Free Still Waters by Ash Parsons Page B

something. Laying hands on me. Throwing their influence like punches.
    Me—taking it.
    Something twisted in my gut.
    Cyndra gave me a quick, secret smile. It was warm, not sexy, just real. Like the smile was saying
Please?
    I took off the hoodie.
    “Thank you,” she mouthed. Heaven forbid anyone actually heard her say the words.
    “Perfect,” she said aloud. “Perfect fit.”
    Monique slid over, squinting and half-smiling. She looked like a little girl playing sexy—and not actually succeeding.
    “Day-um.” Her finger ran down my arm.
    I pushed her hand away.
    Cyndra laughed at her. Monique acted like it hadn’t happened. She stuck out a hip and propped a hand there.
    “Nice threads, Cyn. Great shirt.” She blew a kiss at me. “Flex for me, Ice.”
    “Screw you.”
    Cyndra smiled. “It’s okay, Ice. Stop being so prickly. No one’s going to attack you.”
    When she looked at me like that, I would do whatever she asked of me.
    Michael laughed and clapped my shoulder. Loving it.
    I glared at him.
    He backed down, let go. Grabbed Cyndra and led her and the others a few steps away.
    I blew out air and sat down on the bench.
    Fifty dollars. Fifty dollars. Fifty dollars.
    Michael murmured into Cyndra’s ear. She frowned at him before glancing back at me. She came back and sat on the bench next to me.
    I didn’t say anything and tried not to look at her.
    “Don’t do that, Jason.” Her voice was soft.
    My eyebrows lifted.
    “Don’t be mad,” she explained.
    I let a burst of air out my nose and looked away again.
    “You can look so scary sometimes,” she said. Like I should immediately smile at her and try to make her feel all safe.
    “What do you want, Cyndra?” I looked at her finally.
    “Don’t be mad.”
    “Fine.” I smiled the smile she didn’t like. “Why should I be mad?” Wanted to ask if she understood. And why she cared.
    Cyndra shook her head. Red-gold hair spilled over her shoulders. Then she shifted, sitting back and lifting her ankles onto my lap. She gave me a manufactured smile.
    “Okay, Ice, you’re right. You shouldn’t be mad. Certainly not at me.” She edged her feet higher. I tensed, ready to push them away, but couldn’t take my eyes off her tiny toenails, polished like perfect candy apples.
    “You like me, right? So don’t be mad.”
    I told myself to brush her feet off my thighs. Stand up and walk away.
    The whole thing was a display. Far from intimate or real. Or anything other than power and use.
    I shoved her feet off my lap.
    Before I could get up, she pressed me back and straddled my thighs.
    My head was on fire. My eyes narrowed as my breathing all but stopped.
    It was like that moment when you see his fist coming. Scarred, bone-ridge knuckles loading on you like a freight train, and you know it’s going to connect. And you know it’s going to hurt like hell.
    What’s important is how you react.
    I lashed her hips to my legs with one arm and wound my other hand in her hair, pulling her ear down to my lips.
    “Stop playing games.”
    Cyndra gasped and pushed against me feebly. “You’re hurting me.”
    I wanted to see the tears. I wanted her vision blurry from trying to blink them back. I wanted her to cry, from being pushed and pulled. Wanted her to understand.
    Users and the used. Which one was she?
    I let go of her hair and shoved her off my lap.
    She glared at me like it was the biggest insult in the world.
    I stood and grabbed my books from the bench. Tried to look like I always look.
    Uninvolved. Unemotional. Distanced.
    T-Man and LaShonda backed away from me. Michael forced a smile.
    “Your face looks like a doormat,” I said.
    The smile disappeared.
    When you can’t change the news, change the news cycle. His face was going to get plenty of play. I slammed through the double doors as the bell rang.

C HAPTER T EN
    A t lunch it was like nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had.
    Michael talked about football practice and the team they would play for