TWO

"I hate school, I hate school, I hate school," Belle muttered as she slammed the passenger door of my minivan.

I watched her face crumple, those pale green eyes—normally dancing with mischief—now clouded with hurt. When Mother had offered to buy me any car for my sixteenth birthday, I'd chosen this practical minivan. The moment of clarity in her eyes when she saw me drive all the BTC girls to the beach almost made up for her perpetual absence.

"What's wrong?" I asked, turning to Belle with genuine concern. "Everything seemed fine at lunch."

Belle's scowl deepened as she stared through the windshield. Several strands of strawberry-blonde hair had escaped her ponytail, framing her face in a way that highlighted both her vulnerability and beauty. "Darryl," she spat, the single word dripping with venom.

The name struck me like lightning. Without hesitation, I unbuckled and moved to the middle bench beside her. I placed my hand on her shoulder, feeling the fine tremor running through her body.

That simple touch was all it took. The fortress of her anger crumbled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She slipped into my lap with a heart-wrenching sob. I pulled her against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine despite our height difference. I pressed my lips to her temple, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her vanilla shampoo.

"Talk to me," I finally murmured against her hair.

"Darryl's an asshole," she whispered hoarsely.

"I figured. What did he do?" Darryl was the boy Belle had been avoiding mentioning to her father. Last weekend at the mall, the attraction between them had been electric, making my stomach clench with an emotion I refused to name.

Belle nestled closer, her breath warm against my neck. "Why do boys have to all be sex-obsessed bastards?"

"They're called hormones. Come standard with puberty," I replied with a half-smile. "I thought you took AP Bio."

Belle snorted, choking slightly on a laugh. I reached for tissues, watching as she blew her nose before settling back against me. Her weight on my lap was both achingly familiar and dangerously distracting.

"Did he do anything that requires me to kick his ass?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous timbre. "I did promise your dad I'd pound his face in." My blood ran cold. "Did he touch you?"

"No, nothing like that," Belle quickly assured me.

She sighed heavily. "Matty... does it bother you when we all tease you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

I did. As the only guy in our friend group, I'd been their willing testing ground for years. Six teenage girls exploring their feminine power with me as their captive audience. They touched me constantly—testing boundaries and gauging reactions.

Yet I'd never crossed the line. Not once had I grabbed an offered ass or touched a tantalizingly close breast without invitation. The girls trusted me because I was Matty, the "safe" guy who respected boundaries even when they pushed mine to the breaking point.

"You know I don't mind," I told her honestly, my voice rougher than intended. "I love it."

"But don't you ever wish we would let you do more?" Belle turned further in my lap, creating a friction that made my jaw clench. My gaze involuntarily dropped to where her blouse had fallen open, revealing her tank top and the curve of her breasts. Noticing my attention, she arched her back slightly, deliberately offering a better view.

"Of course I do," I admitted, forcing my eyes back to her face. "You're all incredibly beautiful, and beneath all my restraint, I'm just as much of a sex-obsessed bastard as Darryl."

"No, you're not," she countered. "How many times have I sat in your lap just like this?"

"More times than I can count."

"And how many times have you grabbed my ass?"

"Never."

Belle reached up to caress my cheek, turning my face until our lips were mere inches apart. "Do you wish you could grab my ass?"

"Yes," I answered, my voice hoarse with honesty.

"Do you wish you could touch my breasts?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish you could throw me down across my bed and make love to me until we're both breathless?"

"Jesus, Belle." I pulled back slightly, my heart hammering against my chest.

"Do you?" she persisted, her voice barely audible.

"You're like my sister, B."

"But do you?"

"No," I insisted. "I don't."

Belle flinched as if I'd struck her. "You don't?"

"I think of you as a sister."

"We're not related, Matty," she pointed out, a flush creeping up her neck.

"And you admitted you want to touch me. That's hardly brotherly."

"You're beautiful. I'd be blind not to notice. But—"

"But you don't want me?" she pressed, vulnerability naked in her eyes.

"You're my Annabelle. That's a line I can't cross. Not with you."

"Not me," she repeated quietly. "But you fantasize about the others, don't you? Sam, Neevie, Zofi."

"Yes."

"Alice, Mari."

"Yes."

"But not me?"

"Belle, please."

"You could touch me right now," she offered, taking my hand and placing it on her waist. "I wouldn't stop you."

"Belle." My fingers twitched against the warm skin where her shirt had ridden up.

"Okay, okay. It's because I'm short, isn't it?"

I laughed despite myself. "No, you're beautiful and incredibly sexy. I just can't let myself think of you that way."

"But if I was a stranger you'd just met?"

"I'd want to take you home and discover every inch of you," I admitted, my voice rough with desire.

Looking slightly mollified, she wrapped her arm around my neck and brushed her lips softly against mine in a kiss that lingered longer than usual. I felt her tongue trace my lower lip briefly before she pulled away.

"What does all this have to do with Darryl?" I asked when I could trust my voice again.

Belle sighed. "After our last meeting went so well, I thought he'd ask me out today."

"But he didn't?"

"At the mall, he couldn't take his eyes off me. Today, nothing. I finally found him after school, but when I said hi, he pulled me into a corner and said I was cute, but that he wanted a 'mature' relationship. When I asked what that meant, he admitted he'd heard I was a girl who 'wouldn't put out.'"

My jaw clenched. "You're serious?"

"I told him I was waiting for the right person. He said everyone knows the BTC are all tease and no follow-through, and he didn't want to waste his time."

"Belle..." I sighed, cradling her face between my hands and pressing my forehead to hers.

She sniffled but took a steadying breath. "He probably did me a favor. Better I know now that he's just another jock looking to add me to his list."

"That IS true," I agreed softly. "And remarkably mature of you."

"Then why does it hurt so much?"

"Rejection always does."

"You seem to handle it just fine every day."

I pulled back, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't that what it feels like when one of us pushes you to the edge but never lets you cross over? Rejection?"

I shook my head. "No, not at all."

"Then what DOES it feel like?"

"It feels like a beautiful woman trusts me enough to explore her sexuality with me. She knows I'll never betray that trust, no matter how much I might ache to do more."

"I do trust you, Matty. More than anyone."

Our eyes locked, and something electric passed between us. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine crossing that line—pulling her closer, claiming her mouth with mine, hands exploring every curve I'd only admired from a distance.

Then the moment passed, and Belle wrapped her arms around me, nestling her head against my shoulder. I held her close, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow to match mine.

"It's only the first day. The whole gang will be at my house soon. Let's go home."

Belle stayed in my embrace. When she finally looked up, her eyes held a question I wasn't ready to answer. She leaned forward, and I gave her another kiss, deeper this time, my hand tangling in her hair, holding her close for several heartbeats longer than I should have.

She reluctantly returned to the passenger seat. "Why can't other guys be more like you?"

I shrugged, forcing lightheartedness into my voice. "Sorry. I'm one of a kind." As I started the engine, I couldn't help wondering what might have happened if, just once, I had crossed that invisible line between us.