Chapter 19Rayne

T

he French presentation in class ends when Madame claps her hands and says, “Magnifique!” When our presentation boards are already folded and leaned against the wall, Gage grabs the food box and carries it to the back table. He picks up the lone leftover cherry, resting it on a tripod of his thumb and first two fingers and smiles. Devilishly.

“Don’t start,” I laugh and point my finger in his face, knowing full-well what’s running through his mind.

“Moi?” He milks the innocent act so well, then leans in, his face so close to mine I can smell the faint sweetness of cherries and cream on his breath. “A present. From me to you.” He places the cherry to my lips, parting them slightly and then slips it onto my tongue. How does he make fruit so hot?

I chew it slowly, my eyes fixed on his. They spring open wider when I wipe a trickle of cherry juice from my chin and say, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have some ideas.” He smirks and walks back toward his desk as the bell rings.

I watch him go, shaking my head laughing. In my periphery, I see Jaycee staring.

She’s pissed.

“So… your French project… interesting…” Jaycee says, chewing her thumb nail. It took all day, but she’s finally caught up with me at the end of cheer practice. “Maybe it’s just me, but you and Gage look pretty chummy. Better be careful. Boys aren’t so understanding about divided loyalties.”

I throw my pompoms on the ground by the bench. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the chemistry between you and Gage, you talking about lights and love and him looking all goofy at you. Then he fed you?” She, too, throws down her pompoms and folds her arms in front of her, head tilted waiting on an explanation or a confession.

“Everything’s innocent. You’re imagining stuff, Jaycee.” I hope my face isn’t giving me away, because she’s right. There’s a ton of chemistry there, and I don’t have a clue how to deal with it.

Ainsley collapses onto the bench near us. She hasn’t opened her mouth, but I know what’s coming. I’m starting to hate this time of day because it always presents the same scenario—me surrounded by the girls, fielding questions on my love life. This newfound celebrity status is more like a vice grip, squeezing me to the point I’m sure my head will explode at any second. They don’t even call me Rayne half the time anymore. I’m “Preston’s girlfriend.”

“What’s it like kissing him?” asks Ainsley, all dreamy-eyed, looking off into some undetermined spot in the sky, while she traces her fingertips along her collarbone. “Is he always that hot?”

I prop my foot up on the bench and pretend to tie my shoe, ignoring her. I gaze past my laces to the opposite field where the football team is practicing. Gage is at the water cooler. He gulps down the majority of a cup then pours the rest over his head.

My breath hitches when he glances over and waves.

I discreetly lift my hand and wiggle my fingers but jerk them down when Jaycee returns her attention to me. “Chill guys. Rayne’s my BFF, and I barely get info. She hoards Preston to herself…” she says, then giggles under her breath. “…and apparently his brother, too.”

“His brother? You mean Gage?” pipes up Mallory. “He’s no Preston, but he’s getting there. A little scruffy but not bad.”

Talking about Preston is irritating, but something breaks when they start in on Gage. He’s freaking off-limits. I don’t know why, and I can’t explain it. He just is.

Fury burns up my insides and spills out like a lava flow. “Shut up, y’all! I’m sick of hearing it!”

They circle me like sharks to bloody chum. No one even knows I’m struggling with the Preston thing except Jaycee, and all she’s doing is using it as ammo. My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and his name pops up on the screen.

“Oooooooh,” they sing-song in unison like I didn’t just have a meltdown. “It’s Preston!”

I block the sun from my screen to read.

<Preston> Tonight’s free. Let’s hang out.

Surprising. It’s been nearly a week and a half since our last pseudo-date.

<Rayne> Ok. Rode with Jaycee to school. Have to get car first.

The phone buzzes almost immediately.

<Preston> Wait. I’ll handle it.

Within seconds, across the field, Gage pulls his phone from the duffel bag he’s packing up on the sidelines then looks over at me.

I grab my pompoms and shove them into my duffel, cramming the red and black streamers deep inside, when the girls begin snickering and whispering. I look up and see him headed my way, hair wet and splayed across his forehead, short jersey barely covering his abs. When our eyes connect, we both smile. He walks in front of me and stoops to my eye-level, leaning in where his lips brush my ear. “Why’s everyone staring at us?”

I look over my shoulder at their faces, eyes wide and mouths wider. “They’re stupid.”

He smirks. “Preston says you need a ride.”

“You offering?” I ask, zipping the duffel closed.

“Yep.” He throws my bag on his back with his own, and then grabs my hand. “Let’s give them something to look at as we go.” Laughing, we head to the parking lot.

I’m climbing into the Scout when a text comes through.

<Jaycee> Now I get it. Two for the price of one.

I don’t respond, just click it off and toss it in the cup holder. Gage slides into the driver’s seat and looks over. “Let me guess. You’re in trouble with Jaycee?”

“When am I not?” I roll my eyes and buckle the seatbelt across my lap.

Gage cranks up, the deep rumble of the engine muffling his voice. “Want me to put the top up?” he yells over the noise.

“Don’t you dare!” I yell back, sweeping my hair into a low ponytail. As he pulls onto the main road and accelerates, the wind rushes through a few loose tendrils and sends them flailing. It’s freeing, liberating—something that’s escaped me always living under a microscope either by Mama, the town, Jaycee, or sometimes even Preston. Gage doesn’t do that. He lets me be me—crazy, messy, non-perfect me.

He nudges my arm with his iPod. “Pick us out some music.” I slip the iPod on the dock of his stereo system, the Scout’s only hi-tech gadget, which sticks out compared to every other manual-operated device, and rifle through the playlists. They each have a name. Running. Weight Lifting. Chill. Country. Rock. Rayne. For a minute, I stare at the last one, thinking my mind’s playing tricks. Wait… Rayne?

“You have a playlist named after me?” I point to the screen and the digital letters spelling out my name.

Gage’s eyes follow my finger to the screen and his smile fades. For a minute, his face goes blank. He’d forgotten it was on there, and now I’ve found it. But what does it mean?

“Oh… uh… yeah… that.” He swallows hard a couple times and glances over at me. “You mentioned liking my 80’s rock, so I’m putting files in a playlist for you. To burn you a disc sometime.”

“No way! That’s freakin’ awesome.” I clap my hands and bounce around in my seat, so cheerleader-y of me. “Thank you!”

He nods and smiles. “Now pick a song.”

I play one from my playlist, and we sing-along, oblivious to the stares from other drivers beside us when I use the hairbrush from my backpack as a microphone. We’re still laughing and singing when we pull in the Howard drive and Preston rushes out to meet us, his eyes scrunched together, a frown curving his lips.

“Rayne, I’m so sorry” are the first words I hear as Gage shuts off the engine. I lean back into the seat and cover my eyes as he looks in through the rolled-down window. Too bad doing that doesn’t magically shut out the world or his bullshit. “Mom called. Dad’s attending a seminar this evening and wants me to go along. I can get class credit. I’ll drive you home on the way.”

I pull my hands from my face and purse my lips. I can’t look Preston in the face, so I turn to his brother. He’s staring at us, mouth hanging open. “Thanks for the ride, Gage.” I kiss my fingertips and hold them to his check, then grab my bags and hop down on the driveway. When Preston reaches for me, I snap, “I’ve got it.”

He sighs and drops his hand. “Don’t be mad, Rayne.”

“Why would I be mad, Preston? I’m so over it already,” I say with a smile. If he trusts that smile, he’s stupid. You never, ever trust a woman who smiles and says she’s not mad because she’s probably plotting your death at that very moment. With a candlestick. To the head. In the driveway. Ugh.

I slide in the passenger seat of his Mustang and slam the door. Preston gets in and cranks up, while Gage stands by the Scout, hand clamped over his brow. He waves bye with the other hand and I mouth it back to him as we drive away. Immediately Preston begins making excuses, and I’m looking out the opposite window, giving one-word responses. Fine. Okay. Whatever. Sure.

I hop out before his Mustang even comes to a full stop in my driveway. He apologizes once more and says he’ll text me afterwards. I won’t hold my breath unless I have a death wish, so I nod and walk inside to find Mama waiting on me in the foyer, wringing her hands. As if this afternoon wasn’t on a shit spiral already.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes are like puddles. “What’re you doing back here so soon? You texted and said you’d be at Preston’s a while. Did something happen?”

“Yeah, his oh-so-busy college man life.” I ease past her, heading for the stairs and the silence of my room.

“It’s just as well. You spend too much time with those boys lately, that Gage as much as Preston. And he’s a bit rough around the edges.” She shakes her head, her mouth pinched into a deep frown.

Funny how judgments come easily to her when she loathes people in town for extending her that same courtesy. “Isn’t he the one who drove you to the Howards?”

“Yes, Mama. And he’s a gentleman. Always has been.” This third degree never ends.

“It’s odd. What brother ‘fills in’ for the other? I don’t like it.”

I slap my hand against the banister. “I needed a ride. What’s wrong with that?”

“If you have to ask me, you already know the answer to that question,” she concludes, hands planted firmly on her hips and lines creased deep in her forehead.

I pinch my lips so hard between my front teeth, I’m sure they’ll go right through. No point arguing and honestly, I don’t have the patience or give-a-crap right now.

It’s ten o’clock and I’m lying across my bed studying when my phone buzzes. It’s about time. His seminar should’ve been over at least an hour ago, but Preston hasn’t called. I pick up the phone. It’s not him. It’s Gage.

<Gage> Check your front porch swing for a surprise.

I toss the phone on my blanket and run downstairs to the porch. A piece of me wants him to be there. He’s not, but a square envelope is. It’s a CD with my name scrawled across the front in Gage’s handwriting. My playlist.

Back upstairs, I text him back.

<Rayne> Thank you! So excited. Listening to it now.

As I’m loading the disc into my stereo, the phone buzzes again.

<Gage> #8 makes me think of you. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.

I fast-forward tracks to the song and recognize it immediately. “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses. One of my favorites. One of the greatest power ballads of all time.

And it makes him think of me.