Beautiful Sinner Read online

  Telling herself that this would be the last time she had to suffer the likes of Natalie, she emerged from the bathroom and returned to Kari on the dance floor.

  Kari was dancing and making calf eyes at a guy from her Spanish class that she had crushed on all year. Apparently now she finally had the courage to make a move.

  Suddenly Gabriella noticed Natalie waving at her. She was standing with her friends, her college boyfriend in their midst. Catching Gabriella’s eye, she pointed in the opposite direction, stabbing a finger repeatedly through the air. “The ribs are that way!” she hollered.

  Natalie’s friends laughed.

  Gabriella’s face burned.

  That did it. She tapped Kari on the shoulder. “Hey,” she called over the music. “I’m going to go outside. It’s too hot in here.” Not a lie precisely. The room was warm—especially with her face flaming.

  Kari nodded distractedly at her, still gawking at her crush.

  Gabriella pushed through the press of bodies until she stumbled outside into the crowd. It was still tight, but there was free-flowing air, at least. She lifted her chin up to the night and drew a deep breath, her hands opening and closing at her sides, yearning to grab hold of Natalie’s hair—or do even just one thing that would make her feel half as bad as she made Gabriella feel all these years. Just one thing that would disappoint or crush her. Even if just for one night.

  A very drunk girl stumbled up beside her and bumped into her. She was one of the pretty people—part of Natalie’s circle. “Heyyyyy there. It’s Flabby Gabby. What are you doing here? Never see you at parties.”

  Gabriella ignored the hated moniker. Natalie had invented the nickname in kindergarten and people had been calling her that ever since. She was done reacting to it even if it still stung. She’d gotten good at overlooking slurs and insults. She had it down to an art form. She donned a mask. Kept the hurt inside.

  One time she’d bought an ice cream sandwich in the cafeteria. She had been sitting with Kari, talking and eating her ice cream when a couple guys stopped directly behind her and made smacking sounds with their lips. She’d looked over her shoulder at them.

  “Mm-hmm. Are you enjoying that? Is it goooood?” There was something so cruel in the exaggerated questions. In the way they nodded their heads at her like she was some simpleton. One of the guys rubbed his belly for further emphasis.

  She had whipped her head around and stared straight ahead, waiting until they moved on. She tried to act normal and calm and unaffected in front of Kari even as Kari asked if she was okay. Gabriella couldn’t finish her ice cream sandwich. She dropped it on a napkin in front of her like it was poison.

  Her lunch turned to rocks in her roiling stomach and bile rose up in her throat. She held herself together until the bell rang and then she disappeared into the crowded hallway. Into a bathroom. Into a stall where she threw up. Not because she was deliberately trying to purge or anything. No. Those boys’ brutish faces swam in her mind and their taunts echoed in her head, making her sick.

  She braced a shaking hand on the stall wall. Tears choked her. Snot rolled from her nose. She wanted to go home. She wanted to curl up on her bed and hug herself until she didn’t feel so marked, so tainted, but she was stuck.

  Stuck at school for the rest of that day.

  Stuck for three more years. Until tonight. Graduation night.

  Tonight she was finally free. She should feel great. Instead she was reflecting on that day in the cafeteria.

  It was funny how that one memory stood out in a sea of memories. The bad ones always did. The bad ones left scars. Even now, standing on this porch, she felt the puckered flesh of that scar. The skin had never knitted back together in quite the same way. All it took was some little bitch pointing her in the direction of the buffet and another one calling her Flabby Gabby and she felt that scar throb and split open again.

  Gabriella strode past the girl. Did she think she was so special? So very funny? She wasn’t even remotely original. Originality fell to Natalie and jerks that taunted her as she took a bite of ice cream.

  Soon she would never have to see Natalie or any of these people again. She wouldn’t have to hear the words “Flabby Gabby” uttered ever again.

  Gabriella kept walking, circling around the house and heading down the sloping lawn toward the boathouse sitting beside the river. Suddenly, she knew what she could do. She knew the one thing she could do to spite Natalie. The one thing she could do to disappoint or crush her. Even if only for tonight.

  The boathouse beckoned, calling to her. It was like an invisible string pulled her there.

  She could see Cruz there in her head, waiting for Natalie . . . and she just couldn’t stay away. Cruz didn’t deserve to be used by such a nasty piece of work.

  The building was dark. There was no indication of Cruz or anyone inside. Water lapped the shoreline in a soft, rhythmic slap. Noise from the party was a distant growl on the air. She glanced back up the incline to the house where the lights were tiny dots. It felt very far away and she wanted it that way. She wanted it to disappear.

  She stepped onto the narrow wooden deck that ran along the boathouse. The river flowed underneath the dock and building. She peered over the railing at the water, black and fathomless below.

  Her shoes, strappy contraptions that Kari insisted she borrow, gave her a good two inches. They clomped loudly over the wood slats as she walked. If Cruz was still inside, he definitely heard her coming.

  She stopped before the door and inhaled a breath. She always got nervous around Cruz. Considering they’d had at least one class together every year of high school, it really was pathetic. She shouldn’t feel so rattled in his presence. She should at least be able to string a couple coherent sentences together.

  The door creaked loudly, the rust-worn hinges protesting as she pushed it open.

  “Cruz?” She stepped inside.

  The place smelled of wood. Cedar coupled with the faint underlying odor of motor oil.

  She had a vague sense of large darkened shapes. Boats, obviously. She’d actually been in this boathouse before. She and Natalie had been in the same Girl Scout troop and Natalie’s dad had taken the entire group out on the river. Mom made her go.

  “Cruz,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she was whispering. She was here to find him and tell him that Natalie was standing him up because she was busy with her boyfriend.

  Despite the warm air, she shivered a little. This had the makings of a C-grade horror movie. And yet here she stood in the dark, calling the name of a beautiful boy as though finding him was the only thing that mattered.

  She jerked when the door slammed shut behind her, carried by the wind.

  “Cruz?” she called out again, louder.

  She was here to tell him that Natalie wasn’t coming. At least she wasn’t coming any time soon. It was the courteous thing to do. The decent thing. The guy shouldn’t have to wait out here for her.

  “I just wanted to—”

  “Hey.” A deep voice curled around her as a hand simultaneously circled her arm. Not just any hand. Cruz’s hand. He whirled her around. She released a startled cry. Her hands came up, flattening on his chest. “Took you long enough,” he husked.

  It was dark. It was dark and he thought she was Natalie.

  The realization stunned her. And repulsed her.

  In no reality was she Natalie. Not even close. She couldn’t squeeze her fat toe into Natalie’s jeans. Only utter darkness could account for that confusion.

  She tipped her chin up—even in these heels he was tall—and opened her mouth to correct him of that misapprehension.

  She had no warning. No hint of what was coming. Just the slight tightening of his hand on her arm . . . and then his mouth was on hers.

  Searing-hot lips slanted over hers and it was the shock of her life.

  She had never been kissed before. She’d fantasized about it plenty of times. Listened as other girls huddled together and
giggled about what went on over the weekend with boys. She read about it in her mom’s romance novels that she snuck off her nightstand. She even practiced it on a stuffed animal a time or two. She was heartily, achingly, mortifyingly aware that she had reached the ripe age of eighteen and never been kissed.

  Until now.

  The fantasy was all she ever had before.

  But now she had the reality. The reality of Cruz Walsh’s mouth on hers.

  It was unbelievable. No. It was more than that. So much more than that.

  His lips moved over hers, expertly, skillfully, coaxing a response. A response she did not know how to give. Because she was hopeless like that. Hopelessly inexperienced.

  She trembled, her hands still trapped between their two bodies. She didn’t know what to do. Even with his skilled mouth pressing so hotly over hers, she froze like a block of marble.

  He pulled back slightly. “What?” She could feel the warm breath of his words fall on her lips. “You not into it anymore?”

  Her racing heart lurched in her chest. Not into it? Was he kidding? This was Cruz Walsh. She’d been into him for years.

  However, the question reminded her that he had done this with Natalie before. Clearly Natalie would be responding differently. Gabriella winced. For starters . . . she would be responding.

  She shook her head and made a sound that could be interpreted as no.

  “What’s the matter then?”

  “Uhh.” A beat stretched between them as she floundered for speech.

  Play it cool. This is the moment you explain to him that you’re not Natalie.

  His arms loosened around her enough so that she could move her hands. She splayed her fingers wide on his chest, ready to push. To put proper distance between them.

  But it never happened. She couldn’t do it. She was too weak. Too caught up in the fantasy that had somehow miraculously, insanely become her reality. Too caught up in his warm breath so close to her face and the sensation of his chest under her hands.

  She’d seen him shirtless before so she could visualize his chest. She’d spotted him out the second-floor window of her Spanish class sophomore year. He’d been playing basketball with a bunch of guys. All his sweaty, glistening, perfectly toned skin on display as he played with disgusting agility. What sixteen-year-old looked like that? He deserved his own CW show. She’d admired him alongside every other gawking girl in her class. Admiring him from a distance had felt safe. Nothing about this felt safe. Everything about this shouted danger.

  Cruz Walsh had just become her first kiss. Unbelievable as that was.

  She couldn’t let this moment fade away, knowing she had stood stupidly frozen as it happened. She had to make it count.

  She had to kiss him back.

  But her chance was slipping away.

  He stepped back with a sigh, obviously taking her frozen muteness as unwillingness. “More games, Nat? You wanted me to meet you out here. I didn’t even want to come to this party.”

  Her lips worked, but she could produce no sound. The moment she said something it would be over. He would know she wasn’t Natalie.

  Another sigh. “I’m so over this.” He turned to leave then.

  Move. Do something!

  She grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  He waited, pausing as he faced her in the dark. An edge of impatience sharpened the air . . . and something else. Something taut and thick.

  If she wanted to keep him here with her, she was going to have to persuade him . . . and persuading boys wasn’t exactly her forte.

  She flexed her fingers on his forearm and slid them down to his hand. Just like she had never kissed a boy, she had never held a boy’s hand either.

  His hand was much larger than hers, with calluses on the pads of his fingers. She ran her fingertips over the rough patches and gave his hand a squeeze. Then, guided by some kind of instinct, she turned his hand over and bent her head, pressing a lingering kiss to his palm. She put all her yearning into that kiss, a plea, hope that he would not walk away.

  He didn’t move. She took that as a good sign.

  Emboldened, she reached for his other hand and did the same, pressing a long, savoring kiss to that palm, visualizing him in her mind. The boy she had secretly crushed on for so long she could not even recall when it had all began. Cruz Walsh had simply always been there. Larger than life in her mind.

  His breathing changed ever so slightly as her lips moved over his skin.

  She lifted her head from his hand and stared straight ahead, blindly into darkness. She had only a vague sense of his face above her.

  For the first time she had his full attention on her. Sure, he thought she was someone else—someone awful who had tormented her all her life—but she shoved that aside for now. She could have this . . . enjoy this for a little while longer.

  “Please don’t go,” she whispered, keeping her voice low and indiscernible. Indiscernible but not inaudible. He heard her. “Will you stay? For a bit?”

  “You’re acting . . . different.”

  Her heart tripped with excitement. He was still here so “different” couldn’t be all that bad.

  “Different . . . how?” Her chest fluttered. She wanted to be different. She didn’t want to be like Natalie. She didn’t want to be like any other girl for him.

  “For starters . . . you never say please and you’ve never asked for anything. You take, Natalie. That’s what you do.”

  A slight smile curved her lips. That sounded like the Natalie she knew, too.

  Still holding on to his hands, she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, this time determined to prove she wasn’t a chunk of marble.

  He hesitated only a beat and then started kissing her back.

  Worried he could detect her lack of experience, she followed his movements, kissing his top lip, then his bottom, determined to come across as a competent kisser. Given this was her first kiss, she knew that might be a stretch.

  The good news was that after a few moments she didn’t have to think about what to do. It was just instinct. Passion.

  She slid both hands along his cheeks, cupping his face, reveling in the sensation of his skin, the bristle of an incoming beard scratching against her palms.

  When her tongue grazed his, she felt a hot bolt of electricity dart down her spine. She shot straight up in his arms and leaned into him with a moan, opening her mouth wider to him.

  He froze and pulled back slightly, and she felt a flash of fear that it was over, that he was stopping, that he was pulling away from her. Maybe he had figured out who she was. Or rather who she wasn’t.

  “Cruz,” she gasped, holding his face between her hands like they were glued there and couldn’t let go. God. She was going to have to get over that because she couldn’t cling to him forever.

  His breath tangled with hers. “You’ve never kissed me like that before.”

  “I . . . know?” Okay, that sounded more like a question than statement of fact.

  He flew into action like a sudden storm. His hands slid down to her ass, each of his hands gripping one of her cheeks as he lifted her off her feet and carried her.

  She gave a little yelp and dropped her hands to his shoulders, hanging on for dear life.

  His feet thudded across the wood planks. The boathouse was dark but he clearly knew his way around it. She tried not to think about how many times he had been in here with Natalie. She didn’t want to think about Natalie at all. This was her moment. Her time with Cruz.

  Right now he was here with her. That’s all that mattered.

  Suddenly he lowered her onto a table, wedging his body between her open thighs. Her legs dangled off the side. His hands settled on her knees. Her bare knees.

  Somehow he managed all this without ever breaking their kiss. As far as she was concerned, this proved all the rumors of his prowess. She had always suspected as much. Now she knew. The boy was a god.

  “Nice skirt,” he said as his fi
ngers played with the hem, tickling her skin.

  That’s right. She was in an easy-access skirt. The one Mom had bought and insisted she wear. She wondered what her mother would think of her wearing it now. And then she forgot all about her mother.

  She hissed a breath as his hands slipped beneath the hem, skating along her thighs. Thank God she had shaved.

  His hands are on your thighs. His hands are on your thighs. The refrain ran on repeat in her mind.

  “You feel different,” he drawled, and she tensed. Of course, her body didn’t feel like Natalie’s body. She had just hoped that he wouldn’t really absorb that fact. It wasn’t as though he and Natalie were exclusive, after all. She knew there were other girls in his life.

  “Different?” she choked.

  “Yeah. Better than I remembered.”

  She gasped. Had he really said that?

  His fingers inched along the tops of her thighs and then slid around to her hips, fingering the sides of her panties. She tried to visualize what underwear she was wearing in her mind, but then she figured it didn’t really matter in here. It was dark. He would never see them. And the swift way his hands moved over her and how her body trembled in reaction, she wouldn’t have them on for long.

  Oh. God. Was she already losing her panties? Just like that? She was really about to go from her first kiss to getting naked with him in the blink of an eye?

  But this was Cruz. It wasn’t like her infatuation with him sprang up overnight. And it wasn’t like she had planned on being a virgin forever.

  Gabriella always figured it would happen. She imagined it would happen when she left Sweet Hill and Flabby Gabby behind. The right guy would come along, probably in college, and it would simply happen.

  And yet what guy could be more right than this one that her legs were wrapped around?

  Of course, there was a very minor flaw to this scenario—to doing this with him. To doing IT with him.

  He thought she was someone else. He thought she was Natalie. Awful Natalie. Once the idea was there, she couldn’t shake it. It sank its teeth into her.