Virgin 4 Life

Chapter 2

The sounds pull me away from the ledge, invisible hands drawing me back from that terrifying edge. My tears dry in salty tracks on my cheeks as I creep toward the shadowed corner behind the massive air conditioning units.

Every proper instinct screams at me to turn back, to run, to pretend I never heard anything.

I peer around the rusted metal and my knees nearly buckle.

Caleb Voss—the Caleb Voss who got suspended junior year for breaking a senior's jaw, who drives a motorcycle to school when he bothers to show up, who has college girls waiting outside our high school gates—has a cheerleader pressed against the brick wall.

Everyone knows Caleb. You can't not know him. He's the guy parents warn their daughters about, the one teachers watch with suspicious eyes, the one who somehow makes the basketball team despite missing half the practices.

Brittany from varsity squad, I realize, though I've never seen her like this. Her blonde ponytail is a mess, Westbridge uniform bunched at her waist.

They're moving together with an intensity that makes my stomach drop, her legs are wrapped around his waist, and he's driving into her with vicious force that should hurt but clearly doesn't from the sounds she's making.

Their moans don't belong in my world. Raw, desperate, primal. My hand flies to my mouth to stifle a gasp, but my other hand—God help me—presses between my thighs over my skirt.

I'm burning. Aching in a way that terrifies me, my body responding to something I don't understand. The conservative cotton underwear I've worn since freshman year is soaked through, and I hate myself for it. This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

His jeans are shoved down just enough, tattooed hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise.

"Such a dirty little slut," Caleb growls, and the words make my whole body clench. "Taking my cock on the roof where anyone could see."

What happens next makes my sheltered world shatter completely. Caleb leans down and spits directly into Brittany’s open mouth.

"Swallow it," he commands, his hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. She responds eagerly, like it's natural, like it's wanted.

My brain short-circuits. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Love is supposed to be gentle, sacred, patient. Not this raw possession, this animalistic claiming. But my traitorous body doesn't care about supposed-to-be.

They finish with sounds that will haunt my dreams—his growl, her scream. He sets her down roughly and she fixes her uniform like they've just finished a study session. Kisses his cheek. "Same time tomorrow?"

He doesn't answer, just lights a cigarette as she disappears through the roof door.

I start backing away but my shoe scrapes against loose gravel. His head snaps up, those dark eyes finding me instantly.

"Well, well." His voice is amused, dangerous. "The virgin likes to watch."

He prowls toward me—there's no other word for it—crossing the rooftop space between us with deliberate steps. I back away until I hit a different wall, far from where he just had Brittany, near the rusted air conditioning units where I'd been hiding.

"You were touching yourself." His eyes drop to where my hand was. "Little Virgin Mary getting off watching me with Brittany."

"No!" I jerk my hand away, my face burning hotter than hell itself. "I would never—"

"Your hand was literally between your legs, princess." He steps closer, caging me in. "I can see the wet spot on your skirt."

My heart stops. There's no wet spot—there can't be—but the way he's looking at me makes me want to disappear. "You want some too? Want me to show you what you're missing?"

"You're disgusting." The words shake as they leave my mouth. "I would never... not with someone like you. Not on a filthy rooftop like some animal."

I try to summon dignity, lifting my chin. "I'm going to Yale. I have a future. I have standards."

His laugh is dark, rich with amusement. "Standards? You were just touching yourself watching me with another girl. But sure, tell yourself you're still pure."

He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Besides, there are a lot of sorry virgins at Yale. They probably have a whole club. 'Future Leaders Who've Never Been Properly Fucked.'"

The word 'virgin' from his mouth makes something snap inside me. First Noah's public humiliation, now this. I'm sick of it, sick of being mocked for doing what I was taught was right.

"Stop calling me that!"

"Why? That's what you are." His eyes rake over me, from my modest cardigan to my ankle-length skirt. "V4L, right? Is that how they call you?"

A pause, considering. "Though I gotta say, virgins don't usually get that wet watching. Maybe you're not as pure as daddy thinks."

"Shut up." My hands ball into fists. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're still dripping right now." His voice drops lower. "I know you wanted to touch yourself properly but couldn't quite let yourself. I know you're tired of being laughed at. Being called V4L in the hallways."

He reaches out, fingers almost brushing my face, and I flinch back. But his words hit their mark. I am tired. So tired of being the joke.

I stare at him, this devil in black with cigarette smoke clinging to his skin, and make a decision that would horrify my father.

"I saw what you just did. With Brittany." My voice steadies as I find my power. "That's grounds for expulsion. You and her both."

His eyes narrow dangerously. "You threatening me, princess?"

"I'm negotiating." I straighten my spine, summoning courage I didn't know I had. "You pretend to be my boyfriend. Make everyone believe I'm not some pathetic virgin. In exchange, I keep my mouth shut about your rooftop activities."

"You want me to fake date you?" His laugh is different now, calculating. "You have any idea what being 'Caleb Voss's girlfriend' means? What people will think we're doing? What they'll assume I'm doing to you?"

"I don't care what they think as long as they stop calling me V4L."

The lie tastes bitter. I care desperately, but I'm more tired of being a joke.

He studies me for a long moment, his gaze traveling from my tear-stained face to my trembling hands to where I'm trying to smooth down my skirt.

"You're serious." It's not a question. "Little Virgin Mary wants to play with the devil."

"Yes or no, Caleb. Because I can walk straight to Morrison's office right now."

He steps even closer, backing me fully against the wall, his hands bracketing my face. I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Fine. But I have one condition."

His mouth is so close I can taste the smoke on his breath. "I'll play your boyfriend. I'll make everyone believe you're mine. But when you finally break—and you will break—when you finally beg me to take you, it has to be real. On your knees, looking up at me, begging like you actually need it."

I gasp, shoving at his chest. "That is never, ever going to happen. I don't want you to... to do that. I just want the nickname gone."

He pulls back, that dangerous smile widening. "We'll see, Virgin. We'll see."

He starts walking toward the door, then turns back. "Party tonight. Fiona Martinez's place. Nine o'clock. Wear something that doesn't scream 'future nun' and try not to be late. Girlfriend."

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone on the roof with shaking legs and the terrible realization of what I've just done. I've made a deal with the devil himself, and something tells me he always collects his due.