Making Bad Choices Read online

  “Spencer and Jake didn’t want to wait until break,” he said, and though I didn’t look over, I could feel his smile.

  A loose piece of paper sat on the top of my binder, and I grabbed it, slipping it into my binder before taking it and my Algebra Two with Trigonometry textbook out. Though the book weighed probably ten pounds, the load felt strangely light with Culter’s secret note stashed inside. Or maybe my arms were just tingling with the rest of me.

  I couldn’t look straight at Culter, so I kept my locker door open and turned around. Tyler was now surrounded with people throwing suggestions at him, and though the ones I heard weren’t funny, he listened intently.

  I peeked around my open locker door at Culter. “Never underestimate the magic of having the three most popular boys in school handing out your newspaper.”

  “Mostly Spencer. He likes to get on these types of missions, especially for his friends. You should have seen him when Mason ran for senior class president. “

  I leaned even further to peer over to where Mason and Isabella’s locker stood, finding the couple hugging and smiling at each other. “Did Mason win?” I asked as I looked back to Culter.

  “He did. Let me see your phone for a second.” He grinned.

  “Why? You going to read through my text messages?” I mock-glared, as I didn’t think he’d do that.

  “No. Let me see it.”

  Inhaling slowly, I turned back to my open locker and took my phone from my backpack’s front pocket. Typing in my code, I unlocked the screen and handed it over with shaky fingers.

  God, that boy made me nervous.

  He nodded. “Cool. I’ll put it back and lock up your locker for you.”

  “Are you dismissing me?” I teased, hoping that I sounded collected.

  “Yep, get to class, Cassie.”

  “We have the same class!”

  Grabbing my locker door, he widened his eyelids at me.

  “I’m going to be late.” He gave me such an adorable grin that I had to force my gaze away so I didn’t melt right there in front of everyone.

  “Fine,” I whispered, but I couldn’t help but fight a grin. As I skirted through the crowd, I shot a smirk at Tyler and a grin at Spencer, who had his arm around a very pretty underclassman blonde.

  I hadn’t quite made it out of the crowd, when a girl called out, “Cassie.”

  Turning, I found Misty heading straight for me with a picture-perfect grin on her face. “Hey, is it cool if I walk with you to Algebra Two?” she asked.

  I paused for a beat before saying, “Sure.”

  “You think I’m a bitch now, huh, because of Lily?” She sounded disappointed.

  It was more that I thought that she was under a bitch’s thrall, and I could sense that drama this way came. But what I said was, “Nope.”

  As she matched my pace, she turned a sympathetic expression my way. “Lily feels really bad. She can get a little rude when she’s drunk, but it’s nothing personal, at all,” she lied, or at least I thought that was a cluster-fuck of lies.

  “Honestly, Misty, I just want to get through to graduation, no drama. So, nothing personal, I am going to do my best to avoid people who seem like they have a grudge against me before we’ve said a single word to each other.”

  She gave me an expression like she completely understood where I was coming from, but what she said was, “I hope you give me a chance, though. I’m not big into drama either.”

  My bullshit detector was beeping loud and clear, but I also didn’t want to shoot her down when she was offering friendship. “Yeah, sure. By the way, I think your name is badass.”

  “Thank you, but you might not think that when I tell you my older sisters are named Sunny and Dawn.”

  “Hippie parents?”

  “Artists.” She paused at the door of the classroom, “Actually, my mom is the head of the Bulvin art council. You should talk to her—she sets up all the art events in town, including classes.”

  “I’d love to,” I said. It was the truth, though I’d be wary of anything Misty was giving out. “That’s cool that you were raised by artists. My mom was an artist too.”

  Crap. It had just slipped right out of my mouth, the was I definitely didn’t want this girl to know about.

  She paused in the middle of opening the door, her gaze going to mine. Licking her lip-gloss coated lips, she looked like she was going to say something.

  Hoping to stop her, I looked away quickly.

  “We should probably get in there,” she said in a low voice as she opened the door wide enough for me to grab.

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing the handle.

  Once we sat in our seats on either side of Culter’s vacant desk, I attempted to make my face a mask of placidity, though my stomach felt like it had tumbled to sit somewhere under my plastic built-in desk chair. I hadn’t thought about my mom since I brushed my teeth this morning. I was pretty sure that was bad.

  Three days before my dad’s wedding, I remembered raging about Jen, shouting that I hated her and that she would never be my mother.

  My mother had pulled me into her arms and squeezed me to her, whispering, “Baby, love is love is love. You can’t stop it; you can’t direct it; all you can do is hold on tight, and hope everything will be okay. Don’t judge Jen and your dad. I don’t. There are bad people in this world. Save your hatred and judgment for them.”

  It hadn’t changed how I treated Jen for a while, not until I learned my first true taste of hate, but strangely, the words echoed to me now. Obviously, it wasn’t love with Culter, just a small spark of something, but should I feel guilty for wanting to breathe that spark into life? I didn’t know.

  Grabbing my notebook, I maneuvered it on top of my textbook. Opening it up, I turned to the loose piece of paper I’d stuffed in at my locker. Almost nothing was written on it. On the first line, it only said, “Number one, The Temptations, My Girl.” There was nothing above or below the words.

  Holy shit . . . was he making me a playlist? I didn’t know how to feel about that. Was this the FMSS playlist? Oh, the awkwardness. But when I played the song in my head, it was only innocent and sweet. Not really a mood setter like, Let’s Get It On.

  Culter fell into his seat right before the second bell rang, shooting me a very pleased-with-himself grin before turning forward. I couldn’t help but wonder what that boy had in store for me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MLMC playlist—that was my playlist’s name. Or, at least that was the name of the brand new playlist on my phone.

  My thumb pressed play on the one song in the MLMC playlist while I sat cross-legged on my bed. The introduction to the Iliad sat open inches from my legs, unread. I might have listened to My Girl a couple times in the hours since I got out of school—well, I might have memorized every single note.

  Culter said nothing about the playlist or really anything as we drove back home. To my surprise, when we stopped outside the house, he said, “Let’s eat something. I have a couple things I need to do, but after all that I want to hang out. That work for you?”

  So, here I was sitting in front of my unused books and textbooks, playing a sweet Motown song on repeat, when Culter walked in.

  “Hey,” he said, walking straight over to the bed.

  I rushed to pause the song, but I was already so busted. Peering up at him with one eye, I chewed on my thumb nail. “You caught me.”

  He nodded, a pleased little smile on his face. I couldn’t help but notice that he not only wore a heavy coat, clots of snow still clung to his boots. He offered me his hand, and nodded toward my open door. “Come on.”

  A slow quiver traveled through me. Was he saying, “Come on and watch The Lost Boys?” Or was he saying “Come on to my room?”

  Deciding that I needed some forewarning, I just came out and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To my truck. You should put on your hat and jacket, maybe that new scarf and gloves.”

  Oh.


  I paused climbing off the bed, and must have made a face because he grinned and said, “Come on, Cassie. I promise I’ll keep you warm.”

  That sounded a little closer to what I had been hoping for, but I had a feeling he might be talking about clothing layers. Taking a deep inhale, I scooted the rest of the way to the edge of my bed and stood, rising up with only inches separating us. “So, are we going somewhere?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, but we have a whole not-freezing house to hang out in.” I waved to the very warm room around us.

  He breathed a laugh, which smelled of fresh minty toothpaste. “Just trust me, Cassie.”

  “I kind of trust you,” I teased as I passed him, making another quiet grumble of protest. But I crossed to my dresser to pull open the top drawer that held my it’s-fucking-freezing-in-all-of-Bulvin clothing. Pulling on my hat, gloves, jacket, and scarf, and feeling distinctly like a marshmallow, I turned back to Culter.

  “How do I look?” My words came out muffled through the giant-ass scarf I wrapped around my face.

  “Sexy.”

  Untying the scarf, I shook my head. Then another realization hit me, causing an immediate sinking feeling; the playlist Culter made me was in total three minutes long. Meaning, likely he was planning to add another few songs before we went there. Or at least I hoped the playlist would need to be longer than three minutes. But, going with that thinking, it would mean that Culter had no intention of stopping this when my dad came home tomorrow. That thought filled me with all kinds of emotions I wasn’t sure how to sort out. The main source of the feelings was in the fact that my dad was coming home from settling my mom’s affairs—if he found out what I’d been focusing on while he was gone, I doubt he’d have a shred of respect for me. My guess was that either Culter or I would be kicked out of the house in a big way, and now I didn’t even have an L.A. condo to go back to.

  “Cassie, I can see you over-thinking things,” he said.

  “I’m not over-thinking anything.” I attempted for an innocent look, but again, I was caught in the act.

  He grabbed my hand. “Come on, everything will be fine.”

  Yeah, maybe on planet crazy. But I had decided to give myself this one day—whatever it brought—so, I would just have to go to Culter’s truck, and see what happened from there.

  Culter turned the lights out behind us as we walked through the house, leading me in a circuitous route to flip the light off in the kitchen.

  As we got to the front door, standing in complete darkness, he paused to turn to me. “We’re going to have to be careful to get out there in the dark. There shouldn’t be ice in our path, but still be careful of where you step.” He leaned in. “And, don’t let go of my hand, yeah?”

  “Okay. Can we pause for just one more second so I can remember what warmth feels like before we get out there?”

  I felt and heard his chuckle as his body pressed into mine, his arm going around me. The door opened and cold rushed in at us, though it was almost as dark outside as inside. A sliver of a crescent moon fell short of lighting the way to the truck, and I focused on the feel of my footing and Culter’s hand, rather than on trying to see.

  I expected to hear the clunk of his truck unlocking or the click of the door opening, but instead we kept walking over the concrete.

  Culter stopped. “I’m going to lift you up.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, but I wasn’t exactly sure why I was whispering.

  Strong hands grasped my hips on either side and Culter lifted me up, setting me to sit on what I thought was the tailgate, but felt all cushy.

  “Scoot back, get under the blankets,” he said. I followed his orders gladly, going completely under at least one blanket. Several more blankets separated my back from the ribbing of the truck bed. Curling into a ball, I rubbed up and down my legs. My jeans might as well be tissue paper for all the cold they kept out.

  The truck buckled down for a second, and then Culter’s body crawled into my blanket cover, moving along my side.

  “Hi,” I whispered when his warm breath skirted across my cheek.

  “Lift your head,” he whispered.

  When I did, his arm came around the back of my head, creating a little pillow for me in the fold of his elbow.

  “That’s not uncomfortable for you?” I asked as I turned toward him.

  He tucked in even closer to me, his leg going between mine. Slowly, his hand played around the belt of my jeans, then ventured upward, tracing over my back. “Nope. You ready for me to pull down the blankets?”

  “We have to pull down the blankets?”

  “Otherwise we can’t see the stars.” His fingers played slowly over the spot I knew my tattoo spiraled up my back.

  “Really?” My breath shook and tears begged to form in my eyes.

  “Yeah, it should be dark enough,” he whispered directly into my ear.

  “If you make me cry, will my eyeballs freeze?” I asked, because that would really suck and he was probably going to make me cry.

  “No. Pull down the blanket when you’re ready, my hands are busy.”

  Squeezing my eyes tight, hoping to destroy any tears before they could fall, I pulled the blanket just the slightest bit down, enough to uncover our faces.

  Thousands of tiny lights blinked down at us, even more than that probably. We’d never seen half as many on the trips my mother and I took up into the hills. There had always been too much light, and if light interfered with our view here, it wasn’t at all visible to me. Even the neighbors a short distance off didn’t seem to have their lights on. Nothing separated us from the sky.

  “My mom and I used to do this all the time when she . . . could,” I whispered.

  “I figured, from the tattoo. Will you tell me about the stars?”

  I crawled in closer to him, my cheek warm against his. “There are too many, I only know a couple and usually they’re the only ones out there.”

  “Okay,” he said as his hand traced over the tattoo at my side.

  We lay there watching the sky slowly rotate over us.

  His cheek moved from mine, making my skin tingle from missing his warmth. “Cassie,” he whispered.

  I turned to look at him, though I could only see an outline of his features. “Yeah?”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  Our breath mingled, loud to my ears. “Yes,” I whispered.

  His lips met mine, a gentle slipping of soft, warm lips over mine. His tongue moved over my lips, tasting of mint, tasting of him, while a heat warmed deep within me. My breathing became hard but his kisses became soft, his tongue gently slipping past my lips to move against mine.

  I pushed deeper into his kiss, wanting more, wanting everything.

  He pulled back a little and I could feel his smile against my lips. “I want to take this slow. That okay?”

  “Slow?” My head felt a little baffled at the word. Did he mean that he wanted to take this right here slow, in the truck? Or did he mean he wanted to take everything between us slow, like days and weeks slow?

  “Yep.”

  “How slow?”

  “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time . . . so very slow,” he said.

  Very slow sounded a lot more like days and weeks than thirty minutes in the truck.

  “We don’t have very much time to be together, Culter,” I said.

  “Sure we do,” he whispered, before his lips returned to mine. We pressed into each other, his hand running soft caresses while his lips gave me slow, gentle kisses, and it wasn’t long before I felt too hot in my winter wear. My body was buzzing under his fingers, electric at every point of contact, more tingling than any weed could get me.

  My arms went around him, hands grasping at his back.

  He pulled away from me. “I think we have to stop, Cassie.”

  “You think or you know?” I whispered into his ear, moving even closer to him.

  “Know,” he whispered, but he didn’t sound all too
sure. Leaning away, he exhaled heavily. “Just give me a second here,” he breathed.

  I touched his chest. “If you want.”

  He moved his hand out of my shirt, grabbing my hand off his chest only to thread his fingers through mine. “Cassie, no torture please.”

  Cold air whispered over my warm cheeks as I turned back to the sky. I blinked up into the expanse, and the expanse blinked back down. The sky swam above me, swirling around while two sky gazers lay below, looking up into forever.

  “Will you go to my basketball practice tomorrow?” Culter asked.

  “What?” I rolled to look at him, wondering at the randomness of his question. I found him looking at me, starlight twinkling off his eyes.

  “Come to my practice?”

  “Tyler and I are still working on the comic.” We were only through two of nine frames, even though I had a good idea of what I wanted to draw, Tyler was basically going to have to ink over the sketches as soon as they were done. It didn’t leave much room for mistakes, or going back later, but it was the only way we’d finish on time. Thankfully, Tyler had turned out to have a very sure hand at inking.

  Culter scooted in, bringing back his much-needed warmth. “Couldn’t you two do that from the gym?”

  “What if we did it on Friday?”

  “Friday’s the game. I was assuming you’d already be going.”

  “Of course . . . yeah, so, I’ll be going to that.”

  “Cassie.” He pulled me into him, his leg going between mine again. “Just come to one of my practices.”

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” I asked into his shoulder.

  “It just does.”

  Ugh.

  “What if we went to the very beginning, but if we can’t get anything done, we’ll head out to the computer lab?” As in, I’d walk in, make eye contact, and then I could leave.

  “Stay for half of practice. Then you can just come on Mondays.”

  I groaned out loud that time. “Culter, does anyone ever say no to you?”