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Dustin should have said no. Honestly, he should have laughed in Stacey’s face the moment she’d asked. Not because she wasn’t pretty, because of course she was.
Everyone knew she was.
No, but because Stacey had spent years making sure people like Dustin knew exactly where they stood.
Him. Mike. Lucas. Will. The whole Party.
They were the weird kids. The nerds. The ones she and her friends rolled their eyes at in the hallways. The ones who got smirks instead of smiles.
The one who turned her nose up and laughed when he'd asked her to dance.
And now she wanted him at her party?
Right.
Dustin had spent the first twenty minutes after receiving the invitation convinced it was some kind of setup, ruminating over it throughout D&D at Mike’s and all through Mrs. Wheeler’s lasagna.
Lucas and Max had disappeared to be alone somewhere, and Will wanted to spend the night with Jonathan while he was in town for graduation. So, for once, Dustin had found himself with nothing better to do.
Which was how he ended up at his first real high school party.
Even now, standing in Stacey’s house hours later with a red plastic cup in hand, he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a prank because every time he caught sight of her across the room, she was looking at him. Like, actually seeing him, not looking through or past him.
It was unsettling, and if he was being honest, a little satisfying. A few years ago, Dustin would have done just about anything for that kind of attention—especially from Stacey Albright
Now he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Having fun?” Stacey asked suddenly, appearing beside him.
Dustin nearly choked on his drink.
She laughed softly and stepped closer.
Strangely, she wasn’t laughing at him.
She was laughing with him.
The distinction threw him off more than it should have.
“A little,” he lied. He’d been hating every second of this party until about thirty seconds ago.
“Good.” She smiled. “I’m glad you came, Valedictorian.”
For the first time all night, Dustin felt genuinely nervous. There was something different about that smile.
Something that made it very clear Stacey hadn’t invited him here out of kindness.
The realization only grew stronger when she tilted her head toward the staircase and tugged lightly on his sleeve.
“Come on.”
Dustin stared at her.
“Where?”
“My room.”
She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Like it was completely ordinary for Stacey Albright to invite Dustin Henderson upstairs.
A hundred memories flashed through his mind. Every dismissive look. Every joke. Every time she’d acted like he wasn’t worth noticing.
And now she wanted to spend time alone with him?
Now she wanted to get to know him?
The thought was almost laughable.
Though judging by the way Stacey was looking at him, Dustin had a feeling she intended to get to know him a lot better than either of them had expected.
And Dustin? Well. Maybe a little payback wasn’t entirely unjust.
He followed her up the stairs, his gaze flat on the gentle, practiced sway of her hips in that white dress. A year ago, his hands would have been slick with sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Now his pulse was steady. Calm. He was cataloging the curve of her ass the way he'd catalog a specimen in biology—interesting, but not something he needed to worship.
Her bedroom was aggressively pink. Canopy bed, a vanity cluttered with bottles, a stuffed bear propped against her pillows. She was trying to look casual, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The move hitched her dress higher on her thighs. He watched her do it, and watched her watch him watch her.
"So, valedictorian," she said again, her voice low and honeyed. "Big night. Did it feel good to finally say something they didn't interrupt?"
He didn't laugh, but a corner of his mouth twitched. "Something like that."
She walked past him, trailing a finger across his shoulder as she went, and sat on the edge of the bed. Pat the spot beside her. His eyes followed the movement, then lifted to her face.
He didn't sit.
"What's wrong with you tonight?" she asked, her head tilting. The sharpness was bleeding through the honey. "You're being weird."
"Nothing's wrong." He said it evenly.
She stood and walked the three steps back to him. Close enough that her perfume—that cloying, floral thing—coated his tongue. She put a hand on his chest over his shirt. "You used to follow me around with your tongue hanging out. It was cute. Sad, but cute."
"I was fourteen." He said, annoyed. He held her gaze. "I grew up."
Something flickered in her green eyes. Interest perhaps? He watched it bloom and felt a clean, sharp satisfaction when she leaned up and kissed him.
It was soft at first. Testing. He let her have it for a beat, two. Then his hand found the back of her neck, fingers curling into her long, copper hair. He kissed her back the way he wanted to—hard, biting her lower lip until she gasped against his mouth. Her body stiffened for one second, then softened. He didn't soften with it.
He walked her backward until her knees hit the bed and she fell onto the pink comforter, looking up at him with wide, dark pupils. He stood over her, taking off his shirt with slow, deliberate fingers. Her chest was rising and falling fast. He felt nothing. Just the throb of his dick, eager and impersonal.
"I used to imagine what this would feel like," he said softly, letting the shirt fall to the floor. "You, beneath me. Me, inside you." He watched her bite her lip, her lids lowering to half mast. "It's a lot like I expected. Except I don't feel the way I thought I would."
"How do you feel?" Her voice was breathy in his ear.
Dustin didn't answer. He pushed her back by her shoulder, hiked the white dress up to her hips. She wasn't wearing panties, and the sight of her—the red curls, the wet slick between her thighs—made his jaw clench. He undid his pants, pulled his dick out, and climbed over her.
He pushed into her without warning. She gasped, arched, her nails digging into his forearms. He watched her face—the parted lips, the flutter of her eyelids—and fucked her with a steady, punishing rhythm. He thought about the cafeteria. The hallway. Every laugh she'd aimed at him and his friends. Every time Mike had to talk him down from crying.
He drove deeper. Her moans got louder. He didn't care if she came. He cared about taking something back.
Her body clenched around him, her back bowing off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. He pulled out before he finished, stroking himself twice, and came across her stomach in hot, thick stripes. She lay there, trembling, cum cooling on her skin, looking up at him with something fragile and raw in her eyes.
"Dustin—"
He was already reaching for his shirt. "Thanks for the talk, Stacey."
He had his hand on the doorknob when he heard it. A quiet, shuddering breath from the bed.
He didn't turn around.
Dustin pulled the door shut behind him, the click loud in the pink silence, and walked down the hall with steady hands and a heart that no longer cared what Stacey Albright thought of him.