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Veronica's trying to decide which books are worth taking to Stanford when Weevil knocks on the door and asks her to take one last case.
"And here I thought you'd come to say good-bye," Veronica says, suffusing her voice with all the mock sadness she can muster.
"I wish I had, V," Weevil says, leaning against the doorframe. His biceps stand out against his white t-shirt, and Veronica enjoys the view, even if he has come to ask her for something she can't give.
She opens the door wider, inviting him inside, and he wanders in uncertainly, taking in the piles of books and clothing strewn across her father's living room. Packing light is not her strong suit.
"You don't even want to know what the case is?" he asks.
Veronica shakes her head. "I'm walking the straight and narrow these days."
The headline proclaiming Vinnie Van Lowe's victory and her father's fall from grace is still tucked away in a corner of her bedroom, a reminder of why she has to leave her old life behind. Technically, she's not on probation. Her father is. He was the one who'd destroyed the evidence that she'd broken into Jake Kane's house, and he's the one who bears the legal consequences of her quest for vengeance. But this summer is her probation too, her chance to prove to her father -- and to herself -- that she can last three months without taking a case, and she can leave for Stanford a new woman.
"You know I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice," Weevil says. "This asshole frat boy stole my grandmother's ring. It was the one nice thing she had, and I was supposed to pass it onto my cousin on the day of her wedding."
"You know, I hear the Sheriff's Department can help with things like that," Veronica says, shoving a copy of The Scarlet Letter into an already-overstuffed box. She'd hated it when she read it in high school, but it only takes one sex tape to make a girl identify with Hester Prynne.
Weevil snorts. "Right. 'Hello, Officer, I'm a brown guy with a record, and I'm accusing a rich white boy of stealing my things.' That always goes over so well. You should try it sometime."
Veronica sighs and gives up her futile quest to close the overflowing box. "How do you even know for sure he did it?"
"I have a side business helping rich idiots part with some of their spare cash," Weevil says. Veronica glares, and he holds up a conciliatory hand. "Not like that. Poker tournaments. All perfectly legal. This one guy lost quite a bit, and he must've decided to repay himself. He took an extra long bathroom break, and after he left, I noticed I was missing a few things. I don't care about the iPod, but that bastard can't keep my grandmother's ring."
"So use your maintenance ID to get in his room and look for it," Veronica says. She bends over to take a few books out of the box, feeling relieved. Her distaste for frat boys is well-established, and she might not be able to resist the allure of taking down one who stole from her friend -- but it sounds like this particular situation is well within Weevil's control.
"You don't think I did that already?" Weevil asks, looking exasperated. "I found the iPod, but the ring wasn't there. My guess is he gave it to some girl, but he's got a lot of them from what I hear. I need an investigator to figure out which one."
Veronica sighs. "Weevil, I'd like to help. I really would. But I don't do this kind of thing anymore."
"Well, alright then," Weevil says, looking resigned. "Guess I'll just move onto plan B."
"Which is...?"
"Beating the shit out of him till he gives the ring back."
"Hello, orange jumpsuit," Veronica says. "But, hey, if you're going to violate parole, you might as well go big."
"Then help me, Veronica." Weevil tilts his head to the side and says in a breathy voice, "You're my only hope."
"Was that an impression of me or Princess Leia?" she asks.
"Which one means you'll take the case?"
It's the look on Weevil's face that does it, the all-too-familiar mix desperation and resignation concealed beneath a thin layer of bravado. It's the look of someone who doesn't expect the world to work out for him, no matter how hard he tries to play by the rules.
"You just want the ring back? No revenge?" she asks. She's stalling; she already knows she's going to take the case. There's no serious crime here, no desperate longing for revenge pulsing through her veins. Just the chance to help a friend, and maybe use her powers for good for a change.
"No revenge, I promise. Cross my heart or whatever shit you good girls say," Weevil says.
"Alright, I'm in," she says. "But if I can't recover it in three days, you're on your own."
"Thanks, Veronica," Weevil says, smiling for the first time since he came inside. "I knew I could count on you."
He scoops up her box of books as if it weighs nothing and leaves with a promise to put it in her car on the way out . Veronica flops down on the couch and watches as he walks out the door. Maybe she's an addict. Maybe she's lonely now that Wallace is in Uganda and Piz is officially her ex-boyfriend. Or maybe she wants an excuse to spend her last three days in Neptune with Weevil. It's not like she hadn't always wondered, and now that she's leaving...
She watches as he hefts the box over his shoulder as he walks down the stairs, and the muscles ripple in his arm. At least the scenery will be good.
***
Veronica's room is mostly bare now. All that's left are the things she's not taking to Stanford, an odd jumble of items from past eras of her life. There are stuffed animals and various pink things she'd owned when she was thirteen, along with her taser and a rather impressive collection of fake ID's.
Underneath her bed is a box of clothes, stuff she'd only kept for when she needed a disguise. She finds a strapless flowered dress, the kind of thing that she imagines she might have worn if her Pep Squad self had grown old enough to join a sorority. As disguises go, it's hardly her most elaborate, but she has it on good authority that a dollop of pink lip gloss and a sunny smile make her borderline unrecognizable. She packs up some clothes for Weevil and tries not to meet her father's eyes as she walks out the door.
Hearst starts a week before Stanford does, and the campus is already bustling. Parents are hugging their children outside the dorms, station wagons filled with empty boxes are driving off into the sunset, and girls with bright lipstick are wandering down the sidewalks, trailing clouds of perfume. In an hour or two, the campus will be thrumming with the first parties of the season, and Veronica plans to be in attendance with Weevil at her side.
Weevil unpacks the bag of clothes in the maintenance office and eyes the contents with distaste. "Polo shirt, Ralph Lauren jeans... What is this, V?"
Veronica shrugs. "Your disguise. You understand the plan, right?"
"We go to the frat parties, we tail the suspect, we look for a girl wearing the ring. Yeah, I got it. I just don't get why I have to wear this," Weevil says. He looks at the baseball cap with disgust.
"Traditionally, when doing undercover work, one aims to be unrecognizable," Veronica says, crossing her arms over her chest. "You need to shave."
Weevil meets Veronica outside the Sigma Alpha house half an hour later, looking like a disgruntled reject from a Hollister campaign.
"Do we have to do this?" he asks, shooting her a pleading look. "Maybe we could just tail him home and --"
"I told you, no felonies," Veronica says firmly, grabbing his wrist. A couple nearby looks at them strangely, and she pastes her most innocuous smile onto her face. "My boyfriend and I just transferred here, and I'm trying to help him decide where to pledge," she chirps.
"Boyfriend?" Weevil hisses as she drags him up the steps.
Veronica spins on her heel. "You're the one with the missing ring. Tell me, which is it going to be: you man up and pretend to be my boyfriend for a few hours, or you solve this with fisticuffs and violate your parole?"
Weevil leans in close enough that she can feel his breath on her ear. Dressed in his frat boy garb, he looks like a stranger, but he still smells the way he always has -- like cigarettes and aftershave.
Is she disappointed when he murmurs, "he's right behind you, standing at the keg" sweetly into her ear? Maybe. On the other hand, she's got a case to solve.
Their target, one Maxwell Vanderveen III, is tall and blond and looks like he stepped straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. He's leaning against the bar, chatting amiably with whoever appears to get a drink, be they jocks, nerds, or aspiring Playboy bunnies. He doesn't seem like the sort to steal an old woman's ring, but then, Veronica's long since stopped being surprised to discover the darker corners of human nature.
"What now, Snookums?" Weevil murmurs against her ear, his fingertips trailing across her waist.
"There's such a thing as overdoing it, you know," she says, sidestepping out of his grip. She rolls her eyes at him, which maybe counteracts the fact that she'd actually shivered when he touched her. "And now we watch. And wait."
Two hours later, there have been plenty of girls, but none wearing a ring. Meanwhile, Young Master Vanderveen has become the sort of sloppy drunk who makes Veronica fantasize about applying her taser to certain parts of the male anatomy.
"If he gets that drunk all the time, no wonder he lost his money," Veronica says. "Tell me, do you take pride in beating drunken neanderthals at poker?"
"It's not exactly pride," Weevil says. "More a feeling of, what do you call it? Financial security? Admit it, V, you'd do it too."
But no, she wouldn't. She's got the poker face, sure, but she never could make a living out of defrauding the idiots. Which is why she'll graduate from Stanford with more debt than some small countries. She's about to tell Weevil that, but before she can formulate her witty rejoinder, Max Vanderveen is vomiting in a sorority girl's purse. Veronica's the one who dials a safe ride van to take him home; after all, she knows a thing or two about being drunk and left to fend for yourself at parties, and she wouldn't wish it on anyone, even if she's ninety-percent sure no one put a roofie in Maxwell's drink.
"Well, that was a bust," she says, leading Weevil back outside. "Same time tomorrow?"
"I got another choice?" Weevil asks, grimacing.
Veronica shakes her head. "Not a good one."
"See you at seven. But I'm wearing my own clothes." He looks Veronica up and down. "You should too. This flowered shit is creepy."
***
Weevil cleans up surprisingly nicely, even when left to his own devices. He greets her at the steps of the frat house in a white button down and a pair of jeans, and although it's not exactly a disguise, Veronica figures he looks different enough that most people wouldn't recognize him at first glance -- which is about as much as she can say for herself.
"This is better than the flowered thing," Weevil says, eyeing her red sundress. "What's the plan for tonight?"
She reaches for Weevil's wrist, planning to drag him in like she did last night, but he surprises her by catching her hand instead.
"Tonight I ditch you and do a little recon," she says. Weevil's hand is warm and callused, and her hand feels cool after she lets go of it. "See you in half an hour. Try not to take money from stupid people while I'm gone."
Veronica sidles toward the punch bowl, where Maxwell Vanderveen is chatting with a group of coeds and looking surprisingly chipper considering the hangover he must've woken up with this morning. She fills up a glass -- not that she's going to drink anything here -- but it's a good pretext for accidentally-on-purpose bumping into a girl wearing a Tri-Delt shirt.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Veronica gasps. "My first frat party and I'm messing everything up!"
"It's okay!" the girl exclaims. "Are you new here? I'm Sandy!"
Her teeth are so white and her lipstick is so shiny Veronica's surprised she hasn't blinded anyone. Veronica forces herself to smile.
"Veronica," she says. "I just transferred from Kansas State to be closer to my boyfriend."
She looks over at Weevil, who rolls his eyes at her from across the room.
"That is so romantic," Sandy says, laying a hand on her heart. "Of course, with all these California boys around, you're going to have a lot of temptation."
Veronica follows her gaze toward Max, who's acquired an even larger crowd of admirers.
"I see what you mean," Veronica says. She looks Max up and down even though it makes her throw up in her mouth a little. "Is he single?"
"Depends on who you ask," Sandy says. She leans closer to Veronica, smiling conspiratorially. "He would never act like this if Janine were around. He's so in love with her, but she sees right through him."
"Janine?" Veronica asks, eyes wide. "You mean Janine Smith? I met her yesterday. She's so lucky to have a guy like him with that, um, thing on her face."
Sandy shakes her head frantically. "Oh no, that must be a different Janine. The Janine I'm talking about is tall, brunette, basically a supermodel. Santos, I think her name is."
"Well, she's lucky," Veronica murmurs vaguely. She waves at Weevil and hopes he gets the message to come pick her up. If he doesn't rescue her from this sorority girl soon, she's going to start drinking the punch, roofies be damned.
***
"You know, you're really good at this, V," Weevil says. "You sure you want to give it up?"
They're standing on the periphery of the crowd now, and Veronica scans the room for supermodel Janine as an excuse not to meet Weevil's eyes.
"Have to and want to are not necessarily the same thing, unfortunately," Veronica says.
The truth is, she can't imagine anything that will make her feel half as awake and alive as solving a case, even a silly one that forces her to attend frat parties. But then, a lot of addicts can't imagine themselves without their drug of choice. That doesn't mean they shouldn't quit.
Weevil leans against the wall next to her, not close enough to count for anything more than friendly, but she can feel the warmth of his body anyway. When she looks over at him, his eyes are surprisingly kind.
"You mean the thing you're best at makes you a person you don't like to be?" he asks. "Yeah, I might know something about that."
Without realizing it, Veronica's drifted closer to Weevil -- or he's drifted closer to her. She's not sure which. Maybe both. Their shoulders are touching now, and it's a relief to stand next to someone who has an inkling how she feels. For Wallace, Mac, and her father, the decision is cut and dry: investigating got her in trouble, got other people in trouble, and occasionally even threatened her life. She should stop. But how does anyone stop being who they are?
"You'll be alright, V," Weevil says. His hand brushes against hers, and there's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You always are."
The silence between them is getting heavy in a good way that makes Veronica's stomach twist. But suddenly Weevil looks away.
"Hey, tall brunette dancing with our target," he says, pointing at a couple right in the middle of the dance floor.
Veronica eyes the crush of sweaty bodies. "Yech. How are we going to get out there?"
"That is the first stupid question I've ever heard you ask," Weevil says. He loops an arm around her waist and spins her out onto the dance floor.
"Weevil Navarro, you've been holding out on me," Veronica says, feeling a little breathless. "I didn't know you could dance."
He moves his hips in time to the music, keeping his arm draped loosely around her waist. "Yeah, well, you're not the only one who's got secrets," he says, leaning close so she can hear him over the din of the music.
He steers the two of them across the dance floor, closer and closer to where Maxwell is dancing with the tall brunette. Their hips brush together and come apart again over and over as they move, and although Weevil sneaks an occasional appreciative glance at her body, he always keeps their target in sight. A man who can dance and stick to the mission. That's a man Veronica can appreciate.
They're inches away from Max now, and Veronica's starting to worry they'll get caught when Weevil suddenly tightens his arm around her waist.
"Ready?" he asks, and Veronica doesn't have a chance to ask for what before he dips her low to the floor.
She clenches her hand around Weevil's arm reflexively, her head reeling. He's almost pulled her back up before she realizes he's giving her a chance to look for the ring.
She shakes her head when she's upright again and pulls Weevil closer so she can whisper in his ear. "No ring," she says. "And, on closer inspection, not actually tall. Just wearing really tacky platform heels."
"And definitely no supermodel," Weevil murmurs back with one last look at the girl's face. He steers them off the dance floor, and Veronica leans against the wall, trying to catch her breath.
And then she sees Dick Casablancas.
"Please tell me your guy is not friends with that," she says, jerking her head in Dick's direction.
"Fraid so," Weevil says, grimacing.
Dick is walking straight toward them, and if he spots Veronica, their little surveillance operation is busted. Her back is against the wall, and there's a crowd of drunk people between her and the door. That leaves her with just one option. She seizes a fistful of Weevil's shirt and pulls him toward her. His eyes widen, and recognition dawns on his face just before his lips crash into hers.
She's got to hand it to Weevil: he doesn't do anything halfway. He slides a hand behind her head as he crushes her against the wall. His tongue brushes against her lips, pushing them open, and she can't help but press her body against his. She almost forgets why they're doing this, but then Weevil pulls back and glances across the room.
"I think he's gone," he says. Then he smirks. "Don't tell me you haven't been looking for an excuse to do that for the last three years."
Veronica leans back against the wall. Her breathing is still too fast.
"Maybe," she concedes. "Is that a problem?"
"I don't know," Weevil says. "Try it again and we'll see."
He's leaning close again, but Veronica ducks out from underneath him.
"No can do," she says, tapping on her watch. "I promised my dad I'd be home at midnight. If he knew I was out, working a case..."
"He'd lock you up in the castle tower with a chastity belt, I'm sure," Weevil says, looking skeptical. "Because people are so good at stopping you from doing things you want to do."
Veronica shrugs. "Maybe I just want to leave you wanting more."
She can feel Weevil's eyes on her as she walks away. Somewhere in the afterlife, Lilly is cheering.
***
The next day, Veronica schleps a backpack full of discarded books into the Hearst cafeteria so that she can give them to Mac. She stands at the threshold for a minute, looking around. She hasn't been back since Logan's infamous cafeteria beatdown. In fact, other than this little investigation with Weevil, she's barely been on the Hearst campus since the sex tape was released; she'd taken her finals like a good girl, and then she'd hidden like a coward. But what is she? A frightened fifteen-year-old anguishing over where to sit after being dumped from all her friends? Not anymore. She's going to give Mac this pile of books, and then she's going to go disappoint Weevil. Apparently her father expects her to spend her last evening in Neptune with him, and she can't exactly explain that she has to work a case with Weevil. She'll just have to hope he finds a way to retrieve the ring without violating his parole.
Unless the tall, dazzling brunette who just walked into the cafeteria with Maxwell Vanderveen is the infamous Janine. Veronica squints. Is that a diamond glittering on her finger?
Well, never let it be said that Veronica Mars isn't prepared for anything. Great-Grandma Mars' old ring has been rattling around in the bottom of her purse for just this situation, and Veronica slides it onto her finger and marches toward Max and Janine.
"Oh. My. God. You gave her a ring too?" she asks, her voice quivering with indignation. She holds up her hand, letting Grandma's cubic zirconia catch the light.
Janine's jaw drops open. "He-he gave you that?" she asks, her voice small.
"I don't know her, baby, I swear," Max says. His eyes are wide, and his voice is pleading.
Veronica shouldn't relish destroying people this way, but she does. She really, really does.
She looks at Max and lets her eyes fill up with tears. "You-you told me I was the only one. You told me you told me you loved me."
Janine stares. Her fingers worry at the ring, twisting it back and forth. Come on, Veronica thinks, just take it off and throw it down. But she's not going to. Max opens his mouth, ready to defend himself, but Veronica refuses to lose now.
"And you gave me chlamydia!" she shouts, her face contorting.
"You bastard!" Janine shrieks. She flings the ring onto the floor and spins on her heel. Max runs after her, calling her name, and the whole cafeteria bursts into applause.
The cafeteria bursts into applause, and Veronica feels blood rushing to her face. Really, it's the perfect end to her perfect year with Hearst College. They should put her in a recruiting brochure. Well, she might as well own it. She's Veronica Mars, persecutor of rapists, star of a sex tape, and now she's just announced to the entire cafeteria that she has an STI. She bows to her audience and bends down to scoop up the ring.
Weevil is standing at the edge of the room, leaning against a ladder. He claps longer and harder than the rest of the crowd.
"Please tell me this is the ring," she says, dropping it in his hand. "Because if it's not, I need to go tell Maxwell Vanderveen III's girlfriend not to bother getting tested for chlamydia."
Weevil grins. "Veronica Mars always solves the case. That was an excellent performance, by the way."
"I think you've just used up a lifetime of favors," she says, smiling wryly. "Maybe two lifetimes."
Just then, a red-faced man in a maintenance uniform shouts, "Hey, Navarro, do I pay you to chat?"
Weevil winces. "Looks like I gotta go, V. Thank you. Really. I owe you one."
He turns around and jogs toward the man, who's staring down at an open breaker box. He's still there, crouched by the baseboards with a screwdriver in his hand, after she's given the books to Mac and taken a farewell tour of the Hearst campus. Her stomach clenches. This might be last time she ever sees Weevil Navarro. She probably ought to try and get his attention so she can say a proper goodbye, but instead she stands on the other side of the hallway, watching him untangle long stands of red and white wire.
So that's it, she thinks. A stolen ring and a fake kiss. They flirted and they traded favors, and now they're going their separate ways again. Maybe that's her best answer to the question of what they might have been.
Anyway, goodbyes have never been her thing.
***
Weevil appears at the door long after she and her father have shared a farewell dinner. He's gone to bed, and Veronica's sitting in the living room in her pajamas. Officially, she's packing up a few odds and ends. Unofficially, she's pondering how the hell this crappy little apartment started to feel like home. The truth is, the answer is obvious: her father is here. First Lilly had gone, then her mother. She'd lost and found and lost Duncan again, and repeated the process with Logan three times over. And through all of that, no matter what she did, her father stayed. And now, for the first time in her life, she's leaving him.
It's a good thing a soft tap on the front door distracts her from her thoughts. She's about two steps away from sobbing into a pint of Haagen Dazs, and she refuses to start her journey to Stanford with puffy eyes and a scratchy throat.
"Weevil," she says when she opens the door. She can feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
He looks like himself again: stubble on his chin, white t-shirt, black leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet cradled in his hands. It's pretty much the way he'd looked the first day she met him, the day she'd gotten in school suspension for calling Madison Sinclair a cunt right in front of the principal's office. Come to think of it, she and Weevil have been through almost as much as she and this apartment have.
"Nice outfit," he says with a smirk.
Veronica's cheeks feel hot. She follows his gaze down from her threadbare teddy bear pajamas to her fluffy bunny slippers. Maybe it's some karmic punishment from the universe. A boy she's been infatuated with since sophomore year shows up at her door late at night, and she's dressed like a twelve-year-old at her first slumber party.
"Can I help you with something?" she asks, hoping the ice in her voice counters the flush on her face.
"Stand still so I can take a picture," Weevil says.
Veronica reaches for the door, ready to slam it in his face, but he catches it before she closes it all the way.
"Wait, Veronica." He fiddles with the helmet in his hands, suddenly looking nervous. "I didn't want to leave things the way we left them. I came to take you out."
Veronica raises her eyebrows. "For a date?"
"For whatever you want," he says, regaining his composure. There's no mistaking the heat beneath his words.
Veronica bites her lip. She knows what she wants, and it's not pizza or a midnight movie.
"Take me for a ride," she says.
Their eyes meet, and a surge of heat runs down from Veronica's belly to the spot between her thighs. Then they both look down at her bunny slippers. Weevil grins, and Veronica blushes again.
"Just let me slip into something a little less comfortable," she says.
The frantic search for suitable clothing is the sort of thing that gets left out of movies. Almost everything she owns is packed, and one false move will awaken her father. And god, what if he finds Weevil lingering outside while she's in here, looking for clothes? She had just propositioned a man while wearing bunny slippers, and he had accepted. Maybe it's better not overthink the ensemble. In the end, she settles for a jean skirt with a frayed hem and a black tank top that's just a little too small. It's hardly her best date night outfit, but then, she doesn't plan to be wearing it for long.
Motorcycles have always frightened Veronica, not that she would admit it. For all her risk taking, she's tried and lead her life at least somewhat sensibly, and the absence of seat belts and airbags and crumple zones has always seemed like a spinal cord injury waiting to happen. Tonight, though, she climbs on behind Weevil without a second thought. Her skirt hitches up higher than she had expected, leaving her inner thighs exposed to the rough fabric of Weevil's jeans. She wraps her arms around his waist, and the muscles of his stomach feel hard beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. When they reach the Pacific Coast Highway, she lets herself get lost in the rush of sensations: the wind sliding against her bare legs, the engine vibrating through her body, and Weevil's back moving beneath breasts as he shifts and turns the bike. The moon is full and the ocean is glittering and black, and Veronica thinks she could stay suspended in this moment forever, where everything feels possible and she has nothing to think about except her body.
Weevil pulls off near a cliffside overlooking the ocean. He tugs off his helmet and Veronica does the same, running her fingers through her hair to bring it back to some semblance of order. Weevil turns around to face her, and his fingers brush against her knee.
"Beautiful, isn't it? I come out here sometimes, just by myself," he says. His eyes are soft in a way Veronica hasn't seen before -- like he's taken off the armor he wears to face the world.
She couldn't say who kissed whom first; they'd both come here for the same reason, and they move toward each other at the same time. He kisses her more softly than he had at the party -- all lips and no tongue, and his fingers pressing gently into her knee.
"You weren't the only one waiting for that for three years, you know," he says.
Veronica does know, but she doesn't say it. They're past their game of constant one upmanship now, so instead she spreads her hand wide against his stomach. She feels his breath hitch, his heart beating against the tips of her fingers.
Weevil slides off the bike seat in one smooth motion. He's standing above her now, and he kisses her more deeply, tilting her head up and tracing a finger along her jaw. His other hand slides up and down her knee, his fingers occasionally reaching up to stroke her thigh. They brush against the hem of her skirt but never go past it, and Veronica realizes he's letting her set the pace. She arches her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, and he clenches his hand around her leg, the pad of his thumb digging into her thigh.
Veronica pulls back when she sees headlights looming on the horizon. She leans her head against Weevil's chest, breathing hard, and he traces lazy circles up and down the inside of her thigh, occasionally letting his fingers brush against the elastic of her panties. When the car passes, he looks down at her with a question in his eyes.
Veronica bites her lip, her stomach clenching. Is she really going to do this? Yes, yes she is.
"Let's go somewhere more private," she says.
Maybe reinventing herself doesn't mean she has to go back to being naive pep squad Veronica. Maybe it just means becoming someone who lets herself have fun.
She slides off the bike, and Weevil wraps his arm around her waist as he leads her down the narrow path to the beach. The shore here is rocky, and she stumbles a few times in her flimsy sandals. Weevil catches her every time.
They reach a little cave in the bottom of the cliff, and Weevil stops in front of it. He turns to face Veronica, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I don't show this place to a lot of people," he says, answering her unspoken question about how many girls he's seduced in this very spot.
Maybe she ought to tell him how much she appreciates knowing that, but instead she pushes him against the wall of the cave and kisses him. As much as she loves sex -- even if she was sometimes afraid to admit it -- she's never been this aggressive before. She savors the way Weevil's body goes soft and pliant against hers, even while his arm is still wrapped tightly around her waist. His hand wanders up over her back, his thumb tracing slowly beneath the elastic of her bra. She scrapes her teeth against his lip and Weevil hisses, but his hand continues its agonizingly slow trajectory toward her breasts.
Veronica pushes Weevil's jacket off his shoulders, then pulls his shirt up over his head. By now, his hand has finally reached her breast, and his thumb is grinding the rough lace of her bra against her nipple.
"Take my shirt off," she murmurs against Weevil's open mouth.
He complies, and spins her around so her back is to the wall. The rocks are rough against her skin, but it's hard to complain about that when Weevil's lips are wrapped around her nipple. He brushes the cup of her bra aside, and Veronica arches against him as his tongue brushes against the bare skin of her breast. His hand is warm on the inside of her thigh, and she opens her legs wider for him. He fingers slide under the wet cotton of her panties, and he pushes two fingers inside her in one smooth stroke.
She digs her fingernails into the skin of his back, not caring if she leaves a mark. He hisses and pushes his fingers deeper inside her, and she cups the back of his head with her hand, the better to drive his mouth against her breasts. His teeth scrape against her nipple, and she clenches herself tighter around his fingers as he kisses his way up her collarbone and finally back to her mouth.
"Please," she murmurs, reaching for his belt buckle.
"Please what?" Weevil asks, pulling just a fraction of an inch away from her lips.
She grinds down on his hand and slides his zipper down. But Weevil shakes his head, even though he helps her free himself from his boxers.
"I gotta hear you say it, V," he breathes against her ear. "Tell me what you want."
"I want --" She gasps as Weevil presses a line of kisses down her neck, his fingers opening and closing over her nipple. "I want you inside me."
She has a sudden, horrible thought: what if Weevil doesn't have a condom? She never carried them when she was dating Logan; her father would have sensed their presence and never would have let her out of the apartment again. With Piz, she'd never needed them. But Weevil is sliding a foil wrapper out of his back pocket with a grin.
"Wait a minute. Did you know this was going to happen?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.
"Hoped is more like it."
He lifts Veronica up, and she wraps her legs around his waist. His cock is hot against her as he slides it up and down, pressing it against her clit and teasing her opening before he finally pushes inside. He's shorter than Logan but thick in a way that makes her ache, and he pushes in and out slowly, letting her get used to feeling him inside her.
"This good for you, V?" he asks. HIs forehead is leaning against hers, and one of his hands is cupping her breasts.
"Faster," she murmurs against his open mouth.
Maddeningly, Weevil slows down.
"Not a chance, V," he says. With every word, she can feel his breath hot on her neck. "I wanted this for a long time. I'm gonna make it last."
Instead of speeding up, he thrusts harder. With every stroke, he slides out of her, the head of his cock stretching her opening before he pushes inside her again. She swirls her hips around him in slow circles and clenches tight every time his cock presses against her g-spot. The sensation builds with every stroke, sending arrows of heat down her thighs and up to her nipples.
"Just like that, V," Weevil whispers in her ear. "Just like that. Let me see you come."
He's thrusting into her faster now, just like she'd wanted. His thumb is rough against her clit and his teeth scrape against her neck, and she leans back against the wall, letting her orgasm crash through her.
***
Veronica tiptoes into the apartment just as the sun's first rays are piercing the sky. When her father knocks on her bedroom door, she's sitting on her bed in her teddy bear pajamas, looking innocent -- or as close to innocent as she can muster.
"You almost ready, Veronica?" her father asks.
"Almost," she says. "Just one last thing I have to do."
She flicks through her pile of fake ID's one by one: Isobel at Kane Software. Candace the licensed massage therapist. Beth at UCSD. The last three years of her life, summed up in a set of very well-crafted fake IDs.
"Good-bye, old Veronica," she says, bending over to plug in the shredder. "Hello, Veronica 2.0."
Her father leans against the doorframe, smiling fondly. "Aw, the ritual shredding of the fake ID's. Every child's last task before college."
Veronica turns to face him. "If you don't mind, Dad, I think this is something I have to do alone."
He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. "You're doing the right thing, honey. I'll start loading the car."
The shredder whirs, and Veronica bites her lip. Does starting a new life really mean you have to destroy every trace of the old? Surely not. There's her taser on the nightstand, perfectly good, barely even three years old. And her purse, the one with two secret pockets and three lockable zippers. Waste not, want not, right?
She peeks around the doorframe to make sure her father's really gone. Then she grabs an extra box off the dining table and labels it HAIR ACCESSORIES in big, looping letters. Everything fits inside perfectly, and she shoves it into the bottom of her trunk.
By the time her father comes back inside, the remnants of her Neptune High School ID and two old debit cards are in the bottom of the shredder. Her actual fake IDs are tucked safely in the box of "accessories." She stands in the center of her empty room, wearing a brand new Stanford t-shirt.
"Come on, Dad," she says. "Let's go start my new life."