Chapter 9: I Hate It That I Love It

"Ouch."

"Hold still."

We're in the guest bathroom in the basement. Shawn Henderson is down on his knees on the fluffy pink bathroom rug, his chin raised up toward me, a look of manic desperation on his face.

I tap my finger against the bridge of his nose just to see him wince. Now that the blood's gone, I can tell it's swollen, but not too badly. Enough to give him the ruffled-up look, but not enough to make his face any less than legendarily handsome. There's barely even a bruise.

"Well?" he asks anxiously.

"Well what?" I straighten up and turn to wash my hands in the sink.

"Is it broken?" His voice squeaks slightly when he asks this.

"How the hell should I know? Do I look like an X-ray to you?" I look over my shoulder at him.

"You said you'd have a look." Shawn wobbles up to his feet. "I thought you had a way of telling."

I turn back to the sink to wipe my hands dry with a clean blue hand towel. "And I thought I'd have you down on your knees in front of me in less than three seconds."

I turn around to get out of the bathroom, but almost walk straight into Shawn's bare chest. His hands shoot forward to grasp the edge of the bathroom counter on both sides of my body, trapping me in the cage of his arms.

"Is that how you like it, Fee?" he asks in a low whisper. "Did that turn you on?"

When did he take off his shirt? I peer up at his face, and he looks down into mine. Neither of us wavers.

There's a raw red bruise on his abdomen below his ribs. I stab it with my finger, making him flinch away and gasp in pain.

"Out of my way, vodka-breath."

"You evil woman," he moans as I open the cupboard next to the door and throw a new toothbrush at him. It's one of those cheap ones they hand out on flights. My mom flies a lot for her job and always collects these airline freebies. I thought it was pointless, until today.

The corner of my mouth twitches upward. This may possibly be the first good deed of my life, but the whole time, I'm wishing I was evil enough to let Shawn rot in his car for the rest of the night.

"Clean T-shirt on the bed. Towels under the sink," I say, and look at my watch. It's 4:41. I can still get an hour's sleep before I have to wake up for school. "And Shawn?"

He looks at me, attentive and hopeful. It's hard for me to believe that I'm the only person he could turn to in a moment like this.

"Don't ever come to me again," I say, my words aiming to hurt. "I'm not your friend."

I'm about to leave the bathroom, but he pushes the bathroom door, preventing me from opening it. "That's not how you make it look," he says into my ear. "But I'll play along if that's what you want."

I yank the door open. He's going full force on me. It's clear to me he's changed his strategy. He's teasing me now only for the sake of getting a reaction out of me. The best thing I can do is ignore him.

So I don't say anything and walk out of the bathroom.

I cross the basement and start climbing the stairs. I hear the shower begin to run. I turn off the light and open the basement door.

And freeze. The creak of a floorboard in the living room alerts me that someone is up. I quickly close the door, leaving the smallest crack open so I can spy on the kitchen. Sure enough, I see my dad pacing back and forth with some notes in his hands as he reads, waving his arm in the air theatrically.

My dad gets nervous from public speaking, so whenever he has an appearance in court, he paces downstairs in the middle of the night, practicing.

I slowly and carefully close the basement door and wait, trying to calculate my options. It's lucky enough he didn't see me just now, because the way he's pacing brings him in full view of the basement door seventy percent of the time. Anything I do to bring attention to the basement can, theoretically, cause my parents to somehow decide to come down here and discover Shawn.

I stand there by the door for several minutes with the sound of my dad's pacing giving rhythm to my thoughts. Reluctantly, I come to face the truth.

Until my dad goes upstairs to wake my mom, I'm trapped here in the basement with Shawn.

Dammit! Dammit! Shit!

I shake my head and turn on the light, silently padding down the stairs.

And see a lot of skin.

"Sophie!" Shawn exclaims, grinning as he stands stark naked before me, holding the boxer briefs he was about to put on.

Stupid, stupid me.

I quickly bring my hands to cover my eyes and turn away for good measure.

But I saw it all, and I can't un-see.

Not that I'd want to. Let's just say I can now truly appreciate what the hype around Shawn is about. It's a pity I know him so well. I would have gladly taken all of that—I mean, his body—but not the person attached to it.

"Keep your voice down. My dad's in the living room," I say. "I have to hide down here until six."

I hear the rustle of cloth as he gets dressed. "Excuses, excuses," he says. "Why can't you just admit it . . ." Footsteps, and then the touch of five fingers as they lace through my hair, grazing the top of my scalp.

Oh. My. God.

"You changed your mind," he whispers in my ear, his other hand twining upward through my hair from the back. Wave upon wave of tingling gratification races down my spine. My muscles turn to jelly, my head falling back as my body comes to rest against him.

My response gives him the slightest pause. He's warm against me. I struggle to regain my senses, but he acts before I can. He bunches the fingers of both his hands and then fans them out, combing through my hair.

The softest moan escapes from the depths of my throat. His breath catches as my back arches against him involuntarily.

It's so good, and I want more.

There's a blissful moment of pure ecstasy as his hands roam through my hair. His breaths are quick and short. My back is plastered against his chest, and I can feel the rapid beating of his heart. We exchange heat. My whole body is buzzing. This is incredible.

"Fee, I want you so bad," he murmurs, and I can feel what he means.

Oh no. I realize what's about to happen. The warmth and hardness of his body against mine, the tantalizing fire coursing through my blood. My hips sway; I rub against him.

He takes one hand out of my hair to bring it around my waist, and that's when the spell is broken. Before his naughty fingers can head down, down low to the part of me that's begging for his attention—God help me—I regain control over my limbs and shove myself away from him.

An aching chill lances through me. I'm burning so bad. But no matter what, I can't let him win.

I spin around to face him, ready to tell him just how much I hate him and how much of a douchebag he is, but the moment I see his face, the sharp words die on my tongue.

I don't quite know how I can tell that the person before me isn't the normal Shawn. He isn't the Shawn of one dinner once a month. He isn't the Shawn every second girl in our school craves. He isn't the Shawn of lies, deceit, and manipulation.

He's the Shawn who hadn't come here expecting this level of intensity. He's just been torn open and left vulnerable, insecure, and small. He stares at me as if he has never seen me before. As if he has never seen anything like me.

"I'm going to sleep on the bed. You get the sofa," I say, continuing as if I don't see what he's showing me. "I don't want you, Shawn," I lie. "Don't ever try something like that again."

I know I'm cruel. I've led him on, and now I'm hurting him and I can't even begin to comprehend the myriad implications that my behavior will have. I say it this way because that's how I say things, but I can almost feel the look he's giving me, like a tangible presence in my own heart.

"What the hell, Sophie? Don't tell me you didn't feel that too!" He breathes out the words, blue eyes round, cheeks pink, his voice trembling with exasperation mixed with shock.

It would be easy to admit it, that his hands alone make me molten lava—but then I'd lose and maybe . . .

I'd have to change in ways I don't want to.

"I didn't feel anything out of the usual," I say, getting into the bed and closing my eyes. "Now shut up. I need to sleep."

He wants me like crazy, more than he ever wanted me before. He wants me, but I've just gone and rejected him.

Shawn Henderson has never truly been rejected before. Not like this.

I'm that kind of person. I play dirty and break the rules.

I'm a monster.

This is far from over, but I won't let him win.