The Bittersweet Revenge

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He didn't answer, too busy turning another page of my diary. I knew which page—glittery gel-pen hearts around Zack's name. "Damon." He didn't look up, just tilted his head toward my wall of Zack posters and laughed. "I didn't know you were this much of an i***t," he said, shaking the diary. "Writing all this down for some singer who doesn't even know you exist. That's pathetic, you know that? Seriously, this is the saddest thing I've ever seen, and I've watched you try to parallel park, so that's saying something." I stepped closer, one hand clamped on my towel. "That's my privacy, Damon. You don't get to touch any of my stuff, you arrogant jerk, and what the hell do you think you're doing?" He laughed again, eyes dragging over me, from my wet hair down to the towel and back up. "And what exactly are you thinking? A guy like that doesn't hook up with girls like you. Not ever. I mean, look at you. You're not even sexy. No t**s, no ass, no curves at all, and that attitude of yours could scare off a pit bull, so what's the plan here? You gonna write him a love letter and hope he suddenly notices you? That's delusional, seriously, that's some next-level cringe." I rushed at him, but he shot up from the bed, diary in hand, and stretched his arm high. I jumped, swiped air, and the towel slipped, forcing me to grab it with both hands. "Give it back, Damon, right now." He looked down at me, smirking. "You could ask me nice, you know. Ever heard of manners, or did you skip that class too, because it really shows?" "Ask you nice? Are you serious right now? You broke into my room, you're reading my personal diary, and you want me to ask you nice? You're out of your freaking mind, you smug jerk, and I'm not asking you for anything except for you to get the hell out." "Yeah, but you could, like, ask me like a good girl would do. Say 'please, Damon.' Come on, bat those little eyelashes for me. Maybe I'll think about handing it over. Maybe I'll even pretend I didn't read the part where you wrote his name with twenty-seven little hearts. Yeah, I counted, you obsessed little weirdo." I clutched the towel tighter. "Why should I? You're a creepy, manipulative ass, and I don't owe you a single polite word, not after you broke in here and started going through my stuff like you own the place." "Because I'm the one holding your little love diary full of all your deep, embarrassing thoughts about some singer who doesn't even know your name. So yeah, I think you should ask me nicely. I think you should be real sweet about it. Otherwise, maybe I will start reading out loud. How about the part where you wrote 'Mrs. Zack Harrison'? Because that one made me laugh my ass off, and I bet the whole hallway would love to hear it." I crossed my arms, pinning the towel. "I'd rather swallow glass. Seriously, I would rather chew on a lightbulb than say please to a manipulative jerk like you, so you can take your little deal and shove it." "Ewww! Come on, one little 'please, Damon,' that's all I'm asking. I might even hand it over, and then I might even forget the part where you described his eyes as 'pools of melted chocolate.' I mean, who the hell writes that? Are you twelve, or are you just that desperate?" "You're enjoying this way too much. This is the highlight of your miserable, pathetic week, isn't it, because you have nothing better to do than mess with people?" "You have no idea." He lowered the diary, teasing, then yanked it back. "Uh-uh. What's the magic word? I'm waiting. Tick tock, princess." Something shifted in my expression—my eyes narrowed, but the corner of my mouth twitched. "Alright," I said slowly, "please… don't make me climb you for it. Because I will, and it won't be pretty, and you'll probably drop it when I knee you somewhere. It really hurts, so just give me the stupid diary." He laughed, a real laugh. "See now, that wasn't so hard. You almost sounded human just then." "Neither will your face be when I break it. Now give it." I held out my hand. He dragged it out a beat longer, then lowered his arm just enough for me to snatch the diary and press it to my chest over the towel. Damon shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Well, that's not what brought me here, you know." "You have ten seconds before I kick your sorry ass out of my room. Start talking or start walking, because I'm done playing games with you." He went quiet. Then he stepped toward me, and I backed up until my heels hit the baseboard. He got so close I could smell him—soap and something warm and spicy. He stopped just short of my hand, a little laugh escaping. "What, you gonna hit me now? In a towel? That's bold, even for you." "Try me." He raised his hands slowly, fingers spread wide. "Look at you, all tough with a towel on. What you gonna do, fight me in that? One wrong move and the whole situation gets really interesting, and I don't think you want that." "My towel doesn't have anything to do with my ability to mess up that pretty face of yours." I tilted my chin up, palm hovering an inch from his chest. He grinned wide. "You think I'm pretty? Did you hear that? She thinks I'm pretty. That's going in the diary for sure." "I think you're about to get your nose broken if you don't back the hell up. I'm not kidding, Damon, I will do it." He didn't back up. He stepped closer, forcing me against the wall, bracing one hand beside my head. "You really want to know what I came for?" His voice dropped. "What do you want, Damon? " His free hand moved, but his eyes held me still. "You. I came for you." "You're such an asshole, you know that? You think this is funny? You think you can just—" "Maybe." He tilted his head, eyes dropping to my mouth. "But you're still standing here, and you're not pushing me away. Makes me think you don't really want me to leave. Makes me think all that yelling is just noise, sweetheart, because if you really wanted me gone you would've kneed me already." I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. "What's wrong? You had so much to say a minute ago, and now you're just staring at me." "I still do," I managed, barely a whisper. "I'm sure you do." His eyes flicked to my lips again. "But you're not saying any of it. You know why?" I couldn't answer. "Because you don't actually want me to stop." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you? Tell me to stop. One word. Go ahead, you little nerd. Just say stop and I'm gone." I didn't say it. I just stood there, frozen, and he must have taken that as an answer because the next thing I knew his mouth was on mine, not gentle, not testing, just a hard press of lips that made my brain go completely blank. He stepped forward and pinned my spine to the wall, and I could feel the heat of his chest through the towel, and his head angled so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue stroking inside, and my free hand twisted into the front of his shirt without me even telling it to. I rose up onto my toes and gripped the back of his neck, my nails scraping into his hairline, and I kissed him back, and I didn't think about anything except how solid he felt against me. We broke apart for one ragged breath, and I could see a thin string of spit snapping between our open mouths, and then his lips sealed over mine again, slower this time, his tongue tracing the curve of my bottom lip before sliding back inside. He pulled back with his mouth wet and his breathing uneven, and he made this low sound that was all satisfied and rough. His thumb traced a slow line down the side of my neck, and I felt goosebumps break out everywhere. When he pulled back just a breath, my eyes stayed closed too long, my lips still parted, and my breath was all uneven, and I knew I was in trouble. "There it is," he whispered against my lips, and his voice was thick with smugness. "Knew you had it in you. And I knew you weren't as ice-cold as you pretend." Then my brain caught up with my body, fast and brutal, and I shoved him hard with both palms flat against his chest. He stumbled back a step, but his hand was already up, and I saw his phone glowing, and he tapped the screen, and a slow, triumphant grin spread across his face. "It's done," he said, and his eyes were gleaming with something cruel. I was breathing hard, and my lips were still tingling. "What the hell were you doing?" He laughed and tucked the phone toward his pocket. "Recording. You and me. That little moment. Got the whole damn thing." I lunged at him, scrabbling for the phone. He yanked it high again, just like the diary, and I jumped, swiping at air. "Give me that phone right now, Damon." "Girl, you need to work on your vertical," he said, laughing. "Pathetic. I've seen kittens jump higher." "I'm not playing with you, Damon. I swear to God, give me the phone or I'll scream this whole damn building down—" I jumped again, the towel slipped, and I had to clutch it with one hand. "Neither am I." He held the phone higher, watching me struggle. "Calm down. I won't do anything with this." A sharp warning flickered across his face. "Unless you wanna make things complicated. Then maybe I'll post it. Maybe your precious singer boy gets a nice little clip of how you kissed me back." "I'm calling security. You snuck into a girl's room, and you tried to—" "Don't be ridiculous." He turned the phone so I could see the screen, the video paused on a frame where my eyes were closed and my lips were pressed to his, and my hand was white-knuckling his shirt, pulling him closer. "Who's gonna believe that? Look at that grip. You weren't pushing me away, sweetheart. You were hanging on for dear life. You loved every second, didn't you?" I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. "It's okay to admit it. I have that effect on people." He shrugged. "But don't worry, your dirty little secret's safe with me. For now. As long as you play nice." "You—" I raised my hand to slap that smirk off his face, and that's when the knocking started, three neat taps that made me jump. A man's voice came through the wood, calm and professional. "Miss? Someone has been spotted in this wing. We need to check it out. Just a quick look." My head whipped toward the door. I took a step forward, but Damon caught my arm, his grip firm, and pulled me back against his chest. "Don't go," he said, his tone quiet and commanding. I yanked my arm free. "Why? What's the big deal? You scared?" I stepped closer, voice a harsh whisper. "I'm gonna tell them you're here, in a girl's room, at this hour. You know how bad that's gonna look for your pathetic ass. So let's make a deal." I extended my hand, palm up. "Give me the phone, and I'll tell them you're not here. I'll say false alarm. Otherwise, I start screaming my damn head off, and we'll see who they believe." Damon held my gaze, jaw tight. "I got an idea. A better one." He grabbed the back of his collar and yanked his shirt off in one pull. The cotton slid over his head and shoulders, and he tossed it aside without looking, the fabric landing in a heap on the floor. I blinked, my brain not catching up, and before I could get a single word out he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans and popped the button. His eyes stayed on my face the whole time, watching my reaction as he shoved the denim down his legs. The jeans bunched around his ankles and he stepped out of them, kicking them away, leaving him in nothing but black boxer briefs that hugged his hips, and the shape of him was unmistakable, and my eyes dropped for half a second before I spun around so fast my wet hair whipped my cheek. "Oh my god— are you insane? What the hell is wrong with you?" I was facing the wall now, shoulders hunched, one hand white-knuckling the towel and the other pressed to my forehead. "Put your damn clothes back on, you i***t!" "What's the matter?" I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You act like you've never seen a guy in his underwear before. Turn around. I'm not even naked, you little chicken." "I am not turning around!" My voice cracked. "Put your shirt back on! Put everything back on! This isn't funny, Damon, you—" "Come on, you can look. I won't bite." He took a slow step closer, and I heard the floor creak under his bare feet. "We're on even ground now. You're half-naked, I'm half-naked. Feels fair, doesn't it?" The knocking came harder, three sharp raps. "Miss? Is everything okay in there?" Damon winked at me—I caught it in my peripheral because I risked a glance—slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. Then he turned and walked straight for the door, his bare shoulders shifting with every step, his hand reaching for the deadbolt. My voice ripped out of me, panicked and strangled. "Damon, are you out of your damn mind? You open that door and we're both screwed!" He glanced back at me, his jaw sharp in the dim light, and his eyes were dancing with trouble. "Maybe I am. Let's find out together.”