Chapter 6: Talk of the Hall
The alarm was a distant, digital chirp from her phone. Theo swam up through layers of warm, heavy sleep, aware first of scent—her perfume, sweat, something sweet like her shampoo—and then of heat. She was wrapped around him like a vine, one leg thrown over his hips, her arm a dead weight across his chest. Her buzzcut was smashed against his shoulder.
He blinked. Her room was soft with early morning light filtering through pastel curtains. The stuffed penguin was still on the floor.
Bex stirred, her nose wrinkling before her eyes snapped open. For a second, they were just dark, unfocused blurs. Then they cleared, locking onto his, and her mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile that was entirely new. It lacked her usual sharp-edged smirk. This was just… pleased.
“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice raspy with sleep.
“Hi,” he managed, his own throat dry.
She stretched against him, a long, sinuous movement that made every muscle in her formidable frame press into him. He was instantly, painfully hard again. She felt it and her smile turned knowing. “Seriously?” she laughed, a low, warm sound in his ear. “You’re a goddamn machine.” But she didn’t move to act on it. Instead, she nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like me.”
They lay there for another ten minutes in silence, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sternum. It was terrifying in its normalcy.
“Shower,” she finally declared, untangling herself with a groan. The cold air hit his skin where she’d been. She stood, naked and utterly unselfconscious, a towering landscape of muscle and curves backlit by the window. She glanced back at him, still in her bed. “You coming or do I have to carry you?”
The shower was a narrow, steamy battle for space. She washed him with a rough, thorough intimacy, her hands scrubbing his back, his chest, between his legs, as if cataloging what was now hers. She let him wash her hair, tipping her head back under the spray with her eyes closed, a strangely vulnerable gesture. He got soap in his eyes. She laughed, not meanly, but like it was the funniest thing she’d seen all week.
“My clothes won’t fit you,” she said afterward, toweling her head briskly. She rooted in a drawer and tossed him a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black hoodie. They were, of course, massive. The sweatpants pooled at his ankles; the hoodie’s sleeves covered his hands. She looked him up and down, her head tilted. “You look like a little kid who raided his big sister’s closet. It’s kind of cute. Keep ‘em.”
Downstairs, her parents were a whirlwind of pastels and enthusiasm in a kitchen that smelled like bacon and maple syrup. Her mom, a petite woman with a cloud of blonde hair, beamed. “Rebecca! You didn’t tell us we had a guest!”
“Mom, it’s Bex,” she grumbled, but there was no heat in it. She opened the fridge. “Theo, this is Karen and Steve. They’re annoying. Ignore them.”
“Don’t listen to her, sweetheart!” Steve, a tall, balding man with a kind face, waved a spatula. “Pancakes? Bacon? The works?”
Theo, drowning in Bex’s hoodie, could only nod. They ate at a sunlit breakfast nook. Bex’s parents chattered about a garden club, asking Theo polite questions about school that Bex answered for him with succinct, protective grunts. She kept one bare foot hooked around his ankle under the table the entire time.
Her jeep smelled like her—perfume, vinyl, and a hint of turf from her cleats. She drove one-handed, the other resting on his thigh, her thumb rubbing small circles high up near his hip. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It felt charged, like a held breath.
When she pulled into the student lot, the reality of it all crashed into him. The concrete maze of their school loomed. He was about to walk in wearing Bex Matthews’ clothes, smelling like her soap, with her. His stomach twisted.
She killed the engine and turned to him. “Hand.”
Confused, he offered his. She shook her head, a glint entering her eyes—the familiar, intimidating one. “Not that one.” She took his right hand and guided it behind her, pressing his palm firmly against the back of her jeans. The denim was tight, stretched taut over the impossible, rounded swell of her ass. “Here. You walk in like this.”
“Bex…”
“Theo.” Her voice left no room. “You’re mine. People need to see that. Or I’ll make them see it. Your choice.” The threat was there, but so was something else—a need, raw and exposed.
He swallowed and left his hand there. They got out. The first stares hit them like a physical force as they crossed the parking lot. Whispers cut through the morning din. He saw a junior he knew from computer lab freeze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Bex ignored them all, her stride long and confident, forcing him to keep up. His fingers curled, gripping the firm curve of her hip through the denim. A part of him hated the spectacle. A larger, hidden part thrilled at it, at the blatant ownership, at the sheer audacity of her.
They hit the main hallway, a river of noise and bodies that parted for her like the Red Sea. His locker was on the east wing. As they approached, he saw Marcus already there, shuffling books. Marcus looked up, saw Theo, saw Bex, saw Theo’s hand on Bex’s ass. His face went completely, comically blank. Then pale.
Bex stopped in front of the locker, turning to face Theo. She cupped his face in both hands, her touch surprisingly gentle compared to the stares burning into his back. “Lunch,” she said, her voice loud in the sudden hush of their immediate vicinity. “You find me. Don’t make me find you.”
Then she leaned down and kissed him. It wasn’t the fierce, consuming kiss from her bedroom. It was slow, deliberate, a full-mouth press that lingered, ensuring everyone saw. When she pulled back, his lips felt swollen. She smiled, that dangerous, bright smile, and wiped a smudge of her lipstick from his chin with her thumb.
A girl a few lockers down was gaping, her phone half-raised. Bex’s head snapped toward her. “Got a problem?” she asked, her voice dropping into a valley-deep chill. The girl flinched, shrank, and scurried away. Bex turned back to Theo, her expression shifting instantaneously back to something almost fond. She winked, blew him a kiss, and then strode off down the hall, her boot heels clicking a final, authoritative period on the scene.
The silence around his locker persisted for a full three seconds before erupting into a buzz of gossip.
Marcus stared at him, his mouth still slightly open. “Dude.”
Theo fumbled with his combination, his fingers clumsy. “Yeah.”
“You… you’re wearing her clothes.”
“Yeah.”
“And your hand was on her… I mean, on her…”
“I know, Marcus.”
Marcus leaned in close, lowering his voice. “You spent the night? At Bex Matthews’ house?”
Theo nodded, finally yanking the locker open. He busied himself swapping out books, trying to avoid his friend’s stunned gaze.
“Are you… are you okay? I mean, physically?” Marcus’s concern was genuine. “She could snap you in half. She snaps lacrosse sticks for fun during pep rallies.”
Theo thought about the shower. The way she’d laughed when he got soap in his eyes. The weight of her asleep on top of him. The feeling of her ass under his hand in front of the entire school.
He slammed the locker shut and turned to his friend. The first bell rang, a sharp, electric buzz overhead. Around them, the crowd began to move, a current of bodies flowing to class, glances still darting their way.
“I don’t know,” Theo said, and it was the truth. “I feel… good. Wrecked, but good.” He met Marcus’s eyes. “And terrified. Of her. What she could do.” He glanced down the hall where she’d disappeared, a ghost of her cherry lipstick still on his mouth. “But she’s also… kind of incredible.”
Marcus just shook his head, a slow, disbelieving gesture. “You’re a dead man. A very, very happy-looking dead man.” He clapped Theo on the shoulder of the enormous hoodie. “Come on. We’re gonna be late. And if we are, I’m blaming your terrifying girlfriend.”
Theo followed him into the stream of students, the word echoing in his head. Girlfriend. It felt as dangerous and exhilarating as her kiss.