Avery

Sometimes, everything feels like a blurry mess in my head. It all just sounds and looks hazy, which is strange since now I'm supposedly 'enhanced'.

But as Erica stands in the center of the station with her teeth bared, eyes flaming, claws ready, and knees bent in a half crouch everything is just another hazy mess.

Derek stands across from her, his face scrunched into a permanent snarl with two blood red eyes and a pair of teeth that makes me shudder. He stands with his hands hanging lazily at his sides, as if Erica is no threat at all.

He's taken off the jacket for the first time since I've met him, leaving his white shirt clinging to his torso loosely. He stands in an almost bored stance and Erica growls as she runs toward him.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the growl makes a hot pain rush through my ears. The sound is so familiar….

Isaac sits next to me on one of the waiting benches, sitting comfortably and talking about being part of the pack. "…You'll like it; it takes some getting' used to, but after that it's usually pretty cool."

I sit with my knees pulled against my chest, just trying to focus on both Isaac and Derek. I lean over and whisper into Isaac's ear. "So what's his story?" I ask hesitantly, wondering if Derek can hear me. I take the fact that he doesn't look over or react to his name as a good sign that he's too busy to eavesdrop.

I lean back a little, waiting for him to respond, "Who? Derek?" he asks at an annoying volume. I look and see Derek's body go rigid at hearing his name.

We both watch Erica and Derek circle each other as Isaac speaks, "He's the alpha." I look at Isaac with a confused stare.

"Alpha," I echo, Isaac nods, sending his curls bouncing gently on his head.

"Yeah, ya' know the alpha, like the leader-" I nod my head, wishing he'd just get back to Derek.

"Right, just like a wolf pack." Erica lashes out at Derek with a clawed hand, but Derek catches her wrist easily, and pushes her back to where she started.

"Yeah, like that." When Isaac makes no move to say anything else, I press him further.

"And he turned all of you into werewolves?" Isaac tears his eyes away from Derek and Erica and looks at me with a bit of hurt in his light blue eyes.

"Well, he offered, and yeah." Isaac turns back to watch Derek and Erica, "I was the first one he turned." Isaac says cheerily, "Well, officially turned anyway; Jackson doesn't count."

"Jackson? As in Jackson Whittemore? He's a werewolf?" Isaac pulls his lips away from his teeth and inhales through them sharply.

"No, well, it's complicated." I nod and turn just in time to see Erica being thrown back again.

Isaac doesn't make a move to say anything, he's probably hoping I'll change the subject, but the fact that all I know about Derek is his name- no, wait, I know he's a werewolf, which is probably his biggest secret.

I find myself wondering if anyone could even have a bigger secret than that.

A roar makes me jump straight back against the seat and stare at the source of the sound with wide eyes. Derek is looking at Erica, who is lying on the ground, clutching her arm in pain. The sound makes my heartbeat fill my ears, I realize I'm actually hearing two hearts and look over to see the vein in Isaac's neck bulging.

Erica looks up and growls at Derek as he speaks, "Next." Erica pushes herself up with her good arm, and Boyd steps forward from his place leaning against the train car.

The growl echoes in the tunnels, and makes its way back to my ears.

I flash back to the night at Beacon's field, and that growl in the forest. But, no, I've heard the sound even before that….

At first, there's only darkness. My head is killing me, and my leg feels like there's a knife stuck in it. My head is resting against glass, glass that separates me and the darkness outside. I push against the surface to sit back straight, but the simple movement is exhausting.

Pain shoots up every single nerve, and I whimper as I sit straight. Two rays of light shine in front, and a half shattered, half cracked sheet of glass comes in and out of focus in front of me.

I see… the lights are... headlights? A steering wheel comes into focus. How did I even get in a car? Warm liquid runs down my head and I feel tired. I look down to the pain in my leg to see a deep slit, with bits of my muscle showing. The air bag keeps me from seeing it fully, so I lean my head back and try to think….

Phone. Where's my phone? Ambulance..

My vision blurs and clears and I just can't think… I'm tired. A shuffling noise makes me open my heavy eyes. The headlights shine into the woods and onto the road in front of me, revealing nothing. I look to the side to see nothing but darkness... but wait…

What's left of the glass of the passenger window is fogged, like when someone is pressing their face against a window and their breath leaves it clouded. The fog slowly fades as I watch.

Hot blood runs down my leg as a growl sounds in front of me. I turn shakily, my vision blurring once more. I smell something thick and musky, making me practically gag. As I look, all I see is piercing, glowing red eyes.

A clawed hand pushes down on the hood, rocking the car, the movement sends pain shooting everywhere through me. I let out a scream, but it's cut off by me coughing up blood. In a blur I see headlights shining through the forest in the distance, and I slam my hand down on the horn.

The hand rears back, and I throw myself back against the headrest and the claws slice through the air where I'd been only a second before. I hold my hand down on the horn as the headlights draw closer. The giant mass of shadow and claws turns its red eyed face towards the approaching car, giving a final growl in my direction before it's gone.

I keep my hand on the horn as my blood drains down my leg into a pool at my feet. I can't keep my eyes open any longer, but I hold my bloody palm against the horn for as long as I can. When my hand slips from the wheel, I hear the sound of a slamming car door, and the hazy voice of a man, "Oh my God…"

And it's all darkness again.

"Avery?" Isaac's voice fades in; I just stare past Derek and Boyd at the darkened subway tunnel. I close my eyes, and when I open them I see Derek, Boyd, Isaac, and Erica all staring at me from their spots around the room.

My breath is shaky and I inhale sharply to try to get it back to normal. "….you okay?" Isaac asks cautiously from his seat next to me. I lean forward and grip the metal edge of the bench for stability.

I smile, and try to play it off calmly, "Yeah," I nod and look down at my black running shoes.

Red eyes…..red eyes and claws… but… no, no they couldn't have been Derek, he wouldn't lie to me, would he? But how did he know about the accident in the first place unless he was there?

Then again, it was all over the news….He has the same blood red eyes, though. But the scent was wrong; it couldn't have been him, it just, it wasn't him.

Please tell me it wasn't him.

"Avery," this time it's Derek's voice talking to me, and I begrudgingly lift my head. His red eyes are gone, leaving two calming green ones behind.

"Yeah," I say, finally finding my voice, "I'm okay." Derek looks at me as if he's unconvinced. He hesitates for a moment, but he nods and turns back to Boyd.

Within a couple minutes, the tunnels are filled once again with growls and roars, and Isaac is back to making small talk.

"So, you should bring your stick by tomorrow, I'll bring mine and we can pass." I smile at him and relax back against the bench.

"Alright," I say, lacrosse is possibly the furthest thing from my mind right now, "sounds good." I look back at Derek and Boyd, and stare at Derek's clawed hand.

There's really only one way to know for sure and that's just to ask him. Definitely not now, though, not with all of them around.

But that means I'll have to be alone again with him.

A shiver runs up my back thinking about it, and I can't tell if it's from being nervous or excited.

"Great! Oh and let me see your phone, I'll put all of our numbers in for you." I hand him my phone without taking my eyes off of Derek. "Avery? Your phone's dead."

"Oh, right, I never charged it last night. Here I'll just give you mine and you can text me the other numbers later." Isaac agrees and I tell him my number, still keeping my eyes on Derek as he seems to be barely trying against Boyd, and is still managing to kick his ass.

I can't stop myself from staring at his arms; they're so toned and muscled, but in the lean kind of way, not overbearing but still intimidating.

Boyd rushes forward, swinging his clawed hands toward Derek's abdomen, Derek jumps back, his T-shirt pulling tightly around his torso as he moves.

I catch a glimpse of what seem to be perfectly sculpted abs. His quick movement only allowed for a moment to admire them, but I have a feeling the quick glimpse will be on my mind for a while.

A metallic taste fills my mouth and I realize I've been biting my lip. Hard.

As Boyd tries to recover himself from his attack, he leaves himself open, and Derek slams his palm against Boyd's unprotected chest and throws him to the ground in a huff of dust. Derek takes a deep breath, more from disappointment than exhaustion. "Next." He says, turning his eyes toward Isaac.

For a brief moment, his gaze flickers over towards me, and I suddenly feel very nervous about all of this.

But most of all, I feel nervous being around him.

Time dragged by, Derek continually put the three of them on the dirty tiled floor, again and again. Isaac told me these lessons of his weren't always this rough, sometimes they were fun, but it looked anything but fun.

The pure bright sunlight pouring in from the stairs began to turn orange and faded as the sun began to set outside, and finally, their 'practice' was over. Boyd was the first to jog up the stairs after Derek said something about what they'd do tomorrow, I wasn't really listening, I was thinking of how I'd ask Derek whether he was at the accident. I kept running over in my head what I'd say, how he'd respond… but I was really just having conversations with myself in my own head. It felt weird.

After Boyd left Isaac quickly followed, but not before he gave me a short hug and reminded me again to bring my lacrosse stick tomorrow. Derek busied himself by picking up his jacket and dusting it off with his hand in the meantime.

The last of the three to leave was Erica. And she made quite a show.

I'm used to dirty looks, I've seen them countless times on the field and in school. I'm used to them by now. But the thing is, most dirty looks are quick, girls send small threats with them, then they look away before you can say anything.

Erica didn't give me a quick little dirty glance. As she walked over to pick up her own jacket, she glared at me the whole way. No trying to hide it, no little smile to make it at least a little less obvious, nothing. Just a cold, and really creepy glare.

She finally turned away and walked toward the stairs in an unhurried pace, and now, as I watch her walk up into the fading orange tinted sunlight, I try to push away the feeling of plain distaste her stare left behind.

I squeeze my eyes shut when a flash of the two red eyes cuts through my thoughts. "Something wrong?" Derek asks in a voice that doesn't sound all that interested at all.

I look over at him as he slips his jacket over his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I push myself off of the bench. "Were you there?" I ask. He narrows his eyes and I realize I left out the most important part, "At the accident? Were you there?" he doesn't answer right away, and butterflies seem to multiply in my stomach, "I remember I saw someone-I mean I think it was you, but-" his face is full of confusion, and for a second I lose track of my already scrambled thoughts because his stare is just so intimidating.

I shake my head and look down at the floor, hoping it'll be easier this way. I never was really great at talking in front of people, Tori is; she can stand up in front of a hundred people and not feel nervous at all.

I take a deep breath, "I saw red eyes." I say to the floor. I try to find something to add, but there really isn't much else to say. I look up at him and find him running his tongue over his bottom lip, as if he's about to say something. "I remember your red eyes, Derek." His eyes stare unhappily at the stairs, and he closes them when he speaks.

"I wasn't at the accident." His eyes then lock onto mine, "It wasn't me you saw that night."

My heart jumps with relief, but then drops again as a new fear washes over me. "But, Isaac said that only alphas have red eyes and if it wasn't you-"

"It wasn't." He looks me up and down before turning and walking toward the stairs, "Use your imagination." He says grumpily as he begins climbing the stairs.

I follow him at a comfortable distance, "My imagination's kinda been stretched to the limits today." I mumble quietly. We make it up to the street where his Camaro is parked. "But," I continue with a tired sigh, "I get it; so, there's another alpha?" the last word rolls off of my tongue awkwardly, and it sounds foreign and strange to be using it in a serious conversation.

Derek unlocks his car with his back to me, "He's been drifting in and out of Beacon for weeks now," I probe at my ear, it sounds like he's right beside me. I keep walking toward the passenger side and Derek slides into the driver's seat.

He closes the door behind him, "He?" I echo, "So you-" I pull open the door and lower myself in.

"No, we're still working on figuring out who it is, all I can really get from the scent is that it's a male." His eyes lock on to me once more as I pull the seatbelt across my torso, "That's where you come in."

Jake Reily

"You're not in Beacon anymore?" my dad asks through the phone. His voice just sounds like a droning in my head, and the cheap hotel room smells like cigarettes and cheap aerosol.

"No, I left the night after it happened." My stomach is churning and my skin is covered in sweat. I haven't been able to sleep or eat in weeks, and all I've done is sit in this dirty room and wish that I'd gone with my parents on their two month long vacation they take every summer.

If I had, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. "I called Veronica," my dad's receptionist, "I told her to tell anyone who asked that I was with you two on vacation."

"Did you use your cell phone? They can track you with it and they can see who you've been calling, are you using it now?" his voice is deadly serious.

"No, no, I ditched it; I'm calling from a crappy pay-as-you-go I got from a store across the street."

"Good, that's good. Are you using my debit card?"

"Yeah, that's all I've been using." My voice shakes; I run my sweaty palm through my hair. "Dad- what's gonna happen to me?"

"It's alright Jake; I just wish you'd told me sooner-"

"I couldn't reach you!" A cry breaks from my throat and tears trail down my face and onto the stained carpet I'm leaning over from my spot hunched on the side of the bed.

"Calm down, son, nothing's going to happen. Who else knows?"

I suck in shaky breaths of air, "Only J-Jackson, he helped me."

"Listen, Jackson's father is one of the best defense lawyers in California, and if Jackson is part of this then he'll represent you both. When we get back in a couple more weeks-"

"No, dad I need you now!"

"Jake, listen to me, if we come back ahead of time it'll look suspicious. You've done fine so far and when we get back we'll come and get you and make it look like you were with us the whole time. Listen closely: We left the day before the accident, but we let you stay behind a while longer to say goodbye to your friends. You went to the party, but you left early to pack for the late flight to the Caribbean to join us. You knew nothing about the accident. That is what we will tell police and Jackson's father will make it look like the word of God himself."

My hands shake and my chest stings with pain, I look down to see blood spreading across my shirt again. "Jake, everything's going to be okay." I stand up and walk to the bathroom before tugging my shirt over my chest to see the cut.

The three deep cuts on my chest haven't healed at all and they just keep dripping puss and blood. The accident left me with only a few cuts elsewhere, but this one was the worst by far. "Does mom know?"

My dad hesitates, "She will in a day or so, I'm trying to find the best way to tell her." I practically drop the phone in the yellow stained sink when I hear a shuffling outside my hotel room door.

"Just hang in there a little longer, stay out of sight and we'll get this all taken care of when we get back. I won't let anything happen to you Jake, I love you."

"I love you too, dad." I step out of the bathroom towards the large window by the door.

"I'll call when I can." My dad says before hanging up. I drop the phone from my ear and thumb it nervously in my palm as I draw near the window.

Pulling the cheap curtains aside, I see nothing outside my room.

Everything about this place is cheap and sketchy. There aren't even any hallways connecting the rooms together, just concrete sidewalks lined with rusty railings.

The sun is setting, and it'll be night soon. The humid summer air isn't helping my nerves, it just makes me think back to Beacon, to my friends, to Avery.

God, what did I do? If they found out, they'd all hate me.

Hell, I hate me.

I turn to walk back into my room. Off in the distance, the sounds of a wolf's howl echoes.

Avery

We pull up to my dad's house and Derek puts the car in park. "So, just as a summary," I say, "there's another alpha, you don't know who he is, and somehow you think I might be able to find him?" I ask, doubt clear in my voice.

"I'm saying I don't think it's a coincidence that he was at your crash," he says, keeping his eyes staring intently back at me. "But I could be wrong." I nod my head and we just sit in silence for a few moments.

"Okay," I say, really wishing I could take a step back from him. I look at the big empty house waiting for me. "Well, thanks…for the ride and everything." I say back to him as I try to hide how confused I am at this all.

Before he can answer I open the car door and step out, shutting it behind me. I don't want him to leave, actually I want just the opposite, but I know it would be weird to try to cling to him.

I make it to my door and scramble to unlock it with my key. Behind me, I can hear Derek open his door, "Avery," I turn and watch as he walks around his car to the backseat of the passenger's side and opens the door. He pulls the passenger seat up, allowing me to see into the back of his car, where all my luggage sits.

Derek just lets out an amused huff as I practically jog back. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," He turns his back to me slowly, giving me only a glimpse of the smirk on his lips. He reaches in and pulls out my lacrosse bag first; I sling it over my shoulder as he reaches back in and pulls out my suitcase. He sets it on the ground and I wheel it over to my side.

Lastly he pulls out my duffel bag last and hands it to me. My hand brushes over his and when I look up at him I notice he's staring down at a piece of black lace sticking up from part of the bag that came unzipped. I recognize it as one of the pairs of underwear I never wear, but you can't really tell it's a pair of underwear, I hope. It could just be a blouse for all he knows.

I tuck the duffel bag under my arm to hide the lace and Derek looks from the bag to his side with another smirk on his face. I know there's really no other excuse for him to stay, and he really shouldn't because he makes me feel weird and I don't like the way he looks at me, but I do at the same time, and…

"Do you wanna stay for a while?" I ask, even though I'm internally still arguing with myself. "I could use the company." He turns his head back to me and takes a slightly deeper breath than usual.

"Can't. It'll be night soon," he motions his head towards the setting sun, "I have to make sure everything's quiet."

I nod, "Right, I guess the whole alpha thing would be pretty busy." I bite my lip nervously, and a sharp pain reminds me that I bit it too hard earlier.

I pull the duffel bag strap tighter against my shoulder, "Alright I guess I'll see you tomorrow," I give him a small smile before turning around, grabbing the handle of the suitcase and wheeling it towards the porch steps.

"I'll stop by later to make sure you're alright," I hear him say, "It's a full moon tomorrow, anyway." When I turn back to him I only catch a glimpse of his spiky black hair dropping down into his car. In a matter of seconds, the Camaro roars to life and disappears down my driveway.

I shake my head, bringing myself out of an almost hypnotic state. "Wait," I say to myself, "when's 'later'?"

I managed to find my phone charger from my suitcase and had my phone plugged in and charging on my nightstand. I haven't bothered to turn it on yet, mostly because I really just don't feel like dealing with anyone while this is all going on.

Or, for a better answer, I don't want to turn it on and see that my mom hasn't called, because I know she hasn't.

If there's one thing my mom does well, its hold grudges. No matter who they're against. Case and point: my dad.

Okay, but I really need to get over that now. She kicked me out and I just need to stop thinking about it.

I stare blankly at the tv screen in the living room, not really watching the reality show that's on. I yank my comb through my wet hair, trying to work out all the knots and kinks. I'd taken a shower right after I'd gotten home, and decided that unpacking could wait until tomorrow.

The house is quiet. Even with the tv on, it all just feels so empty. I wonder if it'll ever feel normal here. The doorbell rings and I drop my comb, grab what's left of the cash from my wallet and practically jog to the door.

After my shower I just decided to throw on a light blue spandex sports bra, a Beacon Hills lacrosse pinnie that's about two sizes too big, a pair of shorter than usual black shorts, and, of course, and red socks.

I open the door and smile, "Hi there," I say to the pizza delivery guy, who smiles back and holds out the pizza box to me.

I take it in my right hand, "Thanks," he hands me a large orange soda and I take it with my left hand and hold out his tip with two fingers.

His eyes light up when he sees the tip and looks me in the eyes, "Thank you," he says happily, "have a good night." He backs away off the porch with a small wave.

"You too." I say before turning back inside and closing the door with my foot behind me.

I move back into the kitchen and set the pizza down. The orange soda is already cold, which is good because frankly the stainless steel refrigerator looks like a spaceship and I have no idea how to get any ice from it.

After a few minutes of opening cabinets, I find some glasses and plates. With the sound of reality stars screaming at each other coming from the living room, I eat until my stomach sticks out like I'm three months pregnant. I guess there is a brightside to being alone; no one to see me pig out.

I tuck the couple of slices that are left into the empty fridge along with the remnants of the orange soda.

I shuffle back to the living room and flop down on the couch with my head propped up on a pillow. I try to focus on the annoying dramatic people on the screen, but it all just sounds like fuzzy noise. I flip through the channels, and stop on a college men's lacrosse game.

Albany vs. Syracuse, this could be a good game.

I watch for a few minutes, but my muscles tense, and I can't seem to relax. The brace on my leg feels tight. I check the time on the clock by the screen; 11:32. Derek's probably not coming after all.

My legs won't sit still and I finally admit to myself that I need to get up and do something to work out all this nervous energy. Turning off the TV and climbing the stairs to my room, I slip on my black Nike's and grab my stick. After rummaging through my lacrosse bag, which smells like dirt and sweat, I find a couple spare balls and put them in my stick's pocket.

I step out onto the porch and set my stick up against the front door. Pulling out my phone, I turn on my pre-game mix and ramp up the volume. Another perk to being alone surrounded by no neighbors: no one to complain about music being played at midnight.

Pulling my hairband off of my wrist, I do a quick braid and slip the hairband over the end. I grab my stick and step off the porch, turning around only to scope out the perfect spot.

I actually don't like the way brick houses look for some reason, I never have. But they're useful for wall-ball and that's good enough for me. The porch lights illuminate the whole front yard, and I find a nice wide space of brick beside the garage door.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers comes on and I let one of the lacrosse balls roll out of my stick's pocket. The ball hits the pavement and I bring my stick up into my right hand.

I throw the ball at the bricks, and it bounces back to me. I catch it easily, switch to my left hand, and repeat. The ball beats against the wall and makes a steady rhythm, I can feel my muscles relaxing and tensing at the right moments, making the motions clean and precise.

Lacrosse is second nature to me; I don't even have to think about what fake to put on a defender or what type of shot to take, I know exactly how my stick throws and what I can make the ball do with a simple flick of my wrist.

It feels like part of me.

I pop the ball up in the air and cradle it back into my pocket with one hand on my stick. The humid summer night air feels strangely refreshing, even as my skin turns sticky with sweat.

I guess I shouldn't have taken a shower earlier, but it doesn't really matter. "Never Gonna Leave This Bed" by Maroon 5 starts playing and I hum along as I hold my stick out about hip-high and practice some sidearm passes.

I start singing along with the song, but as it ends the ground below me feels as if it's vibrating. I turn around as a rumble catches my attention. Derek's Camaro comes pulling up and parks a few feet behind me off to my right.

I nervously bite my lip and turn back to the wall, trying to act nonchalant about his appearance. The engine cuts off as I throw another sidearm pass to the wall. I catch the rebound and switch to my left hand, repeating the pass.

His car door opens and shuts and I resist the urge to turn around. I keep my stick in my left hand and do another sidearm. From my peripheral, I watch as he steps around to the front of his car, drops something on the ground, and sits on the hood. I almost smile when I notice he's not wearing his leather jacket, but just a dark grey t-shirt that clings to his muscles.

Another song comes on as I keep passing and he just keeps watching. Feeling awkward and nervous, I turn to look at him after I catch another rebound.

"I thought you weren't coming," I take notice of a six pack of beer bottles in a cardboard case, with one missing. He raises a bottle to his lips and leans his head back. "And you brought beer." I add.

He pulls the bottle away from his mouth and motions it toward me. I can't help but laugh a little, "No thanks," I say, turning back to the wall, "Last time didn't end so well."

"Suit yourself." he says, raising the bottle to his mouth again.

I smile to myself, "I don't remember saying this was BYOB." I switch hands and keep throwing sidearm passes, but this time I add a bit of a rise to them so they float higher.

"Calling All Angels" by Train comes on, and I can't help but mouth the words as the song plays. I hear a huff from his direction and I look over to see him staring intently at my stick.

"What?" I ask, wondering if I broke a string or something.

"Why is your stick so much smaller?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" I look at it, trying to figure out what he could be talking about.

"The thread part, it's really small."

"Oh, the pocket?" I point towards the interlaced strings, and Derek nods. "It's not small," I say, lifting the stick up so that the head is up at eye level. I roll the ball up and down the pocket like a ref would when checking the pocket, "Girls play with smaller pockets." Derek stares at my stick, thinking.

"Why?" I think about it for a minute.

"I have no idea, that's just how we play."

"And do you play with helmets and pads, too?" I shake my head, causing my braid to smack my shoulder blade.

"I mean, some girls play with gloves but they're more like golf gloves. They mostly just help with the grip. We don't have helmets, but we have visors, they're kind of like the metal cages of a helmet, but it only covers our eyes really."

"Then what's the point of wearing them?" I shrug and turn back to the wall.

"Better than nothing', I guess." I shrug and hold my stick in my right hand and pull it across to my left side. I throw a couple crossovers before I add, "I mean we aren't allowed to hit like the guys. We're barely allowed to check." I pause, "Which is really stupid because hitting would make defending easier."

"What the hell is a 'check'?" I smile and hold in a laugh.

I catch the ball and turn towards him, holding my stick in front of me in one hand. "A check is when you take the head of your stick," I point toward the red hard plastic frame, "and hit the ball carrier's head to try to get the ball loose," I use my hand in a tomahawk motion and hit it against the frame. He looks at me with a confused expression.

"Wait, what is the top part called?" I feel a blush coming on.

"The head." I answer. A smirk forms on his face.

"And the bottom part?" I hold the bottom half of the stick up.

I point to the rubber cap at the end, he shakes his head and almost says something but I beat him to it, "The butt….?" He lets out a disbelieving huff of a laugh.

"Wait, but the metal part is called-"

"The shaft." We both finish.

He rubs his palm across his forehead. "So that's the head," he points to the red frame, "that's the ball," he points toward the ball in the pocket, "that's the shaft, and that's the butt…?" I can feel a blush full on my cheeks.

He starts laughing, and I walk over to him, "Changed my mind." I say as I slip the bottle out of his hand and take a sip. He stops laughing and instead watches me as I tilt the bottle back. I crinkle my nose at the taste and hand him the bottle back.

The taste is gross but familiar.

His green eyes darken again, I keep a smile on my face as I step back across the driveway to my spot in front of the garage. My smile fades as I step further away from him, but that dark gleam in his eyes remains.

I take a shallow breath in through my lips, and my chest feels as if it's shaking from my heart's rapid beating. I finally turn to the brick and break the eye contact.

It doesn't help, though. I can still feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down. I try to ignore it and throw the ball back at the brick. From the corner of my eye, I can see him tilt the bottle all the way back and finish the beer.

He lowers the empty bottle back into its spot in the case, but doesn't pull another out. I turn back to the wall and try to relax with his gaze once again on me. "Don't miss," I hear him mumble.

When the ball lands back in my pocket, I look over to him with one eyebrow arched, "Excuse me?" I ask with a shocked look on my face.

Now he's looking down at another one of the bottles in his hands, and I notice the claws on his fingers as he uses them to rip the metal top off of it. He looks up at me and motions with his beer behind me towards my car parked not too far away.

"It'd be a shame to dent it." I narrow my eyes at him, keeping the small smile on my face.

"I don't miss." A curve pulls at his lips and his eyebrow arches.

I get that warm throbbing feeling again, and I look back to the wall to avoid looking at him. "Ever?" he asks with a coy tone.

"Ever." I say, wishing he'd just be quiet and let me calm down. I focus on my sidearm again and attempt to ignore the fact that he's pushed himself off the hood of the car and is walking over to me.

He comes to stand beside me, a little too close for comfort. His eyes narrow when I catch and throw without missing a beat. He takes a step back and walks behind me.

I can feel the solid muscles of his chest against my back, and heat rolls off of him, making the throb in my core speed up like crazy. I subconsciously straighten myself up from my sidearm position,but make no move to step away from him.

I switch from sidearm to normal passing, and get two passes in before his head leans against my head and he purposefully lets his breath spread across my neck. I pull a sharp breath in my nose, and nearly drop the ball.

I somehow manage to catch it, and in a determined daze I continue tossing the ball against the wall. His hands slowly run up the sides of my legs and grip my hips, pulling my ass tight against his pelvis.

And I lose it.

The rough and firm pull of his hands killed whatever hope I had. The ball hits against the brick and races back towards my face. And I'm frozen.

One of his hands reaches out in front of my face and catches the ball before it smashes into my face. My eyes stare widely at the ball clutched tightly in his fist, and his lips play at my ear as he whispers, "You," his hips push lightly against my ass, "missed."

My cheeks go red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger; he did that just to prove a point?

I push away from him, turn to face him and drop my stick on the pavement. "Did not." I say in a childlike denial.

His eyes slowly lose that gleam and his eyebrows arch, "Oh, really? What was that move called? The headshot?" he holds the ball up in front of my face.

I push his hand away, "Keep it up and I'll show you a ball shot."

There's an underlying irritation in his eyes, like he's just putting on a front of amusement, but actually is annoyed. He just smirks, keeping his green eyes locked on mine.

Acting on impulse, I reach out with both hands and push him back against the Hummer, his back hits the door loudly and his face looks pissed for a second. He pushes himself off from the side of the door and makes a move towards me.

It feels like time slows for a moment, and something else takes over.

I jump up on his hips, and wrap my legs around him. The force sends him back against the Hummer once again. I lean down and press my lips roughly against his, and for a second he hesitates, as if wondering what the hell is happening.

I'm not sure I know, either.

He lets the lacrosse ball drop from his hand and before I know it, his tongue is in my mouth and his hands are gripping my ass almost too tightly. My hips rock against him, desperately trying to satisfy that annoying fucking throb he's responsible for.

My fingers lace themselves through his black hair and one of his hands slips up under my pinnie and the fabric of my sports bra, his hands grip the bare skin of my back beneath it. The kiss is rough and intense, and leaves us both panting when we finally pull away.

He looks up at me with a dark stare; he pushes himself off of the car and turns us around so I'm against it. From there, he slips the pinnie up and I finish pulling it over my head. My vision ebbs in and out of red, my mind is all but lost.

All I can think about is his thrusting against me, which rocks me up against the car door. He leans into my neck, nipping at my throat. I keep my hands wrapped around his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin. "Derek," I gasp as his thrust hits right in rhythm with that maddening throb.

One of his hands slides up and down my thigh wrapped around his hip, the other slowly reaches up under my bra. I push myself off of the car, causing him to stumble back.

All of a sudden, his focus is shifted off of me, and I feel a swell of anger because of it.

"What? What is it?" I ask grumpily.

"It's….Stiles." He says.

"Stiles?" I push against his chest, feeling kind of awkward now that the heat of the moment is over, and he lowers me to the ground.

I scramble to throw my pinnie back over my head, and Derek practically growls, "Stiles…."