Envy Read online

  “Ad nauseam … are we ready for a new one?”

  He looked her up and down, then sighed appreciatively. “You are not what I expected when I came out to this hick town.”

  “Ditto. So—what do you want to do about it?”

  There was a pause, and a palpable tension in the air. This was the moment, she knew. He was on the brink, and it was now that he would either step back to safety—or grab her wrist and plunge them both into the depths.

  He took a deep breath. “There are going to be some rules.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, disguising her relief. Now they were getting somewhere.

  “No one can know.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “No one,” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir.” She saluted.

  “No other guys.”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your—”

  “High school boys get jealous,” he explained. “When they get jealous, they get curious. And that I don’t need.”

  “Right. No extracurricular activities,” she agreed. She had the sneaking suspicion this wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation. He was too quick, too smooth.

  “And no more of this stalking nonsense. I don’t want you showing up in my classroom, in my bar, at my house—we meet when I say, where I say. I don’t like surprises.”

  Kaia gave him a slow, simmering smile.

  “Then you’re going to hate me.”

  His face remained frozen. “Are we agreed?”

  “Completely.”

  “You break the rules, and we end this,” he warned her. “Immediately. I’m not some horny teenager who’s so desperate to get some that I’m willing to throw my life away.”

  Could have fooled me, Kaia thought, wondering—not for the first time—what had brought a man like that to a town like this.

  But if he wanted to believe he was in control, that was just fine with her.

  “Your wish is my command, Jack.”

  “In that case, what are you waiting for?”

  She took a step toward him, tilting her head up as if to seal the deal with a kiss, but he backed away and shook his head.

  “Not out here,” he chided her. “Never where people can see.” He swung the door open a bit wider and stepped aside, ushering her in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

  No matter, she could wait. For another minute or two, at least. And then, she thought, pausing in the doorway and marveling at his cocky good looks and the sizzling current of sexual tension flowing between them—then all bets were off.

  She stepped inside the house, and Powell slammed the door shut behind her.

  Waiting time was over.

  chapter

  10

  The next day they met at dusk.

  When Kane pulled up in his silver Camaro, Adam was already on the court. He’d arrived a half hour before and had spent the time running up and down the length of the court, slamming the ball into the cool concrete, sinking shot after shot. Warming up. Practicing. Kane, he knew, had called him out here for a friendly game of ball. Nice and easy. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

  Adam slammed the ball against the backboard. Nice and easy. Story of Kane’s life. You want something? You take it. Just like that. Kane, who got good grades without studying. Who had every girl chasing after him despite being an unapologetically sexist pig. Who was the best basketball player in town despite the fact that he was too lazy to practice, too above it all to join the team.

  He won everything, always—every game, every argument, every girl.

  And all without even trying.

  Adam slammed the ball again, harder.

  Not this time. Everyone had to lose sometime. Everyone.

  The game started off slow. Friendly. Nice and easy. But then Kane scored. And scored again.

  And Adam began to simmer. And the angrier he got, the harder he tried, the harder he gripped the ball, the harder he threw it. What should have been a smoothly arced two-pointer became a spasmodic air ball; what should have been an easy layup bounced off the rim. And every time, Kane grabbed the rebound.

  He shot.

  He scored.

  “Dude, what's up with you today? You’re playing like a girl,” Kane taunted him.

  Adam ran past his opponent, giving him a hard shove with his left shoulder and grabbing the ball as Kane fell backward.

  He shot and, finally, scored.

  And it felt good.

  “And your problem is …?” Kane asked, picking himself up off the ground.

  “No problem,” Adam replied, suddenly whipping the ball toward Kane, whose lightening fast reflexes caught it just before it smashed into his nose.

  “Hey, watch the face—I’m nothing if I’m not pretty.”

  “Tell me about it,” Adam growled.

  “Oh, I get it,” Kane said, dribbling down the court with swift, sure movements.

  “Get what?” Adam asked irritably.

  He lunged for the ball, but Kane veered away, faking left, then cutting right as Adam’s hands swiped uselessly at the empty air.

  “You’re tired of always coming in second,” Kane said, tossing in another basket. “You’re always the runner-up, I’m always the champ. You’re tired of being a loser.”

  It was nothing more than their standard trash talk. They always did it. You got a rise out of your opponent, put him off his game. Kane, to be sure, had made a science of it—and used the same technique off the court to keep his opponents equally off balance. Today shouldn’t have been different from any other day, but it was. Today Adam just wasn’t in the mood.

  “Shut up,” he snapped, grabbing the ball away and dribbling it down the court. Kane hounded him, but Adam knocked him off balance again, this time with a sharp jab in the stomach.

  Kane dropped to the ground with a soft sigh, as if all the air had been let out of him, and Adam raced for the basket with a spurt of renewed, righteous energy. His path was clear, his mind was clear, and the basket lay straight ahead.

  He got into position, readied the ball on his fingertips, imagining its perfect three-point arc ending in a nearly silent swoosh.

  “By the way,” Kane said nonchalantly, still on the ground where Adam had left him. “If I see your girlfriend tonight, should I tell her you say hello?”

  Air ball.

  After the basketball game ended—rather abruptly—Kane rushed home to shower and change, then drove right back to school. He met Kaia and Harper in front of the dark building, their figures illuminated by the low-watt yellowish lights. Kane pulled out his key—he had keys for almost every door in town—and they slipped inside.

  There was always something about being in the school after hours, after dark. An illicit thrill, the undercurrent of tension and excitement—the possibility of getting caught. The halls that were so familiar and oppressive during the day transformed into a dark, shadowy no-man’s-land for them to explore.

  It made no sense—sneaking into school would likely get them into no more trouble than sneaking out of it, which all three of them did on a regular basis. But there was still something there—an unspoken feeling that just by being there at this hour, alone in the dark, they had somehow taken ownership of a side of the school its true owners had never known.

  Of course, in a sense, they owned the school during the daylight hours too—so it wasn’t a big leap of the imagination.

  They crept down the hallway, single file, keeping an eye out for the janitor. Kane went first, leading the way, unable to stop dwelling on the game. It had been so easy to get a rise out of Adam—it was the kind of thing he did best. A skill that had always made him proud. At least in the past.

  Next came Kaia, silently marveling at the excitement and nervous energy churning in her stomach, despite the fact that this little caper was far tamer than many she’d successfully pulled off on the East Coast. Maybe it had something to do with the night before—the touch of Jack Powell’s body had lit up s
omething inside of her, something that had lain dormant for a long time.

  And finally, Harper. Decked out in trespassing haute couture (black faux cashmere sweater, dark jeans, Sketchers sneakers in place of her usual heels, the better for softly padding through the empty halls). She gripped the bag holding Kane’s digital camera tightly. Things were going so smoothly, so perfectly—was something about to happen to screw everything up? Or should she just accept that the universe was on her side, guiding her toward an inescapable destiny?

  Kane led them to the girls’ locker room, unlocked the door, and flicked on the lights. They squinted in the sudden brightness, then got down to business. Harper pointed out Beth’s locker—it probably wouldn’t matter much on the small screen, but they’d agreed that the backgrounds should match as exactly as possible.

  Then Kaia took the camera and Harper stripped off her shirt—her height and body type were closest to Beth’s, and again, they’d agreed this was best. She unbuttoned her jeans, but then paused.

  “Bashful, Grace?” Kane asked, chuckling. His laugh echoed through the room, bouncing off the grubby linoleum and washing over them. He’d already stripped down to his silk boxers. “Come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  She sneered at him. Stripping down in front of Kane was no big deal—it was the camera she couldn’t stop thinking about. And not just because, when it came to kinky fun, she’d never been into the whole Kodak moment scene. It was more that seeing the camera made it real. What they were about to do—and who it was going to hurt. Harper knew she could put a stop to the whole thing in a second—just call it off, send everyone home.

  Instead, she peeled off her jeans.

  “You do know how to sweet talk a girl,” she said sarcastically. “I know we all look the same to you.”

  “Well … that may be true,” Kane admitted. “But in this case, I mean you’re nothing I haven’t seen before. Or are we forgetting that fateful day after Shayna’s eighth-grade birthday blowout?”

  “Kane,” Harper said warningly, shooting a glance at Kaia, whose affected veneer of boredom couldn’t disguise her sudden interest. Harper and Kane had vowed never to speak of The Incident again. And never had—until now.

  “I, for one, remember it very well,” Kane mused. “You, me, a jug of grain alcohol. Good times, good times.”

  “Kane! Shut up.” She balled up her jeans and threw them at him. He caught the denim missile easily and tossed it back to her.

  “Chill out, I’m just trying to lighten things up. Just reminding you that my arms are not such an alien place for you to be.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “I’ll never understand how you manage to get anyone to fall for that dirtbag ‘charm’ of yours,” she complained.

  “Ask Beth—she’s falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.”

  At that, Kaia cleared her throat and waved the camera in the air.

  “Guys? Speaking of Beth, maybe we should get a move on with the task at hand? Much as I’m enjoying the Harper and Kane show, I don’t really need to spend the rest of the night watching you two practice flirtatious banter.”

  Kane nodded. “You’re right, enough flirting—”

  “That was flirting?” Harper interjected. “We really are in trouble.”

  “Like I was saying,” Kane continued, staring down Harper, “enough flirting, down to business.” He mugged for Kaia and the camera. “Come on, I’m ready for my close up, Ms. DeMille.”

  “Okay then, hotshot, let’s get started. Nice and slow.”

  The next hour passed in a blur, a steamy montage of sexy poses and ever-changing camera angles.

  Here was Harper draped in Kane’s arms, her head resting on his bare chest.

  Flash, click.

  And Kane tracing his fingers down Harper’s bare back.

  Click.

  Harper and Kane pressed together, their lips locked in a kiss.

  Click.

  And more, and more, and more.

  Not that Harper was enjoying the rubbing and the pressing and the groping and the kissing of the fake hookup. And not that Kane was turned on by the warm, supple body writhing in his arms, her mind committed to someone else, her body all his. Kaia, certainly, could not have been taking a secret thrill from the voyeurism of it all, playing the puppet master, barking out commands, suggesting poses, capturing it all on film.

  All three of them, they assured themselves, would never sink low enough to actually enjoy the depravity.

  Still, when the pictures were all taken, the arms and legs untangled, the clothes back on, all three were sorry to see the evening end.

  “Well, it’s been fun, ladies,” Kane said, grabbing the camera and flipping appreciatively through the stills they’d captured. “You look good, Grace.”

  “You’re not going to start chasing after me now, are you?” Harper asked, feigning disgust.

  “Oh, don’t be so full of yourself. You may look good,” he pointed out, “but I look better.”

  “On that note, should we get out of here?” Kaia suggested. “I think we got what we needed.”

  “Here’s my cell, Kane.” Harper handed over her phone, with its own stock of photos still intact. “So you’re sure you can actually make this work?”

  “Have no fear—my Photoshop skills are second only to my carnal skills—and you’ve got personal confirmation of those.”

  “Gross, don’t remind me,” Harper complained, smacking his chest good-naturedly. “Come on, let’s go—I think after that, we could all use a drink.”

  They crept out as silently as they’d crept in, and drove off together into the dark night, the cell phone and digital camera safe and sound in Kane’s bag. It was the dynamite that would blow Beth and Adam’s relationship apart—and the fuse had just been lit.

  The dunk tank guy, Greg, had been only too eager to take Miranda for dinner, and they’d met at seven that night at the one nice restaurant in town. It turned out he was a junior (a bit embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as if he’d been a sophomore), and when he wasn’t dressed like a cowboy, he was at least passably cute. Or at least acceptable. The ears were still too big and the thick-framed glasses still a no go, but she could at least handle the freckles. After all, they matched her own.

  The dinner itself had gone, well … okay. Miranda was wearing the sexy new outfit she’d impulse bought the other day, and while she was still slightly afraid it made her look like a thick-trunked tree, she told herself she probably looked okay. And Greg, once you stripped away the nervousness that apparently made him act like a dick, was a pretty nice guy with an easy laugh. He seemed fun, witty, smart, and—what should have been the best part—totally into Miranda.

  And that was the problem. Yes, it was great to be adored, but it wasn’t enough. Because when she looked at him, all Miranda could think was: Yeah, he’s okay.

  As they walked toward the coffee shop together, he took her hand—and she let him. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was just—neutral. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be, she told herself. Girl likes boy, boy likes girl—maybe the sparks come later. Maybe love at first sight is for suckers and Hilary Duff movies. Maybe, out in the real world, being smart and nice and funny and kind of cute was enough. No wild heartbeats, no movie-star good looks, no rapt gazing into each other’s eyes—just good food, good conversation … and an okay time.

  That’s what she told herself, at least, as they strolled through the night hand in hand. And she was almost convinced. Then they stepped inside the coffee shop.

  And there he was.

  Movie star good looks.

  Her heart beating wildly.

  Her gaze drawn inexorably to his.

  Kane. And in an instant, she remembered what it was to feel, to want, to crave the touch of someone’s hands, his lips, to glow under the warmth of his smile, to light up when he was around, to suddenly forget the existence of everyone else in the room. In the world. To look at other girls, foolish girls, and think, H
ow can they not see what I see?

  There was one guy in that room who made Miranda catch her breath with desire—and it wasn’t the one she’d come in with.

  He sat at a table with Harper and Kaia. (It was only later that it would occur to her to wonder what Harper—supposedly home studying—was doing out with Kane, or what either of them was doing with Kaia, of all people. But that was later.)

  “Miranda!” Kane called out, catching sight of her and Greg and waving them over.

  Miranda pulled Greg over to the table to say hello. She tried not to drool.

  “Small world,” she commented.

  “Small town” Kaia snorted, and excused herself to get more sugar for her, as she put it, “sorry excuse for a macchiato.”

  “What are you guys doing here?” Miranda asked.

  Harper shot Kane a cryptic look. “Study break,” she said quickly. Then she noticed what Miranda was wearing, and her eyes widened in surprise. “That shirt—I thought—when did you get it?”

  Miranda did a little twirl. “You like?”

  “It’s …”

  “It’s ravishing,” Kane said with an approving grin. “No offense to your date here, but you keep dressing like that and he’s going to have himself some serious competition.”

  Miranda flushed with pleasure. It was the first time Kane had ever given her a compliment on how she looked—maybe the outfit had done its job. Maybe Kane would finally start seeing her in a new light, as more than just a snarky brainiac. Or maybe Harper was right, and seeing her with another guy had made him jealous and—

  Oh, right. Another guy.

  She suddenly remembered Greg, who was standing quietly, obediently beside her. Shit.

  They’d decided on coffee instead of alcohol, since Kane had a long night of Photoshopping ahead of him. And it had seemed a fine choice—until Miranda and her date walked in. Harper almost spat out her mochaccino at the site of her. In that outfit. Fortunately, it seemed Miranda was too dazzled by Kane’s presence to wonder what the trio was doing there together. That was the silver lining—the black cloud, of course, was that Harper could tell from the queasy look on Miranda’s face that this Greg thing wasn’t going to work.