Robin Wasserman - Envy

“And no more of this stalking nonsense. I don’t want you showing up in my classroom, in my bar, at my house-we meet when I say, where I say. I don’t like surprises.”

Kaia gave him a slow, simmering smile.

“Then you’re going to hate me.”

His face remained frozen. “Are we agreed?”

“Completely.”

“You break the rules, and we end this,” he warned her. “Immediately. I’m not some horny teenager who’s so desperate to get some that I’m willing to throw my life away.”

Could have fooled me , Kaia thought, wondering-not for the first time-what had brought a man like that to a town like this.

But if he wanted to believe he was in control, that was just fine with her.

“Your wish is my command, Jack .”

“In that case, what are you waiting for?”

She took a step toward him, tilting her head up as if to seal the deal with a kiss, but he backed away and shook his head.

“Not out here,” he chided her. “Never where people can see.” He swung the door open a bit wider and stepped aside, ushering her in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

No matter, she could wait. For another minute or two, at least. And then, she thought, pausing in the doorway and marveling at his cocky good looks and the sizzling current of sexual tension flowing between them-then all bets were off.

She stepped inside the house, and Powell slammed the door shut behind her.

Waiting time was over.

The next day they met at dusk.

When Kane pulled up in his silver Camaro, Adam was already on the court. He’d arrived a half hour before and had spent the time running up and down the length of the court, slamming the ball into the cool concrete, sinking shot after shot. Warming up. Practicing. Kane, he knew, had called him out here for a friendly game of ball. Nice and easy. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Adam slammed the ball against the backboard. Nice and easy. Story of Kane’s life. You want something? You take it. Just like that. Kane, who got good grades without studying. Who had every girl chasing after him despite being an unapologetically sexist pig. Who was the best basketball player in town despite the fact that he was too lazy to practice, too above it all to join the team.

He won everything, always-every game, every argument, every girl.

And all without even trying.

Adam slammed the ball again, harder.

Not this time. Everyone had to lose sometime. Everyone.

The game started off slow. Friendly. Nice and easy. But then Kane scored. And scored again.

And Adam began to simmer. And the angrier he got, the harder he tried, the harder he gripped the ball, the harder he threw it. What should have been a smoothly arced two-pointer became a spasmodic air ball; what should have been an easy layup bounced off the rim. And every time, Kane grabbed the rebound.

He shot.

He scored.

“Dude, what's up with you today? You’re playing like a girl,” Kane taunted him.

Adam ran past his opponent, giving him a hard shove with his left shoulder and grabbing the ball as Kane fell backward.

He shot and, finally, scored.

And it felt good.

“And your problem is…?” Kane asked, picking himself up off the ground.

“No problem,” Adam replied, suddenly whipping the ball toward Kane, whose lightening fast reflexes caught it just before it smashed into his nose.

“Hey, watch the face-I’m nothing if I’m not pretty.”

“Tell me about it,” Adam growled.

“Oh, I get it,” Kane said, dribbling down the court with swift, sure movements.

“Get what?” Adam asked irritably.

He lunged for the ball, but Kane veered away, faking left, then cutting right as Adam’s hands swiped uselessly at the empty air.

“You’re tired of always coming in second,” Kane said, tossing in another basket. “You’re always the runner-up, I’m always the champ. You’re tired of being a loser.”

It was nothing more than their standard trash talk. They always did it. You got a rise out of your opponent, put him off his game. Kane, to be sure, had made a science of it-and used the same technique off the court to keep his opponents equally off balance. Today shouldn’t have been different from any other day, but it was. Today Adam just wasn’t in the mood.

“Shut up,” he snapped, grabbing the ball away and dribbling it down the court. Kane hounded him, but Adam knocked him off balance again, this time with a sharp jab in the stomach.

Kane dropped to the ground with a soft sigh, as if all the air had been let out of him, and Adam raced for the basket with a spurt of renewed, righteous energy. His path was clear, his mind was clear, and the basket lay straight ahead.

He got into position, readied the ball on his fingertips, imagining its perfect three-point arc ending in a nearly silent swoosh .

“By the way,” Kane said nonchalantly, still on the ground where Adam had left him. “If I see your girlfriend tonight, should I tell her you say hello?”

Air ball.

After the basketball game ended-rather abruptly-Kane rushed home to shower and change, then drove right back to school. He met Kaia and Harper in front of the dark building, their figures illuminated by the low-watt yellowish lights. Kane pulled out his key-he had keys for almost every door in town-and they slipped inside.

There was always something about being in the school after hours, after dark. An illicit thrill, the undercurrent of tension and excitement-the possibility of getting caught. The halls that were so familiar and oppressive during the day transformed into a dark, shadowy no-man’s-land for them to explore.

It made no sense-sneaking into school would likely get them into no more trouble than sneaking out of it, which all three of them did on a regular basis. But there was still something there-an unspoken feeling that just by being there at this hour, alone in the dark, they had somehow taken ownership of a side of the school its true owners had never known.

Of course, in a sense, they owned the school during the daylight hours too-so it wasn’t a big leap of the imagination.

They crept down the hallway, single file, keeping an eye out for the janitor. Kane went first, leading the way, unable to stop dwelling on the game. It had been so easy to get a rise out of Adam-it was the kind of thing he did best. A skill that had always made him proud. At least in the past.

Next came Kaia, silently marveling at the excitement and nervous energy churning in her stomach, despite the fact that this little caper was far tamer than many she’d successfully pulled off on the East Coast. Maybe it had something to do with the night before-the touch of Jack Powell’s body had lit up something inside of her, something that had lain dormant for a long time.

And finally, Harper. Decked out in trespassing haute couture (black faux cashmere sweater, dark jeans, Sketchers sneakers in place of her usual heels, the better for softly padding through the empty halls). She gripped the bag holding Kane’s digital camera tightly. Things were going so smoothly, so perfectly-was something about to happen to screw everything up? Or should she just accept that the universe was on her side, guiding her toward an inescapable destiny?

Kane led them to the girls’ locker room, unlocked the door, and flicked on the lights. They squinted in the sudden brightness, then got down to business. Harper pointed out Beth’s locker-it probably wouldn’t matter much on the small screen, but they’d agreed that the backgrounds should match as exactly as possible.

Then Kaia took the camera and Harper stripped off her shirt-her height and body type were closest to Beth’s, and again, they’d agreed this was best. She unbuttoned her jeans, but then paused.