C2 Chapter 2

Seventeen is a weird, agonizing limbo. You get a full 365 days of being completely caught in the middle—way too old to be treated like a kid, but legally useless as an adult. I can't cast a ballot, I can't step foot in a club, and the guy at the gas station won't even sell me a lottery ticket, let alone a drink. Because our tiny town is a twenty-minute haul from the city where the local college and any semblance of a social scene are located, we usually just rot right here.

Unsurprisingly, Sabrina and I ended up occupying the big circular booth at Taco Bell every single afternoon after the final bell. Today, the literal first day of our post-high-school lives, was no different. It’s the prime real estate in the joint—the only table massive enough for both of us to claim our own space and plug in our dying phones. It’s where we usually suffer through homework during happy hour, surviving on dollar drinks and the free tacos hooked up by the painfully awkward cashier. It’s a flawless setup.

Well, except for when Sabrina brings her flavor-of-the-month boyfriend, who is currently far more interested in eating her face than eating his burrito.

To make matters worse, Charles Daniels considered himself a true gentleman, so he dragged his singular friend along to save me from being the ultimate third wheel.

Ivan slid into the tight booth right next to me, flashing a smug grin. Without missing a beat, he draped his arm along the back of the seat behind my head, dropped a casual hand onto my thigh, and pressed a brief, distracting kiss against my neck. Right on cue, Claude, the blonde cashier, walked over to slide our tray of food onto the table. He offered me a timid, hesitant smile, and I shot one right back.

"Eyes on your own paper, Green," Ivan muttered, marking his territory.

Claude’s face instantly flushed a violent shade of red. He mumbled an apology to his sneakers and practically bolted back to the registers.

"I am not your property, Ivan," I snapped, turning to face him.

"Do we really have to do this routine every single day?" Ivan asked. He reached into the inner lining of his leather jacket, pulling out a battered silver flask. He unscrewed the cap with an obnoxious twist, took a heavy swig, and tucked it right back away.

"It would be great if you stopped terrifying every guy who looks in my direction."

"Please tell me you wouldn't actually consider going out with Claude Green."

I glanced over at the counter. Claude was currently ringing up an elderly customer, staring intently at the screen. When the cash drawer suddenly popped open, it slammed directly into his stomach. Ivan let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the entire restaurant. Claude kept his head down, looking thoroughly mortified, while Charles and Sabrina finally detached from each other, both of their mouths looking red and thoroughly kissed. Charles rolled his eyes, a small smirk escaping his lips.

I jabbed my elbow hard into Ivan's ribs. He just turned to me, arching a single dark eyebrow.

"Want to know how that scenario actually plays out?" he asked.

"Not even a little bit."

Naturally, he ignored me. "Here’s what happens: Claude finally gathers the courage to ask you out, and you say yes purely out of pity. Since it’s his first real date, the poor kid is completely out of his depth. He doesn't know where to take you, so he defaults to a predictable dinner-and-a-movie setup. He’ll let you do all the talking because he’s terrified of rambling about himself, completely losing his mind because he’s sitting across from a beautiful girl. Then comes the theater dynamic. He’ll agonize over whether to pick a chick flick or a horror movie. He’s terrified a romance movie makes him look soft, but a scary movie means he might end up jumping into your lap. So he picks the romance, pretending he did it entirely for you. Meanwhile, you spend the next two hours stuffing your face with popcorn just to give him zero opportunity to make a move in the back row. The movie ends, he takes your clammy hand, and guides you back to his absolute disaster of a car to drive you home. You sit in excruciating silence in your driveway until you politely tell him it was a nice night. He leans in for a kiss, you pivot at the last second, and he gets nothing but cheek. He feels utterly rejected, starts sweating, and you sprint into your house. How close am I?"

"You really love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" I muttered.

I didn't actually deny a single word of it, mostly because his hyper-specific prediction was entirely accurate, and I loathed him for being right. Claude was sweet, but in a harmless, puppy-dog kind of way. He was far too awkward to survive a two-hour conversation with. Definitely not my type. Then again, my actual type usually left my heart in pieces, so maybe a change of pace wouldn't kill me. What harm could one pity date do?

"You know I'm dead on," Ivan whispered. He shifted his weight to face me entirely, his long fingers gently sweeping a stray lock of brown hair behind my ear.

Back in our freshman year, that simple gesture would have had my heart doing backflips—and for a long time, it did. But after four years of navigating this bizarre, unlabelled game of ours, I’d grown numb to his casual affection. I was entirely used to the heavy arm slung across my shoulders, the gentle fingers on my face, and his hand resting on my skin. What I would never get used to, though, was the absolute gravity of his attention. The way he looked straight into my eyes, as if he could read every single hidden thought. It was incredibly unsettling.

Living in a suffocatingly small town has its perks—namely, every face is a familiar one. But the downside is massive: your personal business is essentially public data.

Case in point: when Ivan kissed me for the very first time years ago, the news traveled so fast that my mother knew about it before I even woke up the next morning. By the following evening, I was subjected to a deeply uncomfortable lecture. Once she realized I actually enjoyed his company, she immediately went into full wedding-planner mode. It’s been a four-year collaborative project between my mother and Ivan’s mom, Anastasha. They keep a massive, pristine white binder that they pass back and forth like a joint-custody pet. My mom has carefully curated clippings of designer wedding gowns, while Anastasha, who runs the local florist shop, has cataloged decades of bouquet arrangements.

When we finally tried to shut it down during our sophomore year, insisting we were never getting married, my mom just laughed it off. Anastasha actually burst into tears, lamenting that we were destroying her future grandchildren. Ivan had just chuckled, taking my hand under the table, and whispered, “We really would have beautiful kids, though. Want to start practicing?”

Ever since, it felt like I’d been shoved into an arranged marriage from the nineteenth century. Getting other guys to date me was an uphill battle. My parents explicitly loathed my previous boyfriends, constantly holding them up against Ivan. If they somehow survived my parents, they had to deal with Ivan himself, who thoroughly enjoyed playing the part of the overprotective, possessive alpha just to get under my skin. In my parents' eyes, the boy was flawless. It didn't matter how many times he ended up in a holding cell or juvenile detention; he could do no wrong.

Suddenly, Ivan’s lips were back on my skin, tracing a slow path up my neck until they hit my mouth. He gave me a single, lingering kiss.

"You can daydream all you want if it keeps you right here with me," he murmured.

I pushed him away, desperately trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. I could still feel the phantom heat of his mouth. I hated how good of a kisser he was. I hated that Sabrina had selected Charles for her summer slot, leaving me trapped in this orbit, but the damage was done. Once Sabrina locked in her target for the break, she didn't waver. She might cycle through guys during the school year, but during the summer, she possessed the fierce loyalty of a golden retriever. Whoever she was with had her undivided attention until Labor Day arrived and he became a ghost we actively avoided at local hangouts.

It was going to be a grueling three months, but it was our final stretch before reality set in. I’d already technically moved out of my parents' house and secured an apartment closer to the college campus. In Florida, higher education is practically a regional industry, so finding a school wasn't tough; mine just happened to be in the neighboring town. My parents had covered the security deposit and the first few months of rent. Even though I was only seventeen and the lease technically carried their signatures, it felt like freedom. It was close to my family, my job, and my classes. It was completely perfect—except for the fact that it apparently wasn't Ivan-proof.

"Seriously, Zoe," Ivan said, his brows pulling together with genuine concern as his hand squeezed my thigh. "Do I need to kiss you again to bring you back to earth?"

"I'm just thinking," I said.

"About what?"

"Are you actually showing up for graduation rehearsal tomorrow?" I countered, changing the subject.

"They're forcing my hand. Apparently, they won't hand over the diploma if I skip."

"Are you actually going to college, Ivan?"

He looked genuinely insulted for a fraction of a second before a slow smile spread across his face. My eyes immediately locked onto his lips. "You’ve met Anastasha. She practically filled out the entire application for me. She definitely forged my admissions essays. She made it very clear she isn't letting any of her kids spend their lives working a drive-thru."

"Those drive-thru people are currently out-earning both of us combined," I pointed out.

Despite being a dot on the map, our main strip was packed with local shops. I spent my afternoons scooping waffle cones at an ice cream shop sandwiched between a diner and a boutique. It was a meager paycheck, but it beat commuting to the mall. Ivan pulled erratic hours stocking shelves at the town’s sole grocery store. He’d make a lot more cash if he swallowed his pride and worked the registers, but he flatly refused to deal with customers.

"Don't remind me," he groaned.

"Hey, you absolute parasite, you ate my taco," Sabrina chimed in, finally noticing the empty wrapper. She tried to muster some actual anger, but she was too distracted by Charles kissing her cheek.

"Pretty sure you prefer the taste of Charles anyway," Ivan fired back, making Sabrina roll her eyes.

She looked over at us, her gaze lingering on the heavy arm Ivan had resting across my shoulders. Sabrina was firmly convinced that Ivan and I were endgame. She was just as delusional as our mothers. And, exactly like my parents, she had aggressively hated every single guy I’d ever tried to date, usually digging up rumors that they were unfaithful. If Sabrina loathed anything in this world, it was a cheater.

That was precisely why she backed Ivan so fiercely. For all his faults, Ivan’s loyalty was absolute. He had spent an entire year locked down with one girl between sophomore and junior year. He had fallen for her completely; anyone with eyes could see it. But when her family relocated out of state, he refused to do the long-distance thing and cut the cord. He hadn't touched a relationship since.

"The senior bonfire at the Grove is this weekend," Sabrina said, breaking the silence.

"You're coming, right?"

"Are you going?" I asked, looking up at Ivan. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sabrina and Charles sharing a knowing smile.

"I'll be there," Ivan confirmed.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Perfect." He took another hit from his flask and flashed me a sharp wink. "You can be my date."

"What if I already had someone else lined up?"

Ivan leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. I couldn't taste the liquor anymore, just him. "You don't."

I gripped the front of his worn leather jacket, pulling him back down to close the distance between us. I really, truly wished he was a terrible kisser. Maybe then I wouldn't be so utterly consumed by a boy who was nothing but trouble. I reminded myself that we only had three short months left before our lives fractured in different directions, and I let myself dissolve into him.

Pulling back just enough to breathe against his lips, I whispered, "I don't."