Boys Club by Selena

ten

Harper Apple

I don’t hear from Royal for the first week of winter break, but I figure he’s with family, so I don’t make a thing about it. I don’t hear from anyone at school, either. Not that I thought I would. In fact, Mr. D is the only person who messages to say Merry Christmas, which is pretty fucking sad and probably reflective of some of the poor life choices I’ve made. I shrug it off and spend the week vegging out in front of the TV, watching boxing tutorials online, and punching the bag in the basement. It’s boring as fuck.

I’m way too happy when Royal texts me the day after Christmas saying he wants to meet. I can’t sit still any longer, so I step outside when I see Blue and Olive. I make my way across the scrap of yard between our houses and join them. We sit out on their woven plastic lounge chairs in the sun, smoking cigarettes while Olive lines up the Hot Wheels collection Blue got her.

“How’s Faulkner?” I ask. With everything that’s gone on lately, I’ve barely seen Blue, and even though we were never close, I feel some weird kind of guilt for it, like I’ve abandoned her for the rich kids. She’s not the kind of person who would hold me back or blame me for wanting to better myself or my circumstances, but it’s like when we left the trailer park. There’s a solidarity in our poverty. We’re all in it together. When I step into the world of Willow Heights, I’m leaving them behind in squalor while I rise.

“Same,” she says with a shrug. “You still one of the popular kids at Willow Heights?”

I open my mouth to deny it automatically, that shame rising in me. I’ve never in my life thought about being popular or even wanted it. I don’t think any less of people who do—Jolene’s dream of popularity is no less real than my dream of escape—but it’s just never held much appeal for me. When I think about Blue’s question, though, I realize she’s right. I went shopping with the queen of Willow Heights last week. I hang out with the Dolce girls, sit at the most coveted table, have the most coveted boy’s attention.

“I guess I am,” I admit.

Blue just nods and looks thoughtful as she draws on her cigarette. A few minutes later, Royal’s SUV pulls up and stops at the curb. He rolls down his window and gives me a lazy wave.

I turn to Blue with a shrug. “Want to go with us?”

The corner of her mouth tugs up in a tiny smile. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t even know what to say to a rich guy.”

“Basically, you just say yes,” I say, though I know it makes me sound like a whore. Maybe that’s what I am now, though it’s more accurate to say I’m a dumb bitch or a slut, since I’m not getting paid for this. Pleasure is the only thing I get out of it, same as him.

“Come on, Jailbird,” he calls.

“See you around,” Blue says, tipping her cigarette at me. I can feel all of their gazes on me as I make my way down the walkway and hop up in Royal’s car.

“Not into meeting my friends?” I ask as Royal shifts into gear, pulling away from our house.

“We’d have nothing in common.”

“You never know,” I say. “You might be surprised.”

“I’d be very surprised if I have anything in common with that girl.” He smirks over at me. “Besides, I’ve already got friends. I don’t need to make more.”

“Sounds like someone’s nervous about making a good impression.”

“I’m not your boyfriend, Harper. I don’t want to meet your friends. Christ. Next you’ll be asking to meet my mother.”

“Is she in town?”

“No,” he says, scowling at me. “Is your dad?”

“No clue. Never met the guy, remember?”

He shifts in his seat and glances at me. “You don’t know who he is?”

I shrug. “Some dirtbag my mom went home with.”

“She never tried to track him down to get child support or anything?”

I laugh at that.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

“Do you know how hard that is? How much it costs to track someone down, take them to court, force them to get a DNA test, and then get them to pay up?”

“No.”

“I don’t either,” I admit. “But it’s more than we’ve got. And since Mom has never tried, I can fucking guarantee he’s got less than us.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. We turn onto the familiar road toward the bridge.

“We went to New York,” he says at last. “That’s why I haven’t been around.”

“Oh,” I say, my brain taking a second to process the fact that some people actually leave Faulkner on occasion, that they have enough money to fly a family of four all the way to New York just to see his mom for a few days.

“You ever been?” he asks.

I snort at that. “Pretty sure you know the answer to that question.”

“You should go sometime,” he says. “You might like it.”

“Why didn’t you stay for New Years?” I ask. “I’m sure they’ve got more going than Faulkner, Arkansas.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t really keep in touch with the old crew. Nothing for me there but my family.”

“Are you trying to reassure me that you didn’t reconnect with any old flames?” I ask, grinning at him.

“No,” he says, scowling. “It’s none of your business who I fuck.”

“Well,” I say. “Since I know you’re the jealous type, I haven’t seen any old flames while you were gone, either.”

“Who the fuck calls them that?”

“Me.” I lean across the console when he pulls off the road, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him hard. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he says, his hand falling on my hip as he tugs me closer, kissing me again.

Did the untouchable Royal Dolce just admit he missed me? What is even happening here?

“How’s your mom?” I ask when he pulls away and undoes his seatbelt.

“The usual,” he says, his voice edged with bitterness. “Yours?”

“Same,” I answer. “And your big brother?”

“Good,” he says. “Really good. They’re having a kid and shit.”

“What does he do?” I ask.

“He’s in security,” Royal says. “Come on. Let’s go down to the river.”

Instead of climbing in the backseat as usual, he grabs the blanket from the back of his car and opens my door.

“Are you going to try to kill me again?” I ask, climbing out.

“Not today,” he says, cracking a smile. “You?”

“I think I’ll spare you one more day,” I say, biting back my own smile.

I fucking missed him. It’s so not good. I missed him, and he’s smiling at me, and it makes my heart flip like a fucking fangirl. More and more often, I earn genuine smiles from Royal, even if they’re small. I treasure each one. I know it’s stupid, that I’m losing sight of the goal, but they’re so damn addictive. He’s so damn addictive.

At least I know the feeling is mutual. He seems as caught up in it as I am.

He takes my hand and pulls me under the bridge, as far away from the water as we can get. He ducks down under the supports overhead to spread the blanket.

“Why here?” I ask, sinking onto the blanket. “Is this where you take all your hookups, or does it have some significance?”

“No questions,” he reminds me, kneeling in front of me and peeling off my shirt.

“Are we still pretending we’re not breaking our rules for each other?”

“First we fuck,” he says, unhooking my bra and pulling it off, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around me and laying me down, fitting his body on top of mine. “Then we talk.”

He rubs his nose over mine, smiling down at me. I don’t forget the question, but I don’t fight him for an answer. He’s told me lots of stuff already. By now I know that pushing him only makes him clam up, so I shed the rest of my clothes and help with his. The best way is to let him tell me what he wants, when he wants. He tells me things every time, personal stuff about his sister and his family. It’s not anything I can use, but I relish each reveal as he gives them to me, doling them out like tiny gifts he’s trusting me with day by day, pieces of himself. I collect them like treasures, filling in one blank space at a time in the giant mystery that is Royal Dolce.

But now, I just let myself have him, the pleasure, the pain, the panic-inducing sensation of falling that happens when we’re together and I know my body is not the only thing getting royally fucked. Before Royal, I never let go, never lived in the moment. I remember how strange it felt on Halloween, the first time I did it, when he took me for a ride in his racecar. Now, I do it every time we’re together, losing myself to the moment, to him. It’s freeing and terrifying and addictive, like everything about him.

When we’re both satisfied, we collapse into a sweaty pile, our limbs tangled, my hair in both our mouths, the blanket askew under us, so Royal’s halfway lying on the dirt and rocks. I hold onto him, not wanting to pull apart too soon. I like the way he feels inside me, even after we’ve both cum. I lay my head on his chest, listening to the loud hammering of his heart, relishing how alive he is.

“That was… Stupendous, as always,” I say at last, pressing my lips to his chest, trying not to look at his sister’s eyes that stare up at me from the tattoo that covers one of his entire massive pecs.

“Stupendous, huh?” Royal says, turning his face to tug a lock of my hair from his mouth.

“I’ve used up all the other good words the last few times,” I say. “I’m trying to stay fresh here.”

“I don’t think you need to come up with fresh words for sex,” he says. “It’s sex. Everyone knows how good it feels.”

“Not everyone,” I say, gathering my hair over one shoulder so it’s out of our faces. “And not everyone knows how this feels.”

Royal cocks a brow, his hands settling on my hips. “And what’s this?”

“More than sex,” I say. “And you know it.”

For a second, I search his dark eyes, hoping he’ll admit something, that he’ll be as vulnerable as I’m being. But after a moment, he sits up, gently lifting me off him. “Let me fix the blanket,” he says, turning to lay it out again before settling onto it.

There’s not a trace of self-consciousness in him as he lays there without a stitch of clothes on his glorious body. I swallow hard, trying not to salivate when I take him in, every inch of his body long and thick and chiseled with muscle like a sculpture of the perfect man.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” he asks, snagging my hand and pulling me back to him. I settle onto him, stretching my little body along his big one.

“I was just admiring your perfection,” I say lightly. “Physically, anyway. Your head’s another story.”

He cracks a little smile. “Makes it easy to do this, hard to do more.”

He doesn’t deny it, though. He’s so comfortable in his skin, so confident. I’m not usually insecure about my body, but I know it’s not what most guys would call perfect. Next to him, it’s hard not to feel inadequate.

“Do you want more?” I ask.

He’s quiet a long moment. “Nah,” he says at last. “You’re pretty fucking perfect for this, too, Cherry. I don’t need more.”

“Not even in the boobs department?” I ask, raising my brows and smiling to hide my insecurity, knowing I’m opening myself up to be cut down.

He chuckles and lifts a hand to stroke my nipple. It hardens obediently against the pad of his thumb, and he closes his eyes and rocks his hips up against mine. “Not even anywhere,” he says. “Every single thing about you makes me fucking insane, Harper Apple.”

“Ditto,” I say, kissing his chest again. I know it’s good that he doesn’t want more. I’m not sure I could say no if he did. I’m already gone. I let myself fall, and there’s no going back. The only way out is through the pain that I know is inevitable. But each time we’re together, I put it off a little longer. It’s too good to waste, to end things so I don’t get hurt worse. I’m already going to be eviscerated by it. I might as well enjoy what comes before that as much as I can.

Royal pulls the edges of the blanket up, closing them around us, so we’re wrapped in a blanket burrito. It’s a warmer day, but it’s still winter, and the evening air carries a damp chill. “So, you gonna tell me why this is your hookup spot now?” I ask, cuddling against his broad chest.

“No questions.”

For a minute, we don’t speak. I listen to his heartbeat under my ear, then lay a palm on his chest and rest my chin on the back of my hand. “I lost my virginity under a bridge,” I say. “Not this one. It was in town.”

Royal’s muscles twitch under me. “Maverick?” he grinds out, like the name is physically painful to utter.

“Nah,” I say. “Just some asshole. He told the whole team I was easy, and pretty soon, everyone in school thought I was a slut, even though I’d only done it once. That’s what happens when you’re a girl who gives it up before high school.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” I say, running a fingernail along his collarbone. “You?”

“Same,” he says. “But that was pretty normal at my school.”

“Was she the girlfriend you mentioned?”

“Yeah. Apparently I really sucked, though, because she never wanted to do it again.” He chuckles quietly. “I’ve learned a thing or two since then.”

“Yes, you have,” I say, leaning up to kiss his chin. “And you can’t really blame the girl. Losing your virginity to a guy with a big dick is painful as hell.”

“Okay, who is this asshole?” Royal asks. “Now I’m going to have to kick his ass.”

“He goes to Faulkner,” I say. “You probably don’t know him, and trust me, he’s not worth tracking down to change that.”

“I’m going to need a name.”

“You first.”

“You want the name of my first fuck?”

“Why not?”

“Madison.”

“Colin.”

He draws back to look down at me. “Colin Finnegan?”

“You know him?” I ask, lifting my head.

He gives a bitter little laugh. “Yeah, I know Colin.”

“How?”

“Are you fucking with me?” he asks. “Everyone knows Colin Finnegan.”

“You said that about Maverick.”

“Maverick is small-town scum,” he says. “Colin is… Bad.”

“Because he fights dirty?” I ask. Even though I never go to the guys’ fights, there are murmurs on occasion—an injury that took someone out of the ring permanently, a masked fighter’s identity getting out. And sometimes it’s about an asshole going after knees or intentionally putting someone in the ER.

“That’s one reason,” Royal confirms.

“Okay, so, maybe I have a type,” I say, smiling down at him. “Notorious bad boy. Sound like anyone you know?”

I lean down at kiss him, and he relaxes a little. When I lay my head back on his chest, we’re quiet for a minute.

“Our families do business together,” he says, almost reluctantly. “On occasion. There are times when it benefited both families to work toward a common goal. But I’d gladly break a few more of his teeth for you.”

“What kind of business?” I ask, my heart hammering. Because while it’s not true that everyone knows Colin, everyone of a certain… Subset… knows him.

“The kind that the Italians and the Irish have in common.”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering, afraid to even hope he’s saying what I think he is. Is Royal really admitting his family is in the mafia? Is that the big secret, one big enough to take down his family?

But no. Of course not. It’s not like I have proof, and half the school has whispered that rumor to me. If his dad is in the mafia, the whole town knows it, and none of them have taken him down. He’d just deny it.

“Damn,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual while my mind races with ways I could get him to say this on record. But even admitting mafia ties doesn’t make him a criminal. Does it? Is that illegal in itself, or do I have to have proof of an actual crime committed?

“I figured you were talking about the teenage drug kingpin thing Colin’s got going on at FHS, not the literal mafia.”

Royal rolls us onto our sides, and the blanket slips off. He looks down at our bodies pressed together, then hooks his big hand around the back of my thigh, drawing my knee up around his hip. He slides his hand up my thigh before palming my ass. “This is a lot of ink,” he says. “How long did it take you to get all this?”

“About three months,” I say, propping myself on my elbow to admire my tats. “He did it in his spare time, since I wasn’t paying him. So he just did a few inches at a time.”

“He was being paid a lot more than this is worth,” Royal grumbles, thumbing my hip crease.

“Are you jealous?” I tease, letting him look at the tattoo that stretches all the way up one side of my body. I’m completely relaxed with him, allowing him to look at me and touch me in a way that would have scared me a month ago. I’m comfortable with him, at least in these moments, completely at ease though I’m naked and vulnerable. And fuck, that is not a good thing at all.

“I’m jealous as hell,” Royal says, squeezing my hip. “When I think about someone else touching you, I want to murder him. Even if he’d only given you the tattoo, I’d want to murder him. Knowing you fucked him all those days…”

“Not every day,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And it was only a couple months.”

“How many times did you fuck him?” Royal growls.

“It’s not like I counted,” I say, laughing at his ridiculousness. If he knew half of what I felt for him, he’d know there was no comparing it to Mav. But of course I can’t tell him that.

“Take a guess,” Royal commands.

“I honestly don’t know. I was fifteen when he started inking, probably sixteen when we hooked up. It was a long time ago. We hung out for a few months, and in the two years since then, we hung out a few dozen times.”

“You’re eighteen?”

“In a month.”

“So, exactly how many times did you hook up?” he presses.

I’m too frustrated to hold out, so I just guess. “We hung out… Maybe a hundred times? And probably only had sex a quarter of those times.”

“Hung out? What does that mean? You sucked his dick?”

I shrug. “Something like that.”

“You sucked his dick a hundred times?” Royal asks, his face darkening with fury.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “I bet you’ve had your dick sucked a hundred times. And probably by a different girl every time.”

“You want me to feel bad for putting my dick in a few mouths?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t want you to feel bad. I want you to stop giving me shit when you don’t hold yourself to the same rules. Double standards aren’t cool anymore. Hadn’t you heard?”

“Guess I missed the memo,” he mutters. He leans down to kiss me. “I know I’m not supposed to care, but I do. I’m a selfish bastard. I want to be the only one who knows what you feel like and look like and taste like.”

“Ditto,” I say. “But we’re not kids. So we’ll have to be satisfied to be the only ones who get to feel and see and taste each other now.”

He groans and pulls my leg tighter around his hips. “You better stop or I’m going to want to go again.”

“What about your ink?” I ask, running my fingertips over his warm skin, tracing the line of his sister’s face.

“I didn’t pay for it with blowjobs,” he says sourly.

I run my fingers up the inside of his bicep, where his olive skin is silky soft. “How come you don’t have one of the swan tattoos that your brothers have?”

“Why would I?”

I give him a look. “I know you’re one of the Midnight Swans.”

He looks slightly annoyed, then lays back on the blanket. “No one tells me what to put on my body.”

Of course they don’t. He’s such a bigshot they let him get by without getting the tattoo, even though everyone else is probably required to. But seeing as how I’m a control freak, too, I know what he means. I wouldn’t want anyone telling me what tattoos I had to get.

“So, this secret society,” I say, tugging him against me with my leg. “Could I join?”

He snorts out a breath of laughter. “No.”

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

“Exactly.”

“Guess you know how I feel about that.”

“Guess you know I don’t give a fuck.”

“Is that in the rules somewhere?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I didn’t make the rules or the society.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “I don’t believe you would join a group without knowing the rules.”

“Then believe me when I say it’s none of your fucking business, and you need to just drop it.”

“Has there ever been a girl Swan?”

He scowls. “No. And you won’t be the first.”

“We’ll see.”

“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he says. “You won’t like what happens.”

“There you go with the double standards again,” I say. “You have your boys club I can’t know about, but you want to know all my shit. I don’t even want to know how many girls you’ve been with, but you call me a slut when I’ve literally only been with two guys before you.”

“Wrong again,” he says. “I saw you giving head to that old guy.”

“Okay, I’ve given head to more than two guys,” I say. “But I only got good at it because it’s like… A compromise. And if you’re not good at it, it doesn’t work.”

His brow furrows. “What doesn’t work?”

“The compromise. If a guy is being pushy and won’t take no for an answer, you have to be good enough to make him cum, or you’re getting fucked, whether you want it or not. So you learn ways to defend yourself, like how to throw a punch and give good head.”

Royal’s jaw tightens, and he pulls the blanket around me again. “That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.”

I shrug. “For a girl, it’s just life.”

“Is that what happened with that old guy?”

I hate the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a victim, someone to be pitied. I made that choice. I climbed in that car with Mr. Behr knowing exactly what he wanted. It may not have been my best decision, but it was mine to make.

“No,” I say, my voice hardening. “He was a teacher. I wanted a grade.”

He nods, as if that doesn’t surprise him. Maybe he already knew that, already looked up the guy in the video.

But then he looks away, swallowing so hard I can hear it in the silence under the bridge. His fingers worry the edge of the blanket. “Harper… The first time I fucked you…”

“You weren’t there,” I say, laying a hand on his cheek. I wait for his gaze to meet mine. “That wasn’t you. I know that.”

That darkness in his eyes warms, welcoming me with the sweet relief it offers, beckoning for me to sink in and let go. But I know that’s even more dangerous than when it’s terrifying and wild, like a storm that could tear me apart.

“If I could do it over…” he says quietly, taking my hand from his face and holding it in his. He strokes the back of it with his thumb. “I’d feel you the first time.”

“You’re here now,” I whisper. “That’s what matters.”

He kisses me, that hungry, obliterating kiss that makes me forget everything, that makes me forget why I need to remember. After a while, I tighten my leg around him, pulling him in and letting him feel how ready I am. He rolls over onto me, claiming me, destroying me.

Being with Royal fills me with a satisfaction I’ve never felt before—the feeling of being needed, and more than that, being able to fulfill someone else, to be what he needs. And that in itself is what I need. There’s never a point where it’s enough, where I won’t need it anymore. He’s caught me, like a fly in amber, suspended in the bliss of his hunger for me.

I know I won’t walk away from this. By the time he’s done with me, I won’t be strong enough. I might survive it, but I won’t be able to do it myself, even when it needs to be done. Every time we’re together, he takes a part of my soul, as if it can replace the one he lost. And every time, he leaves me weaker than before, like some soul-sucking vampire. He hasn’t broken me, but he’s slowly draining me, depleting me, until I know that even when I want to, I won’t be able to leave.

When it’s time for this to end, he’ll be the one to walk away. He’ll have to. Because even when it’s over, I don’t think I’ll ever stop needing him to need me.

*

sacred spaces

don’t go back, they say,

it’ll trigger you.

don’t return to the scene of the crime,

it’s what criminals do.

don’t turn off the lights,

that’s when the monsters come.

don’t dare the rushing water,

or stare down the barrel of a gun.

they think i’m weak.

they’re wrong.

they think i’m out of control.

i’m strong.

the darkness doesn’t tell my story.

the monster is my friend.

the bridge does not control me.

i decide when it ends.