Just in case someone skipped over the warning in the first chapter, here it is again. This story is very angry and very smutty, with very bad language, so don't read if you get all offended. Very bad examples are set in this story…

Current musical inspiration: 'Blue Monday' by Orgy, from the album 'Candyass'. Hey, Angry!Ryan, needs Angry!Music.

Part Two: Shatter

He watched her, vaguely aware of the teacher droning in the background. She was stiff in her seat, not playing with him anymore. There were no coy looks, no exposed thigh, no licked lips. He was proud of himself; obviously he had gotten under her skin. She raised her hand to answer a question, making her shirt tighten on her chest.

"Ryan? Mr. Atwood?" he snapped back into reality, the teacher looking at him expectantly.

"I don't know, Ms. Freed. But I think she might," he smirked, pointing at Taylor, whose hand was still raised. The teacher sighed.

"Miss Townsend?" Taylor shot him a dirty look before turning back to answer. He settled back in his chair to watch her again.

She was waiting for him. "I want you to stop." Her eyes weren't focused on him, they were watching the corner of the building warily, as if someone would find them.

"Stop what?" he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and leaning back against the brick.

"Staring at me. It's not funny anymore." She fidgeted, flicking a leaf off her shoulder.

"I never said it was."

"You're going to set the bush on fire," she huffed, eyeing his cigarette, and the very flammable branches surrounding them. He shrugged.

"It's the only place I can smoke without people finding me. Except you, apparently."

"Maybe you should stop smoking. It's unhealthy."

"Good God, you're the most uptight person I've ever met," he groaned, inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes, releasing the smoke slowly.

"I'm not uptight. Smoking is gross. It ruins your teeth, and makes you smell," her gaze was still locked on the corner of the building.

"You didn't seem to care that much on Saturday," his intake was languid as he thought back to it. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to share his reverence. Her head snapped towards him, eyes filled with anger and… something else.

"Saturday," she began, "was a mistake. Don't think I'll make the same one again."

"Yeah?" he laughed, pushing lethargically off the wall and moving towards her. "You think so?" She stiffened, and he backed her into the wall.

"Look, Atwood," she hissed, and he laughed at the use of his last name. Coming from her, it sounded dirty. His amusement threw her off, made her angrier. He placed the cigarette to his lips mockingly, groaning happily as the smoke hit his lungs. He opened his eyes to witness her indignant reaction. She opened her mouth to scold him, but he pressed his lips against hers roughly, letting the smoke fill her mouth and lungs. Her eyes flew wide, and she started coughing, pounding on his chest with her fists to push him away. He broke off, laughing, but not stepping back. "Jackass," she gritted out, breathing deeply.

"So when's the next time your mom's out of the house?"he traced the pattern on her shirt with his finger, swirling it across her stomach, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"I told you-"

"Right, I forgot you're trying that whole self-esteem thing." A quick glance at her face confirmed that his words hit home; she looked upset and unconvinced. He took one last drag, then snuffed the cigarette out on the cold earth below. "How about you just give me a call when you get over it?"

He left her against the wall, satisfied that soon enough, she would call.

He sighed, and settled back into his bed, flipping the cell phone open. "Taylor, Taylor, Taylor, you're so predictable," he scolded, putting his left arm behind his head.

"My mother is out for the evening."

"Well, that's a bit cold. No preamble? No pleasantries?" he was enjoying this girl so much.

"You have a twenty minutes to get over here, or I start without you." There was a click, and the line went dead. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

She didn't speak one word to him. From the minute the door opened, she said absolutely nothing. She just led him to her room, and pulled off her clothes. He shrugged, following her lead. Her body was fantastic, soft and smooth and perfectly kept. Newport girls really knew how to take care of themselves. He watched appreciatively as she got onto the bed, sitting in the middle then looking back at him expectantly.

An idea came to him - the perfect way to make her snap – and, instead of pushing her onto the bed like she expected, he lay down next to her on his back. Placing his hands behind his head, his eyes flicked from her to his crotch, conveying his silent message: get on.

Her face was priceless; horror, disgust, anger, and desire all mixed together into one delicious expression. He sighed, waiting. Eventually the desire won out, and she straddled his hips. He groaned in complete satisfaction as she sheathed herself, sinking down on him.

She was damn good at this. She bounced, rolled, ground her hips against him, hands splayed out on his chest. His own hands gripped her waist, guiding her up and down. "You know," his voice was low, no more than a growl, "I won't tell anyone if you let go a little." He felt her tense up, but she didn't stop riding him. "Fuck," he knew his fingers must be bruising her waist, "just… fucking scream or something."

She shook her head no – at least it was some reaction – and began clenching around him. His eyes closed against his will, and a loud groan escaped his lips. It felt fucking amazing, and now she was raking her nails down his chest. He knew there would be angry red welts there tomorrow, but he couldn't have cared less. He felt the muscles in his stomach begin to spasm, shooting brutal bursts of pleasure coursing to where they were connected. He pulled her hips down tightly against him, releasing himself into her.

When he opened his eyes, she was coming down from her own orgasm, which he had barely even noticed. Her eyes flicked open a few seconds after his, and she met his gaze, body going rigid. Rage boiled in his chest as she got off him, picking her clothes up off the floor and redressing. "Would you hold on?" he growled, getting up after her. "I've never met anyone so tense after sex," he told her, grabbing the shirt out of her hands. She grabbed it back, pulling it over her head.

"My mother's going to be home soon. You should probably leave."

He wanted to argue, wanted to yell. He wanted to throw her back on the bed and fuck her till she screamed. He wanted to see that pretty little face twist and contort with some sort of feeling. But he left, and she said nothing else to him on his way out.

She was under his skin.

He watched his cell constantly, waiting for the call that would get him inside her again. Despite her warnings, he didn't stop watching her either. She started wearing pants, long sleeved shirts. Higher cut, looser fitting. He tried to convince himself it was because winter was approaching, but let's be honest: winter in Newport wasn't that cold. It was him. She was trying to turn him off, make him stop staring.

It was so fucking hot.

Smoking calmed him, soothed his nerves. He had been tense lately, and he knew it was because of her. Her polo shirts had gotten bigger, but he knew what a hot little body she had under them. She was wearing pants, but he knew what her thighs looked like spread apart, straddling him. He took a shaky drag, trying to shut his mind to the images. It wouldn't do any good to go face Seth with a hard on.

Seth was with Summer, who was waiting for Marissa to get done with the social committee. So Ryan was stuck here, wasting his time waiting too. He could be at home, jerking off, but no. Seth just had to be completely whipped.

On the plus side, Taylor was in social committee, so maybe he'd get a look at her. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was three minutes past the time Seth had said to meet them. Shit. Now he was going to get chewed out by Summer about being late, and he really didn't need to hear it. He was about to step out of his smoking/hiding place, when he heard voices. He froze, the last thing he needed was someone seeing him emerge, finding out about his hiding place.

"Jesus, Taylor," an exasperated voice snapped. "You look awful in that. Are you trying to drive people away more than your personality already does?"

"I'm sorry mother," her voice was tense and fearful at the same time. It drew him forward, made him peek around the corner.

A woman - Taylor's mother, he assumed - was shielding her eyes against the sun, and glaring at her daughter. "You look like you're pregnant, and your ass is huge in those pants. No man will ever want you when you look like that. Get in the car." The vehicle roared to life, and sped away.

No wonder Taylor was so uptight.

His cell phone rang, and a pulse of electricity went through him. He knew it was probably just Seth again, calling from his room to talk, because he was too lazy to walk out to the pool house. He was debating whether to pick it up or not, but lost the battle. The plastic was cold in his hand as he looked at the display. Another jolt shot through him.

"Taylor."

"Get over here now." The sentence was hurried and on edge; it sounded like she was pacing. "The door will be open, just come up to my room." Click. Dial tone.

He wasted no time getting out of there.

He felt weird, walking into her house without knocking. Her mother was out, which was good because he really didn't want to ever meet the woman. He forced himself to walk to her room calmly, not wanting to appear rushed and needy. Oh God, was he needy? Dear Lord, he was. He was Seth. Just more masculine, less whiny, and-

Fuck.

She was waiting for him, completely naked. The minute she saw him, she was up and pulling at his clothes, tugging at them desperately. A strange emotion shot through him.

"Taylor…" he stilled her hands, trying to control his breathing – and his body. She shook her head no, fumbling to remove his grip. "Taylor, stop."

"Can we not do this?" she sounded on edge, like her voice was about to break.

"Do what?" Hadn't she called him over? And now she didn't want to have sex?

"This thing where you try to make me feel awful," she was staring at his chest, hands gripping his shirt so tightly her knuckles were white. He felt something unfamiliar wash over him – guilt.

"I wasn't trying to… I just wanted you to do something. Do you know how annoying it is to be fucking someone who tries to pretend like they don't like it? I mean, I get it, your mom is horrible. She really fucked you up."

"Ryan." It was a whisper, but it shut him up. She hadn't said his name since that first phone conversation. "I don't want to talk. Just…"

God, she couldn't even say it. She couldn't even ask him to fuck her. She could tell him to come over, she could order him around, but she couldn't ask for anything, even something he would gladly grant. Something in his chest spasmed; he had to get away from this girl. "I don't think I can do this anymore," he stepped away from her, hands in the air. He saw hurt flash across her face.

"Then get out," her voice was angry, but he saw fear behind her eyes. Shit, there was the guilt again. He was really starting to hate that feeling.

"Look..."

"Just go, Ryan. I don't need your pity."

"Taylor-" She backed away from him; he thought he saw tears well up in her eyes, but she looked at the floor quickly. "Taylor?"

She shook her bowed head, "go away."

"No-"

"Get out!" her head snapped up, eyes flashing in anger. He didn't move, and she picked up the nearest object – a tissue box- and hurled it at him. "Just get the fuck out!"

"Goddamn it!" he yelled, throwing an arm protectively over his face as the tissue box hit him.

"Get out, Ryan!"

"You're fucking insane," his eyes were wide, and he stared at her. She was naked and angry, and he was incredibly turned on. He ducked again as her hairbrush whipped by him.

"Then leave, and you'll never have to deal with me again," she was trembling, suddenly realizing she was naked and exposed. He watched as she struggled between throwing something else at him, and finding clothes. Clothes won.

She stumbled to her closet, pulling at a t-shirt so hard the hanger spun and flew off the bar. He was next to her in a heartbeat, "don't put that on." His hands slid around her waist, and he pressed his hardness against her hip.

"Get out, Ryan," she tried to sound stern, but it just came out defeated. She was already turning towards him.

"Are you done having a fit now?" his lips ghosted over her neck, and she nodded. He looked at her strangely for a second before continuing on. "Are you going to let me fuck you now?" Another nod. "Why?" she looked up at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Why? You were angry a second ago. I'm not sure you even like me. So… why?" It was the first time he ever saw her at a loss, for words, for thoughts, for feelings. He sighed, picking the discarded t-shirt up and handing it to her. "I'll be down in the kitchen. Come find me when you're dressed."

She looked more put together when she came down. Her make-up and clothes and hair were impeccable. "You're still here?" she breezed in, looking for all the world like she hadn't been yelling and throwing things at him ten minutes ago.

"I told you I would be. That's why you came down," he replied wearily; he didn't feel like dealing with this.

"You seem to think you know all about me," she grabbed a cup out of the cupboard, filling it with water from the refrigerator.

"It's cause I do. Do you know how many girls in Chino I've dealt with? Trying to make themselves feel better by screwing any guy who's even vaguely interested, acting like nothing bothers them. It gets old, fast."

"Maybe I'm just bored," she suggested.

"Oh, that's a great excuse for letting all those guys in."

"Why are you complaining? You're one of 'those guys'."

"Oh, I fully intend to continue doing you, but you have to loosen up a bit."

"What if I don't?" the challenge in her voice made his blood pump harder.

"Then I'll fucking make you," he growled, stalking towards her. "But why don't we just take the easy route, and you lighten the hell up. What is so wrong about enjoying sex?"

"I do enjoy it," she sounded defensive and a little put off.

"Well, you sure as hell don't show it." He slid his hands around her waist, pulling her close, and felt her relax into him. "I just want you to... make some noise." He bent his head, lips kissing her jaw. "You know," he licked the shell of her ear, "say my name?" She shuddered, and nodded in defeat. "Say it."

"Ryan," her voice trembled, fingers running over his chest lightly. He groaned at how hot it sounded.

"Again."

"Ryan," she was bolder this time, kissing his collarbone. "Ryan... Ryan... Ryan..." she kept kissing his neck, whispering his name against his skin.

"Fuck," he grunted, picking her up and sitting her on the edge of the counter. He licked hungrily down her neck, over her collarbone, running his mouth over the fabric of her shirt. She was panting heavily, leaning back against the cabinets, watching his mouth travel down. He paused at the waist of her jeans. "You want it?" She swallowed hard and nodded. "Say it."

"Yes. Ryan, I want it." She looked ashamed, embarrassed, dirty. Her hips lifted slightly off the counter as he slid her pants down, and she gasped as her naked skin hit the cold marble again.

"Good girl," his mouth dipped between her legs, and her breath hitched as his tongue darted out to taste her. He smirked against her skin as she moaned and writhed, spreading her legs wider. Biting lightly on her clit, he pushed a finger into her, earning more noises. He was proud of her, showing his appreciation by fucking her with his finger.

"Ryan," she shuddered, "I want you." It sounded forced, but it was progress.

"Fuck yeah, you do," he growled, straightening up and pulling her off the counter, which was not exactly conducive to fucking. The kitchen table was a better height, and he dropped her off there, letting her sink back onto the wood.

He hurriedly unbuttoned his pants before sliding into her, the feel of her almost making him lose control. But he didn't want that, not yet. Not until she was comfortable enough with this new way of having sex. He had to calm down, stay focused. But looking down at her, hair spread like a halo around her head, face a broken mask of want and desire, body trembling and sweaty, it was too much. He began to fuck her in earnest, pounding so hard that the table squeaked.

His fear seemed unfounded. Instead of panicking, she only enjoyed it more. She was returning his thrusts with equal fervor, taking him deeper, providing a better angle. It was so fucking hot, the way she reached her hands up to pull his face down. She kissed him, gasping against his lips every time he slammed into her.

She was going to come any second, he could feel it in the way her body tensed, her hips bucking wildly. He was disappointed, though, when she climaxed soundlessly, biting his lip as her cunt clenched around him. "Damn it, Taylor," he groaned against her lips. She was shaking uncontrollably, fear and hesitance flickering across her eyes. His own orgasm was louder, his moans mixed in with the creaking of the table as he collapsed onto her.

He lay there for a while, reveling in the way her skin felt against him, the way her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain her composure. He felt her hands push against his shoulders, trying to force him off her. "Let me up," she sounded desperate and fearful. He lifted off slightly, and she slid out from under him.

"What?" he asked angrily, his moment destroyed.

"Look at the table!" she said shakily, pointing at the surface. "I have to clean it up before mother gets home."

He watched in utter confusion as she proceeded to scrub the table and floor, pulling the table back into position – he had moved it a few inches forward as he fucked her. "Couldn't you wait, I don't know, a few minutes before deciding to do this?" He was pulling his pants back on now, trying to focus on something so he didn't yell at her. His frustration with the girl was mounting, heart pumping angrily in his chest.

"Gee, Atwood," her clipped tone was back, muscles tensing, "I didn't really peg you as a cuddling type of guy."

"I'm not, but I usually like to relax a little after a good fuck, not get up and start cleaning. Jesus, I thought I was getting somewhere with you," he pulled open the door of the fridge – a little harder than was necessary – searching the interior for something to eat. "You have, like, no food in here."

She looked up from where she was pulling on her jeans, shrugging. "It's because I'm too fat. Mother doesn't want food lying around to tempt me." He eyed her suspiciously, but found that she was completely serious.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope. Especially since I started wearing… different clothes. She thinks it's because I've gotten fatter."

"Oh for the love of God, stop listening to that bitch," he snarled, and she looked up at him, startled.

"What do you care?" she spat, "I mean, you should thank the woman. She's the one who made me desperate enough to fuck you." She took a step back, wincing, as he slammed the refrigerator door.

"I think I'll get food at home," he told her, storming out of the kitchen. She made no move to stop him.

He sat in his car in her driveway for what seemed like hours, calming down. He flashed back to the expression on her face when he left. It had been angry, and a little hurt. The worst part, though, was the resolute set of her jaw. She had expected him to leave, and that was the underlying problem here. She knew he would leave. She expected him not to talk to her the next day. She expected him to ignore her, or tell the whole school what a slut she was, and laugh about her behind her back. Obviously it had happened to her before.

White hot anger pulsed through him at the complete lack of humanity these Newport people seemed to have.

She was back to wearing her normal clothes: the bright sweaters, the short preppy skirts. He wondered if she had taken his advice to ignore her mother. He walked past her desk on his way into class. "Nice outfit, Townsend," he murmured so only she could hear him. Her eyes went wide, and he saw the shock register on her face.

Settling down in his seat, he resumed his normal position: leaning back, arms crossed, eyes focused on her. She moved nervously through the period, shooting him questioning looks that he returned with nothing but a smug smile.

"You're wearing your old clothes again."

She had come to his spot, seeking the reason he was still talking to her.

"Yeah," she crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable. "Last night I thought I'd be rid of you, so I figured I needed to start looking nicer. You know, reel in a new guy?" He was surprised when a low growling sound tore itself from his throat. "Don't tell me you're jealous," she laughed scornfully.

"Well, how would you feel if I just started going after other girls?"

She shrugged, "fine with me. Do whoever you want."

"Really?" his anger was rising. "That's good, cause you know Marissa Cooper? She's really hot." He was sadistically pleased when she tensed up. "I was thinking I should see if I can get into those pants."

"Sounds good," she looked over her shoulder at the corner of the building.

"Yeah. I mean, she's really thin. I bet she's real shy in bed, you know? Real innocent."

"Oh, has she broken up with Luke?" he detected a slight tremor in her voice. "Cause he's really hot. All broad shoulders and chiseled jaw. Plus, he's really tall. You know what they say about tall guys, right?"

His fists were tightening at his side, and he accidentally broke his cigarette in half. "I think you should go for it," he tried to sound calm, ignoring the part of his brain that was shouting at him to punch something.

"You too. Have fun with Marissa." They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, before she tore her gaze away. "Have a nice smoke."

Ryan was talking to Marissa, but he was staring at his girl. She was watching him back, face blank, eyes devoid of any emotion. He tried to focus back on what the girl in front of him was saying.

"… so my mom wants me to go into therapy…"

He shut her out again. The last thing he needed was more of her complaining. Plus, he didn't want to risk telling her that, yes, she did need some therapy. She had a drinking and drug problem, and had OD'd, all by the time she was 16. Good Lord. His eyes flicked back to her. She was gone.

He found her with Luke Ward and his friends, flirting quite capably with the entire group. She glanced over at him, smirking, before turning a dazzling smile on the group of water polo players. They all grinned back goofily, eyes roaming over her.

"Luke, what are you doing?" Ryan tried to sound concerned instead of pissed off. "What about Marissa?" The two were in the boys bathroom, Ryan 'accidentally' following the other boy there.

"What do you mean? Marissa and I are broken up," Luke washed his hands, flicking the excess water back into the sink.

"Yeah, but going after Taylor Townsend is not the best way to get on her good side," the shorter boy reminded him.

"What do you care?" Luke sounded a little less sure of himself now. "With me out of the way, you can have her."

Panic fluttered across his chest as he tried to think up a cover. "I just want what's best for her. And with her life so messed up right now, she needs something stable. You've been her boyfriend for… forever. I think she needs you."

Luke paused, thinking – something Ryan never thought he'd see. "You're right," he nodded to the boy, then headed out of the room.

Ryan stayed in the bathroom, letting numbness take over him. Glancing in the mirror, he was surprised at how… haggard he looked. He was thinner, and there were dark patches under eyes that were surprisingly hard. It looked like all the muscles in his body were tense, but he could barely feel it. He looked like his brother.

She came to his spot again, looking disdainfully at the cigarette in his hand. "What do you want?" he sighed, tension and weariness taking hold of his body all at once.

"Luke Ward basically turned me down. He said something about not wanting to upset Marissa, and how you told him all that." She crossed her arms over her chest, quirking an eyebrow as she waited for a reply.

"So what?" he challenged.

"So you're jealous," her gaze held a level of mockery and pride.

He flicked the end of his cigarette, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot. "Yeah. I am." He could tell she hadn't been expecting that from the way her eyes searched his face. She looked like she was trying to figure out what his game was.

"You are." She said it like a statement, but he knew it was a question.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you're mine, and if you seriously think I'm going to let another guy near you, you're insane."

They hadn't even made it inside. His back was pressed against the wet mulch of the garden as she rode him. He slid his hand up her thigh, ignoring the dirt he was getting on her. She didn't seem to mind either, but that might have been because she was completely gone. He'd never seen her like this, so unfocused and out of control. She was gasping and bucking and moaning out his name, pushing him farther down, making his head tilt back into the cool earth. In the back of his mind he was thankful for the bushes that blocked them from sight, because if her mother came home and saw this….

Just picturing how they must look made him thrust up wildly, and she gave a little gasping scream that made her eyes pop open. "Oh God, Ryan," she whispered hoarsely, somehow remembering that they were outside. He nodded, not able to express in cohesive words how incredible this felt. She leaned forward to capture his lips, and the new angle created an intense friction that tore a grunt from his throat. He bit her bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and making her moan loudly. He gripped her hips, rocking her back and forth on his cock. His orgasm was fast approaching, and he needed her to go with him.

"Taylor," his voice was scratchy and raw. "I need you to come for me, ok?" he asked, almost desperately, eyes locked on hers. She nodded with him, eyes wide. "Now, ok? Now." she nodded again, throwing her head back, and he felt her tighten around him.

"God, Ryan!"

Fuck. It was everything he hoped it would be, and more. The way she said his name while she climaxed was more than enough to trigger his own orgasm, and his hips lifted off the ground in his release. She slumped against him, face buried in his neck. She started to shake uncontrollably, and after a few seconds, he realized she was laughing.

"What?" he grinned into her hair, his finger tracing her spine. He felt her smile against his neck, and she bit him playfully.

"I didn't know sex could be like that," her voice vibrated against his skin.

"See, all you needed to do was just relax a bit."

She lifted her head, looking at him mischievously. "You're right. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that all I had to do was start saying 'Ryan', and I would have awesome orgasms. Although, I'm not sure the guys I was sleeping with would have liked that…" He grinned up at her, ignoring the part of her sentence where she talked about other guys. Instead, he focused on that fact that his name had made her come. "We should go in and get cleaned up," she rolled off him.

"Seriously?" he was annoyed again. God, couldn't this girl calm down-

"Yeah, I was thinking we could go take a shower…" she suggested, biting her lip innocently. He found himself nodding along, zipping and buttoning his pants as he got up. She smoothed down her skirt, and began brushing dirt off her knees.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him that little smile she was so good at. His blood was thrumming through his veins, and he wanted to get out of here. But it would be a little suspicious if he got up in the middle of class and pulled Taylor Townsend out with him. Not the best way to go about hiding their… relationship.

She was waiting for him in his spot, giving him that same dirty smile. He forgot why he came out here, and immediately pushed her back into the brick. Her mouth is soft and hot and wet under his, and she began to make those little noises that drove him wild. He felt her hand at the waist of his jeans, traveling down and… off to the left? She reached into his pocket, pulling out the carton of cigarettes and the lighter.

He broke the kiss, looking down at her through darkened eyes. She smiled politely up at him, removing a cigarette from the carton and holding it to his lips. They quirked into a smile, opening slightly, and closing around the end of the cigarette. She then held up his lighter, flicking it, lighting the oil. He dipped his head down, letting the tip of the cigarette sizzle in the flame.

"Can I try?" she looked a little nervous, but resolute. He thought for a minute, then shook his head no.

"It's not healthy," he smirked at her, and she sighed. "Since when did you become so reckless?"

"Since I started fucking you," she told him, sliding her hands up his chest under his shirt.

"What?" Ryan growled through his mouthful of food.

"Nothing, man. Just… wondering where you go all the time," Seth squinted at him in the bright noon sun. "You're always gone for like, ten or twenty minutes at a time." He took a huge bite of his sandwich.

"I just need to…"

"Get away for a while," Seth finished for him, "I know. Does this have anything to do with you always smelling like smoke? Or maybe it has something to do with the way you're always staring at Taylor Townsend." Ryan winced. Apparently they weren't as stealthy as he hoped. He sighed, knowing the charade was up.

"I never quit, and I've been… seeing Taylor for a couple weeks," Ryan looked at his brother's eyes, daring him to say something.

"Well, just don't let the parentals catch you, cause they'll be pissed. But the real story here is this Taylor Townsend thing. What the hell?"

"Why do you keep saying her name like that?" Ryan's fists clenched around his drink; he was suddenly very annoyed. "She's not some sort of disease."

"No… I know. But she's Taylor Townsend. Summer and Marissa are always telling me…"

"Ok, well I don't really care what they think." Guilt rushed over him at the uncensored hurt on Seth's face. "I mean, I don't care what Marissa thinks. And Summer just hates her because Marissa does." Seth looked a little more relieved. "She's not that bad. Annoying, yes," he smiled a little, "but not that bad."

"So what you're saying," Seth let an amused grin spread over his face, "is that she's awesome in bed." Ryan grinned. "How dirty are we talking here?"

"So you told Seth," Taylor mused, looking around his room for the first time. He watched her from behind, staring at her ass as she walked into the his place. "Ryan?" she called, breaking his concentration.

"Yeah. Which means Summer knows, which means Marissa knows, which means all of Newport knows. Are you ok with that?" he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She looked over her shoulder at him thoughtfully.

"Well, I have nothing to lose. The question is are you ok with it? People will be talking."

"I hate everyone here anyway," he answered, kissing the side of her neck.

"Well, that's comforting," she grinned, tilting her head.

"Except for the Cohens," he whispered against her skin. She elbowed him playfully. "And you," he amended, smiling. She rolled her eyes, breaking his arms open to look around his room some more.

"It's very you in here. No decorations, no frivolous anything."

He shrugged, not sure how to take that. He looked back over at her, and found her smiling at him. Not the playful, dirty smile, not the fake, plastic smile, but a genuine one. Looking around the room, he caught his reflection in the mirror, and was shocked at the transformation. He looked better, happier, not as tense. Less like his brother, more like himself. He found her gaze through the mirror, and she beckoned him over. He smiled.

End

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