Hold You Against Me by Skye Warren

boys at the art school, but they’re usually more interested in having me pose for them than actually dating. Shane made me feel desirable, coveted—at least until he started to change.
    I don’t answer her and instead paste on a smile for the guys. We’re on the edge of campus, and the streets are still busy with students walking home after late-night study sessions or heading to a club. Light rain mists the air, leaving a sheen on everyone’s skin.
    Shane grins at me as he gets close, all swagger and sweaty male. A certain appreciation sweeps through me, but it feels detached, the way I’d view a beautiful piece of art.
    “Hey, babe,” he says with a sloppy kiss.
    I hide my wince. Definitely drunk. “How was practice?”
    “Killer. Coach made us lap the stadium ten fucking times.” He grabs me around the waist, and I stumble against the pull of him. “But I’m feeling no pain now.”
    A grin tugs at my lips. “I bet you’re not.”
    “We’re heading over to Club X. Come with us.”
    Two blocks down is the clubbing district. Party Row, it’s called. The clubs open up in warehouses with cheap couches and heavy beats, only to get shut down a few months later, usually related to drugs or sex work. Club X is the latest hot spot, which means Shane wants to go all the time.
    I look down at my clothes, a tank top and jeans. Sandals. No makeup. “I’m not really dressed for it.”
    He pulls me close, his hands wrapping around my ass. I squirm because his friends are totally watching. “Shane,” I whisper.
    His lips are close to mine. “Go back to your place and get dressed. I’ll watch.”
    Unease twists my stomach, along with guilt I don’t want to examine too closely. “Amy will come with me. You go ahead with the guys.”
    Shane might be a jock, but he’s not stupid. He knows a rejection when he hears one. His lips firm. He tightens his hands on my hips, and for a tense moment, I think he’s going to do something crazy, something violent, right here in front of everyone. His impatience has been getting stronger, his temper more extreme. Always in the privacy of a dark corner or his apartment on the rare occasion I visit him.
    Always followed by an apology and a promise never to do it again.
    “Hurry,” he says finally, his voice sharp. “You don’t want to miss all the fun.”
    Then he’s gone in a swirl of testosterone, the raucous laughter of his teammates bouncing off the stately brick facades of university buildings.
    We stand in silence, watching them go, until they round the corner at the end of the block, their shouts melting into the persistent clamor of Party Row. Even two blocks away you can almost feel the bass in the concrete beneath us, the sex and the glitter and the casual expectations.
    “You okay?” Amy asks quietly.
    I haven’t been okay in years. Not since the night my sister and I went on the run. Not since the boy I loved gave up his life so we would be safe. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    She frowns. “I don’t like the way he looked at you.”
    “He’s drunk.”
    “And you’re making excuses.” There’s a pause, dark with speculation. “Are you still holding out on him?”
    There’s that shame again, but for all the wrong reasons. Shane and I have been dating for months. I’ve let him get to second base, but we haven’t had sex. This isn’t freaking middle school. Who does that?
    I do, apparently. He would be humiliated if his teammates found out.
    I’m just not ready to give up my virginity. Not when you saved it for him.
    Which is crazy, because the boy of my teenage fantasies is dead. Shane is alive and so very willing.
    “We’ll do it soon,” I say, but that sounds like a lie.
    A small part of me feels guilty for stringing Shane along.
    Most of me feels guilty for even considering having sex with anyone who isn’t Giovanni.
    “Oh, Clara.” There’s a wealth of meaning in those two words. I don’t think you should be with him. Doesn’t it