Wild Reckless

“No,” I say back, my response clipped and short on purpose. He doesn’t like it when I talk to him this way. I can tell because he stutters on his feet a little, like he’s not used to someone being so blunt with him.

“Hit me,” he says, and now I’m the one falling on my feet.

“Are you nuts?” I ask, and his brother chuckles behind him.

“Haven’t you heard, Kensi? We’re all fucking nuts. Harper boys are all fucked up in the head,” Andrew says. Owen is quick with his reach, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and jerking him slightly. Andrew continues to laugh lightly, but he straightens up fast and starts to kick at the driveway, moving toward the truck and away from Owen and me.

“I’m being serious. Hit me. You need to feel something,” Owen says, stepping a little closer—a little too close—to me.

“Owen, I don’t want to hit you,” I say, letting out a long breath and feeling my arms tingle in fear at the thought of doing something so…so...violent.

“Yes you do,” he says, taking another step, his chest now completely blocking my view of his brother.

“No, I don’t,” I say, shoving him off balance. He steps back quickly with one foot and looks down to his feet, his lip curling on the corner into that smile again, and soon his feet are back where they were, his eyes wide and intensely looking at my face.

“You sure about that?” he asks, moving an inch or two closer, close enough that I notice the scent of his shampoo, his cologne, and the way I remember the inside of his truck smelling.

“What are you, in fight club or something?” I tease, trying to bring lightness to the most awkward and heavy conversation I’ve ever had with a boy.

“Something like that,” he says, stepping nearer. “Go on, Ken Doll. Hit me. You want to, and it will feel soooooo good.”

He’s so close that I feel the tickle of his breath now. His brother is still close enough that I know he’s watching him lure me, and I wonder how normal this behavior is. His right hand reaches to my shoulder, pulling a wave of my hair into his fingers, and he twists it slowly, his eyes moving from his hands to my lips and back again.

“Come on, Ken Doll. Hit me,” he says, practically a whisper. He brings his mouth lower to my neck, his hand pulling the wave of hair back until it falls from his fingers completely.

He reaches in again, sweeping a pile of my hair out of his way, his eyes daring mine, that wicked look growing stronger until I can no longer see them, his mouth and nose lost under my chin, his lips almost touching me. I haven’t breathed since he started this game.

“Are you…afraid? I won’t hit you back. I don’t do that,” he says softly against my ear, my body now covered in shivers, but my legs holding strong, fighting against the pounding in my chest. “Or…would you rather I kiss you? Maybe that would be better, help you…forget. I bet you’ve never been kissed before. Virgin. Ken Doll, my little virgin.”

With swift force, I bend my elbow and bring my fist into Owen’s lower stomach—close enough to his crotch to make him question everything he thinks he knows about me, to make him second guess his assumption that I’m weak. I’m lost, but I’m not weak. When he starts coughing, backing away from me with his arms wrapped around his stomach, he starts to laugh, and I begin to think that Owen Harper might actually be crazy.

“Thata girl,” he says, standing with his hands along his back, bending forward and back, trying to work out the damage I did to him. “You feel better?”

“I feel like you’re an asshole,” I say, igniting a new round of laughter from Andrew.

“You’re right about that, Kensi. My brother’s a real asshole,” he says, coming closer so he can mock his brother. “Dude, she laid you out. You a’right, man? Swallow a nut?”

Owen pushes his brother back a few steps, then coughs a few more times. “I’m fine, douchebag,” he says, then brings his focus back to me. “Let me ask you again. Do you feel better?”

His smile is gone, his mouth tight, in a flat line. His eyes penetrating me completely, and I keep my focus on him as I consider this, think about his words, and ask myself with my inner voice: Do I feel better? Absolutely not.

“No,” I say quickly, my eyes drifting to his chin, to his neck, and then his chest. What felt better was having him close, smelling him, thinking he might actually put his lips on mine, that he might touch me. Thinking he might actually want me in a way that I’ve never been wanted is what felt good—more than good.