didn’t register, but her words do. I look at them again and realize they’re the same panties that someone dropped off on my doorstep with the “slut” message stapled to them.
So, those were from Carter.
It’s not like it’s news that he was in on my weeks of torment, but having it thrown in my face like this sours my mood. I ease my arm from around him and step away, moving forward to look at some eyeshadows as a cover. I don’t look back at Carter over my shoulder, but I do catch a glimpse of him in one of the cosmetic mirrors. His features are hard as he looks at Erika, his eyes cold.
Erika tries to brush it off, muttering about how none of us can take a joke, but no one is amused.
Awkwardness falls over the evening. Cartwright has no idea which side he’s supposed to be on anymore, so he gets out his phone and plays on it to keep from having to commit. Brianna stays near me and looks at make-up, but she offers me an apologetic grimace. I’m not mad at her. Brianna seems mellow; I’m sure she just went along with whatever her friends did and didn’t want to raise a fuss.
I hate the idea of Erika and Carter plotting against me together, though. I’m not jealous of Erika, not at all, but I am aware they were together before, I’m even more aware that she doesn’t like me, and I just hate having that mental image in my head. Were the panties her idea, and Carter just bought them? Did Erika write “slut” in her girly handwriting? Did Carter laugh at the idea of my embarrassment as they drove away?
They’re all dicks. I want to go home.
Without asking, I know Carter won’t let me. I know I could probably force the issue, but it wouldn’t be pleasant, and it probably wouldn’t be worth the fight. Maybe I can text my mom on the sly and ask her to send me an emergency message of some kind to bail me out.
No, what am I saying? She knows I’m with Carter tonight; she won’t help.
Maybe Grace.
If both of those options fail, I can text Pastor James. Hell, if I really need to, I can ask him to come pick me up from Carter’s house. Carter holds a lot of influence in this town, but so does the church. How likely is it Carter will blatantly stop my pastor from giving me a safe ride home?
We all wander quietly to the register, then back out to Carter’s car. It’s not actually his car tonight, he drove a red Escalade from his dad’s dealership since his Mustang isn’t exactly roomy enough for five people. Erika refuses to budge. Her attitude is the loudest thing in the car as Carter drives us away from the store. The only other sound we hear is the rustling of bags when Cartwright proves too hungry to wait for snacks, but other than that, dead silence.
I’m debating telling Carter I’d like for him to take me home when he turns onto Erika’s road. I sit up a little straighter, a little more alert, and sure enough, he coasts to a stop in front of Erika’s house.
After a moment of stunned silence, she demands, “Are you serious?”
“Do I bluff?” Carter asks simply.
Erika laugh-scoffs, looking to her friends for support, clearly expecting them to tell Carter he’s being a little harsh, and he shouldn’t kick her out of the group hang. That does not happen, though. Cartwright’s eyeballs are glued to his cell phone screen and he pretends he doesn’t notice what’s happening. Brianna picks at invisible lint on her jeans.
“Wow, that’s real nice,” Erika mutters, before finally shoving the back door open and climbing out.
“Learn to play nice, or lose your invitation permanently,” Carter tells her.
“Fuck you,” she flings back at him. “Next time your prude girlfriend leaves you hard-up after some heavy petting, you better call Brianna to get you off, not me. Asshole,” she mutters, before slamming the door and storming up to her front door.
My stomach sinks and my heart kicks into overdrive. What the hell does that mean? Has Carter been with Erika since we got together? I guess we’re only sort of together, we haven’t said anything official, but…
It takes a few seconds before I work up the nerve to look over at Carter in the driver’s seat. He’s massaging the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.
I turn my gaze back to the road and tell myself not to read too much into it, but I feel my investment in Carter Mahoney dropping like a rock. After all the shit he fed me about how men like him only cheat when they’re not afraid to lose the woman, what other conclusion can I possibly draw if he’s sleeping with his ex behind my back? He certainly hasn’t mentioned that to me, and she implied he turned to her after I left him unsatisfied. There has only been one time he got me off and I didn’t return the favor, and at that point in our journey toward a relationship, official or not, I would have expected him not to sleep with anyone else.
Not unless I’m just a conquest, anyway.
“I’d like to go home, too,” I finally tell him, breaking the silence.
“No,” Carter says immediately, dropping his hand and looking over at me.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” I inform him. “I’m sorry if that was unclear.”
“Zoey, this is exactly what she wanted. Come on, you know that.”
Not a denial.
Since I know his track record of respecting my wishes, I don’t waste this opportunity to get away. There are better witnesses present this time, so he can’t force his will on me.
I push open the passenger door and climb out. I’m not that far from home, I can just walk.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, throwing his door open and coming out after me. “I did not sleep with her, Zoey.”
“You’re a minute too late in sayin’ that, Carter.”
“I assumed you were smart enough to see through her bullshit,” he states, coming around the car and grabbing my arm to stop me.
“Don’t do that,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t act like the only reason to believe what she said is stupidity. What she said was damn specific. That she got you off when I didn’t after some heavy petting. That’s an awfully accurate description of the part of our date that I was there for. That’s a hell of a guess, Carter.”
“Zoey, stop,” he says, putting more muscle into his hold.
I jerk to a stop, so I glare at him over my shoulder. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead,” he challenges. “Scream your head off. As soon as the first person out of their house sees it’s you screaming, they’ll go back inside and shut their blinds.”
That is so accurate and so infuriating that I want to slap him. “Go to Hell, Carter.”
While his comeback was clearly meant to hit below the belt, he must not want to fight with me. Instead of lobbing more meanness, he pulls me close and turns me around to face him. “I did not sleep with Erika.”
“She didn’t say you slept with her,” I state. “She said she got you off.”
“She did not get me off,” he assures me, meeting my gaze. “I told you, I’m trying to build your trust, not break it down. You know me. I may be unscrupulous when I’m going after something I want, but I’m not a fucking moron. Why would I squander your trust for a blow job from an ex I don’t care about? What kind of sense would that make, Zoey?”
“Just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean you didn’t do it,” I fire back. “Don’t try to use logic to bail yourself out.”
Carter blinks at me. “I… do not know how to respond to that. What else am I supposed to use?”
“Don’t bullshit me,” I tell him, shoving him in the chest. He doesn’t budge. “If you did anything with her, tell me that right now. Not later after you’ve thought it over, weighed the pros and cons. Now. We weren’t technically official, so I guess… this is a gray area, but it isn’t gray if you lie to me. I will never trust you if I find out you’re lyin’ about this. I won’t date you either. You can terrorize me all you want, I’ll shut you down so fast, my relationship with Jake will look warm and fuzzy.”
Instead of being offended that I’m reaming him, Carter smiles and grabs my shoulders, yanking me into his chest. “Come here, you.”
“Tell me the truth,” I say, refusing to hug him back.
“I am telling you the truth,” he insists, calmly. He keeps one hand secured around me to keep me from escaping his hold and runs the other one up and down my back in a reassuringly tender gesture. “Nothing happened between me and Erika,” he continues. “It’s a coincidence that part of the scenario she tossed out actually happened. You know me. If I had wanted to get off, I would’ve made you do it, not called in a sub.”
I would’ve made you do it shouldn’t reassure me, but it’s so damn true, it’s kind of hard to refute. “You promise?” I mutter.
Carter tips my chin up so I have to look into his hypnotically beautiful face. A little piece of me gives under the power of it, but my stubborn brain points out that he knows the effect he has on girls, that he’s probably spent years perfecting the look he’s giving me right now. That enticing glimmer of fond affection dancing in his dark eyes has probably been launched at dozens of girls before me, and each of them probably felt this same tug on all their heartstrings, urging their hearts to leap into his waiting hands.
Only Carter isn’t some handsome prince with gentle, loving hands made of flesh and bone, he’s a predator with talons designed to keep his prey from escaping his powerful grip. How many of those girls who fell into his trap made it out with their hearts intact? Do I really expect I’ll be the first?
His faintly amused words from that very night flit across my mind: “You believe my promises, princess?”
In the present, he caresses my face tenderly, all the affection of a guy who is legitimately invested glimmering in his endless brown eyes. “I promise.”