29. Maren

I'm taking a picture with Willow, and Locke called me his girlfriend.

I'm not even sure which one I should be freaking out about more.

Locke called me his girlfriend . I don't think he's said that word since he was a teenager. And I doubt he even said it much back then.

When I wake up tomorrow morning, the internet will be right for the first time in months. But whatever opinions they formed about me before won't change.

I'll never get any chance to explain myself, and if I did, they wouldn't care anyway. It'd probably have the opposite effect and dig myself into a deeper hole.

The fleeting moments where I think I should put myself first always get overridden.

One night. I'm going to give myself one night.

"Dance with me," I tell Locke when the photographer finishes her mini photo shoot.

Willow and Tripp fall back into their seats, voices hushed, smiles playing around on their lips. Both of them enjoying each other. And they probably deserve some time because they probably have very busy schedules .

Locke narrows an eye as his hand glides down my back and stops to rest on the top curve of my ass. "And what if I don't dance?"

"I don't give a shit."

When I drop my face into mock surprise, a low hum comes from his chest. A smirk crosses his face without his lips moving. His eyes spark then go black again. "That was so sexy," he rumbles, picking me up an inch off my feet.

"Locke," I giggle as he floats me to the dance floor.

"I have an internal crisis every time you do that, because I love it when you push back." His voice lowers, and it travels across my skin like tires on gravel. "But then I just want to push you even harder to your knees and fuck that bratty mouth until you gag around me."

My breath catches in my lungs. Or they just forget how to work. My pussy is in overdrive though, the thong Locke dressed me in dampening.

We stare at each other, mind-reading.

The band is in the middle of one of those songs you can choose to slow dance to or break out in full awkward body quivering.

Locke takes charge as soon as I'm back on my feet, pulling me flush against him. His left hand wraps all the way around my torso and rests on my upper rib cage. His right hand takes mine and nestles it against his chest.

"You feel incredible," he breathes.

God. I'm putty. And he knows it. I'd follow him to the ends of the Earth just to hear him compliment me. And degrade me. It's quite a welcome mindfuck.

Locke treads that fine line between telling me how he actually feels and making me wet while he does it so freaking well. This little game we're playing, I don't stand a chance. But he's right. Either way, I win.

He nudges his nose against my cheek. "Are you winning?"

I curve my body into his and nod. He's quickly hardening against my leg.

"Both of us are. "

"Fuck, I wish I could feel how wet you are. I want that sexy little thong you have on as a trophy later." He pulls me against him harder. "Now, you want to dance. We're going to dance."

He smells like fresh air and leather, like his sheets and his couch and his clothes. His whole damn house. My whole damn house.

And then he leads.

"You can dance?"

"Can and do are very different things, Maren," he muses. "For instance, I can dance well, I just don't. I can make jokes. I can smile. I can be sweet… in my own way. I can drive people around and let them rent my house. I just don't." Locke kisses my forehead. "Except for you."

His words drop in my heart, settle at the bottom, and start fizzing.

Why me? sits on the tip of my tongue. What'd I do to get so lucky? But some things probably aren't worth asking. Some things you can never explain—they just happen to you. And sometimes the why me? is even a good thing—a great thing—but you're still left wondering if you deserve it.

So, I repeat softly, "Except for me," and I like the sound of it.

One scrunch of my nose gets him to smile.

"I love your freckles," he whispers.

"I love your dimples," I whisper back.

We fall into the rhythm, swaying back and forth with the occasional turn. Locke holds me just tight enough to control my body movements, and it's only us and the cadence of our breathing against each other's chests.

One song turns into two, and I never want this night to end, but eventually the band stops playing, they announce the bidding will start in ten minutes, and I need to pee.

When I open the bathroom door, I'm met with a cold white marble foyer.

The stall doors around the corner are those heavy wood that go all the way to the floor so you can't see if it's occupied or not.

Try number one and two are unsuccessful, but three is unlocked. As soon as I shut the door, muffled laughter echoes across the marble walls. I freeze when I hear "…Maren…" or Erin or Karen.

I press my forehead against the door when I hear Locke's name… or lock?

One girly voice says, "How do you think she managed that?"

"I've been eye fucking him for years. Never got so much as a reaction," another voice says with a laugh.

"You eye fuck everyone," a third joins in.

"Russ said she has no backbone. I wonder what Locke is getting out of it," the first voice says, who I now realize is Lydia.

On instinct, I straighten my back and drop my shoulders away from my ears, like I'm trying to prove to myself she's wrong.

The second girl I can't place. "Everyone's obsessed with them."

"Or hates them," Lydia adds.

The definition of the internet.

"No one hates you. Your little stunt didn't even make it on TV," number two laughs. "She was sitting with Willow. I want to be Maren or her best friend."

"You both sound like you just want something from her, and you don't even know her. She's the nicest person I've ever met," the third girl says with conviction. It's Allie, Russell's best friend's wife and high school sweetheart. "And they look really happy. Some things just happen, and it's not our business. Leave them alone."

"You're no fun."

"Or I know what it's like," Allie counters, "and she only has you to thank, Lydia."

"I should've just gone after Locke," Lydia jokes. "Maybe he'll break up with her soon."

"Since when does that stop you?" unknown girl quips back.

"You two are impossible," Allie sighs.

I sigh.

I'll never escape this. And I can't hide in this bathroom stall .

If Locke and Russ are kings, then I'm the queen—and the queen does what she wants, goes where she wants. I have all the control, even when I feel unworthy of anything, even when I'm the most vulnerable at the same time. I've always been in control, but I've allowed others to hold power over me constantly. And I need to stop letting life happen to me.

The handle clicks when I open the door, and as I step into the sink area, Lydia and I make eye contact in the mirror.

Her eyes go so wide she almost stabs herself with her mascara brush.

"Hey, Allie," I smile, stepping up to the free sink.

She smiles back and defeatedly shrugs, understanding passing between us. After I'm done washing my hands, I tear a paper towel from the dispenser and look over at Lydia.

"Allie's right," I say. "Thank you."

Lydia just watches me with stunned eyes as I walk out the door.

Around the corner, Locke almost knocks me over.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Do you want to talk about how I called you my girlfriend? I shouldn't have just said that out of nowhere. I'm sorry."

I soothe Locke's worried frown with my finger. "I'm great, and I'm not worried about it at all. I feel the same way," I say, standing on my tiptoes to hug his neck. He relaxes against me, his anxiety physically lessening. "I do wish I wasn't in this long dress so I could climb you, though."

"If you want to wrap your legs around me, all you have to do is ask nicely," he growls, his voice coarse with lust.

I match his tone. "What if I don't want to be nice, boyfriend ?" Locke blinks, adjusting to the word, then smirks. "Is that your kink?" I ask. "Being dominated?"

"No, not really," he answers. "But I think anything can be my kink with you. Tell me what you want."

"Good." I smile. "Because I was thinking… I want to tie you down."

His groan echoes in the empty hallway. "Apparently, I want you to tie me down."

"And I want to blast Our Secret Cove on the way home."

Locke's eyebrows crease. "What?"

"Willow's song," I tell him, exasperated.

He laughs. "Anything you want."

High heels clack toward us, and Locke's eyes flicker over my shoulder where Allie, Lydia, and Locke's eye-fucker must have appeared.

Maybe she's eye-fucking him now, but his gaze doesn't stray from my face for over a second.

He kisses me below my ear. "What's that about?"

"Nothing," I say breathily as his tongue swipes over my skin and creates goosebumps down my arms. "Or nothing that I really care about. Besides, I'm happy. You make me happy."