Preface

Stiles' POV

She blooms in the morning like a new flower. Her hair is tied together with black bands that struggle around the thickness of her orange locks. Her voice sounds different when we lay side by side, connected by fingers ad wraps of legs and arms. It's raspy and low and I know how her lips must look. She doesn't say anything, just turns over with me and spreads out along my body. My hand dips beneath the blanket to linger on her stomach. I start on the rise of her hip, slowly gliding down into the low valley that is her waist. My fingertips barely touch the soft hairs that stand as her body creates little bumps of chilled skin. My fingers crawl up between her breasts and I plant a kiss on her uncovered shoulder. A louder breath comes from her nose as my arm squeezes her tighter to the bed. She turns her head back to me; gently touching her tongue to my lips as she breathes smoothly. I'm grazing each teardrop shaped breast when she tilts her face into mine. We don't have much energy, but we press into it with each kiss.

How many victims have Lydia Martin claimed since Aiden's death? Maybe just me. And I'm not sure I mind.

Chapter 1

Lydia's POV

The slow gracing of my fingers on the table helped me keep beat of the conversation. It helped me think quickly, sharply, shooting out answers to every question that left their mouths. I'm still groggy. I always am after Sunday nights. My hair is still neat and I'm dressed in pressed clothes that match exactly how I want them to. I won't ever slip up, even on Monday mornings.

I sit at a round table in the cafeteria with Danny and a few others mixed of boys and girls. We pass a sheet around, solving practice math problems, grading them. Sometimes when our teacher has too much to do, her more advanced students correct assignments and distribute help and grades. Danny and I usually split the work when no one else volunteers. To be honest, it's almost fun for me.

Stiles dropped me off at seven this morning. He has been for weeks. After Allison's funeral, we all started staying very close to one another. Scott would bunk at Derek's and sometimes at Kira's. We all sort of needed a tether. We still do. There's always a pinch in my throat when I think about her. When I think about her strength to overcome her weaknesses. She made it seem like she didn't have any at all.

There are many comforts I turned to. Stiles, being one of them.

"Lydia…next one," Danny urges for me to pass the current worksheet. I hand it over and stand up to go to the bathroom. I pull out my phone and scroll through the numbers until I find what I'm looking for.

It rings a few times before I get an answer. He sounds scrambled when he speaks.

"Tonight?" I ask.

"Yeah, sure, absolutely," he confirms more times than needed.

"See you at six? Your house?"

"See you then."

I hang up and go through my day, strutting in the halls with my mask on, hiding the hurt I feel in the crook of my chest when I touch a hand to Allison's locker. It belongs to hundreds of letters now. Letters from students who were charmed by her, who barely knew her, who loved how she smiled with all of her teeth. She was a beautiful life to be lost, something extraordinary that I never thought I'd buy into. But I did, and I still am.

"Hey! Lydia…" Stiles bounds over, touching the people he runs into on the shoulder to apologize. "Hey," he breathes deeper when he reaches me. His hand goes up a few times to skim my sleeve as he is unsure if he should touch me. Truth is, I'm just as unsure as he is. He does what he always does; puts his palm to my back, lets up, and compliments my outfit. It's what everyone does, but Stiles does it differently somehow. I feel his grip more clearly than any others.

"How are you?" The simplest questions feel so forced, so fake. I don't usually force anything with Stiles, but he's fragile in some ways. I don't really want to know how he is. I want to touch his stupid red jacket, tell him his hair makes him look like a porcupine, and smell his simple soap. His 'no cologne' smell makes everything so easy. It doesn't stick to your clothes like anything else does, it doesn't make it hard to breathe when you're under him, and it doesn't put anything into your head. As much as you'd like it to be, it's not a manipulative scent. Every part of him is simple and clinical.

"Irritated. Just got out of Econ."

He follows me to my locker, making sure to keep a distance. I don't know what boundaries to set with him. We aren't really anything other than what we were months ago. We're Stiles and Lydia. There's nothing other than the fact that we hook up now. It's how it was with Jackson and Aiden, in less casual settings. Everyone needs a physical outlet. But I say it anyway. "You don't need to act like we don't have sex." I look straight at him. I know he's thinking about how he doesn't want to objectify me and the way he wants to tell me that. But he's not stupid, and that's why he knows that if he does, it will sound more like feelings and less like friends with benefits.

Maybe they're right. Maybe I am cold blooded. But Stiles understands how I work, how I get what I need. And he's not a fool.