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What Happens in Salem

Sunday's life hits turbulent waters as she rolls into her senior year. Perfect student. Cheerleader. Popular - her senior year was gearing up to be one for the record books until tragedy struck in her hometown of Salem, Massachusettes. Consumed with grief, she loses herself completely, but even loss comes with a price. Oakley has just moved to Salem and Sunday draws his attention immediately. Is it her grief, her popularity, or something else about her that has caught Oakley's eye? Is there something more to this sexy confident guy who has all the girls drooling? In a town full of secrets, both Oakley and Sunday are harboring their fair share. This story may contain dark themes not suitable for all readers. It is a spin-off of my book Nothing Dies in the South, which takes place in New Orleans. You don't need to read that series first, but this may include some cross-over characters, and takes place in the same universe.

TayeSteele · Fantasi
Peringkat tidak cukup
35 Chs

Vīgintī Sex

-Sunday-

"Well, obviously, I think we should get a keg," Veronica muses aloud as we're funneling through the locker room doors on our way out to the field for cheer practice.

"Of course, you think we should get a keg. It's not at your house," I admonish, albeit playfully. Truth be told, I had already planned on getting a keg. Things were a little awkward when I had to ask Chad's best friend to see if his brother could make a supply run for us. I suppose I could have asked Oakley, considering the fact that he is old enough, but I guess my mind hasn't quite wrapped itself around that concept just yet.

When I had asked Rick, he was all too happy to comply, as long as I was willing to put in a good word with Poe for him. I had half expected that Brock would have spun a colorful retelling of why we're not together any longer and painted me as the wicked witch of the tale. To be fair, I am. Literally.

No, he had just decided to tell everyone that he was just trying to get his dick wet with his ex. The whispers I've heard curling through the hallways are that he was successful. And honestly, I wish I could find it in myself to give a fuck. Let the rumor mill run wild with my torrid affair in the high school parking lot. It doesn't really mean anything in the grand scheme of things. The rest of the student body still seems more concerned about my motorcycle and the change in my personal styling options. I'm counting the days until people start saying I'm part of a gang and running drugs like my father did before me. Not that he actually did, but that was the general consensus of the PTA moms. There's nothing quite the rumor mill in the drop-off line at the elementary school. Nothing but gossip and lies wrapped up in varying pairs of lululemon leggings.

As long as no one starts circulating the truth, I think I'll be just fine.

The sound of tennis shoes slapping against the pavement grew louder until a sudden weight was thrown on my back as Poe wrapped her arms and legs around me- the sudden weight combined with her momentum almost sent the two of us tumbling to the ground in a tangle of pom poms and spankies. "Holy shit, I almost dropped you! How are we going to win state if you and I meet our untimely demise walking to the field all because you needed a piggyback ride?!"

Poe jumped off my back, laughing as she fell in step beside us. "I think it would be a great way to go, honestly."

I find my eyes wandering over to settle on Poe and the warm smile that is crawling across her face. My eyes narrow. "What's got into you today? You seem all…peppy."

She shrugs. "Nothing, really. I just had a decent morning. Got all my early admissions paperwork in at the schools I'm interested in," she trails off swaying her shoulders as she goes.

I rake my gaze over her, noticing that her general cold demeanor is absent. It's not that Poe is a bitch– I mean, she is, but not any more than the rest of us. She just chooses not to let herself get carried away with what people expect of her. She is candid to a fault and everyone knows it. Both Veronica and I stopped asking for her opinion unless we were prepared for some harsh criticisms and the rest of the student body has as well. She's stern, unforgiving, and rarely smiles anything more than a creepy beauty queen impersonation of a toothpaste commercial. I watch her for another minute before deciding not to push. If she wanted to talk about it I gave her the perfect opportunity.

"So, this is me, putting in a good word with you about Ric," I say pointedly as we all find a spot on the lawn and toss our pom poms down before sitting ourselves and beginning the arduous process of stretching out.

"Let me guess, he's the one that's been tasked with booze for the party?" she asks, stretching her legs into the center splits before walking her hands down between her legs. I snort in response. She knows the drill.

"It's senior year, don't you think you should let the dude down softly?" Veronica asks, her brows pinching together, "I mean, he's been chasing you since freshman year."

Poe chuffs a laugh but doesn't answer the question outright. Rick has had a crush on her since before freshman year. When we were in elementary school he used to put two valentines in her box every year. Somehow I'm the only one that noticed it stopped being a one-off after third grade. Poe knows how he feels about her, and she's played it to her advantage more than once. It's not that she does it unkindly. He knows that she isn't really into him so his adoration is more in jest than anything else these days. Still, she's never told him outright yes or no one way or the other. The poor guy must see his window of opportunity closing and he's attempting to slide through the opening like some high school Harrison Ford. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rooting for him.

"I dunno, I think I might let him take me on a date this year. Reward him for his years of dedicated service."

Veronica and Poe are caught up in laughter, while I watch across the field, finding Oakley with his helmet under his arm as he talks to a girl I've never seen before on the other side of the field. Her hand is on his arm and she's giving him "fuck me" eyes from beneath her lashes.

"Who is that?" I ask, motioning in the general direction of where the bitch is standing. Both Poe and Ronnie draw their attention to where Oakley is standing, pressing their hand like a visor over the eyes to block out the mid-afternoon sun.

"I've never seen her before," Veronica spits, irritation plain in her tone. I'm not sure if she's jealous on my behalf or if she's just plain jealous. I look to Poe to find her shrugging with a deep frown and a shrug.

I continue watching the exchange, hungry for an answer and drawing increasingly absurd conclusions about who she is to Oakley and where the hell she came from.

As though he could feel my eyes on him, Oakley sends a glance in my direction, before maneuvering his body so that he's standing between me and the girl with perfectly pert tits and long black shampoo commercial hair. I feel rather than hear the low growl that rumbles in my chest. "Poe, can't we like… make her louder or something?"

"Probably. But even if we could we're not going to. I think this is one of those situations that can be resolved without calling upon the powers of the Gods." She's raising one brow at me in an admonishing fashion, but I know she understands where I'm coming from.

"How do we do that?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Well, there's this thing called communication. Mankind has been doing it for years. You should try asking him." My eyes roll so hard that I fear that I've sprained a muscle in the process. She's right, of course. I've caught myself looking at life through a different lens since I learned about magic. I approach every problem wondering if I could solve it with a spell or my abilities. I let my mind wander over the possibilities all during English. Mrs. Morrissey had to call for my attention several times, eliciting muffled laughter from my fellow students.

I can't help but wonder if magic was something I was raised with, if would I just treat it like another sense? It would be so common in my everyday experiences that I wouldn't feel tempted to do every little thing with a wave of my hand and a few phrases uttered in Latin.

"Is he coming to the party?" Veronica asks, pushing herself up from standing and brushing the grass from the back of her shorts- drawing me from my thoughts of a past that was lost to me long ago.

I exhale deeply. "Not if he's going to bring Angelina Jolie over there," I mutter disingenuously.

Poe barely suppresses a snort. "I don't think she looks like Angelina Jolie, Sunday."

"I know, I just couldn't come up with anyone with long black hair and a great ass on the fly so I panicked." Despite the ache blooming in my chest eerie time I find my eyes wandering back to the other side of the field, my friends break into a fit of laughter, taking me with them.

"Jesus Christ, Sunday. Let's work off that mood or you're going to be too pissy to talk to him about it after practice," Ronnie says, pushing me to go with Poe to where the other girls are starting to gather having finished their own stretches.

"Ladies!" Ronnie says, clapping, "Let's get this show on the road."