Except for the abuse he heaped on me for two bitterly long years.
Except for the fact that I need to get far away from here, from my father, and it won’t do me a lick of good to get attached to this magnetic boy.
My bully. My infatuation.
There can only be one night. I need to make a fresh start. I need to cut myself clean off from everything that has made me feel shitty in the past—and whether my heart likes it or not, Moore Dunnegan is one of those things.
He’s looking at me right now like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. And it’s that kind of intuition he seems to have about me that is going to get me into trouble. Going to make me second-guess my determination to leave him in my rearview, along with everyone and everything else I’ve grown up with.
Moore sets down the tool in his hand and flips a switch, lighting up a string of Christmas lights on the porch overhang above me. “Looks like it’s working.”
“Yeah.” He sends me a tight smile. “They don’t call me a handyman for nothing.”
It occurs to me in that moment that I don’t know a lot about Moore’s private life. I know he lives in a trailer on the other side of town. I’ve driven past it hundreds of times, seen it in the shade of a magnolia tree. Secluded. Lonely. I’ve even seen him come and go from it once or twice, toolbox in hand, ball cap pulled down low over his eyes, rag sticking out of his back pocket. I want to escape this place? Does he? “Are you…planning on hanging around Perryville after graduation?”
His movements pause ever so slightly, but I catch it. “Hadn’t thought too much about it.”
“Really?”
“No,” he sighs. “That’s a lie.” Crouched down in front of the toolbox, a line flexes in his cheek, his gaze eventually meandering its way back to me. “And I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Allie.”
“Then don’t,” I say quickly, holding my breath.
“There was nowhere you could go…that I wouldn’t follow.” He looks down at his hands. “I couldn’t figure out which college you’ve decided to attend…no one had the answer. But once I knew, yeah, I was going to follow you.”
“Oh.” I’m suddenly finding it very hard to swallow. “You were going to follow me to college and bully me.”
Even in the muted moonlight, I can see the reddening of his cheekbones. “I know how fucked up that sounds. It is fucked up. Believe me, for the rest of my life I’m going to hate myself for how I’ve been treating you. I thought…”
“What?”
He shakes his head, but answers anyway. “That night in the field, I thought when you found out I was a handyman, that I was there to repair your roof…you remembered I was beneath you. That you were better than me, looked down on me. I thought you were ignoring me all this time because you regretted everything that happened, everything you said. You had a momentary lapse of reason and climbed back onto your pedestal, out of reach of my grubby hands. It hurt to think I disgusted you. It hurt and I took it out on you.”
At the end of his explanation, my mouth is hanging open. No wonder he was so mad, lashing out all the time. He thought I was ignoring him because I thought myself better. Above him. For a prideful male like Moore, being ignored because of his status, that would have stung worse than anything else. “Why are you only telling me this now?”
“Because it sounds like an excuse—and I’m not making one. Ever.”
“I didn’t think I was better than you. I missed you.” That strong chest of his starts to rise and fall quickly, his gaze penetrating me through the darkness. “I know that sounds silly. It was just one night.”
“No. I missed you, too.” He takes a step in my direction. “Still do.” His eyes close and he releases a bumpy breath. “Brutally, baby.”
Nerve endings tingle everywhere on my body, the need to touch and be touched by Moore increasing the temperature of my skin rapidly, making my breasts feel plump, my legs weak. I’ve never tried drugs, but I understand now what addiction must be like. Fighting a pull, battling an urge that is self destructive, but also promises an incredible high before the downward spiral.
If I give him the slightest encouragement, he’s going to bring me inside and…storm with me again. Is that what I want? Yes. Will giving in to my physical urges make it much harder when I have to leave town for good? Yes. Yes. There isn’t anything casual about me and Moore. And how can I begin to rebuild my pride, my life, if my first act of independence is giving my body to the person who made me cry so many times since sophomore year, I’ve lost count?