“Layla just rushed past me, so if it was her … It’d better not have been her.” She makes a fist.
“It wasn’t,” I say, rolling up my wet sleeves and pulling off my shoes to drain the water from them. “Nate fucking Wilson.”
Her jaw drops, and she gasps. “Noooo.”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “And the whole team watched.”
“Girl …” Her eyes travel down my chest. “Shit, you’re exposed.” She immediately grabs her tiny coat and throws it over my chest area. “Here, hold this over it. It’s not much, but at least it’ll cover some bits.”
At least I can count on Monica to help me out a little when needed, even if she wasn’t here for the disaster. “Thanks,” I reply.
“Sorry. If I knew they’d come pick a fight with you, I would’ve jumped in,” she says, biting her lip. “Fuck Robby. And fuck Layla, Jenny, and Nate, and all those jerks.”
“I know,” I say, nodding while trying to squeeze the water out of my clothes and hair, but it’s a fight against the impossible.
“How did things go with Robby?” I ask.
“Oh, I ripped that asshole a new one,” she says, making a face, and she balls her fist.
“Good,” I answer. That fucker deserved every ounce of wrath.
“Hey, I could rustle up some spare clothes if you want,” she says. “I’m sure Nadia has something you can wear.”
“No, thanks,” I say, letting out a sigh. “I just wanna go home.”
She grabs my arm. “Of course. Let’s go home. This party is too boring for us anyway.”
And somehow, after all the shit that just went down, Monica’s comment still manages to make me smile.
* * *
Nate
When I get home, I immediately rush upstairs and lock myself up in the bathroom. Footsteps follow me, coupled with a concerned voice.
“Nate? Nate?” my dad knocks on the door. “Hello? Talk to me. What happened?”
“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Just tired and want to take a shower.”
I’d rather not talk right now. I don’t want to have to explain why I’m covered in Coke.
“Did something go down at that party?” he asks.
“No,” I reply.
The more lies I tell, the more my skin begins to itch. It’s as though my body is telling me I’m infected with something that I need to scrape out. But I can’t; it’s already lodged into my flesh like a parasite, worming its way down into my bloodstream and making its way to my heart.
“Well, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here,” Dad says.
“Thanks,” I reply.
He’s too nice to me. I don’t deserve it.
I turn on the shower and wait until I hear his steps fade away before I pull off my clothes. For a moment, I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering what kind of bastard would throw a girl in the pool like that.
Me. I’m that fucking bastard.
I’ve changed so much, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop. I’ve gotten myself in this mess, deep down in this fucking abysmal well that I can’t crawl my way out of. I hold my clothes in my hand and stare at the Falcon Elite label quarterback on the back. I wish I could rip it off. Maybe I should.
I never wanted this burden, to have to fight for this spot on my team. I never wanted this pressure to perform. This sport that doesn’t give me satisfaction.
But my mom’s smile every time she saw me score made me go through with it anyway. Her pride is what drives me … but it’s also my downfall.
I should’ve never said yes to any of it.
I chuck the clothes aside and get under the shower, violently closing the curtain. Nothing can contain this rage coursing through my veins. I’m at war with myself, and I don’t know how to contain it, how not to spread this hatred in my heart to the people around me.
It’s consuming me … making me do things I never thought I’d do.
And for what?
All because of some girl … and my stupid life-altering decisions.
And the only one who can turn everything around is Sam.
I have to find out what she has on me. Those pictures … I need them in my possession, whatever the cost.
Maybe I should go pay her a visit where she least expects it.
* * *
Sam
It’s been a few days since my encounter with Nate, and he hasn’t shown up at school to bully me yet. Knock on wood.
I wonder if he’s changed his mind. He did seem to feel guilty after he threw me in the pool. Something about that look he gave me after my words made him stop in his tracks. It’s as if he was thinking about his own actions, judging himself after the fact.
Or maybe I’m imagining things and projecting myself onto him. Because I sure as hell would be ashamed of myself if I did that to another human being. He didn’t even fucking apologize. Just straight up left the scene after his darling Layla discovered us.
Something tells me they aren’t in a good place either. Not that I care if they break up or stay together. I don’t care at all for her kissing him in front of everyone, trying to assert her dominance as though she was marking him as hers. And I definitely don’t care for him putting his hands on her ass when they walk through the hallways.
I don’t care at all.
I sigh as I park my car in front of my house and go inside. My mom’s still gone with her boy toy. This morning, I found a note in the kitchen about them going shopping, but I bet it’s just to avoid me.
Whatever, I don’t care what she does with him. As long as he’s out of my face, I’m happy.
I go upstairs to my room, but the door is shut. I don’t remember closing it. Did my mom do it, or did Randy snoop through my stuff? He’d better not …
I turn the handle and open the door, only to stay frozen to the ground. My entire room is in shambles. Papers and pens scattered across the room, drawers pulled open and sifted through, trash everywhere, my notebook … gone.
And on the floor in the middle lies a single pink poppy.
“What the …?” I mutter, staring at the mess I know I didn’t leave.
Someone came into my room.
Footsteps are audible behind me, but I’m still in shock.
Someone was looking for something. But who and what?
“Sam? Home already? I saw your car,” Mom mutters as she comes up the stairs. “I—Oh my …”
She glances over my shoulder at the mess in my room.
“What happened here?” she asks.
Thoughts flash through my mind, and my eyes immediately hone in on the open window with the curtains wafting in the wind. That’s when I realize … there’s only one person who would be desperate enough to break into my room through the window to get something they know I have.
Nate Wilson.
But I won’t say that out loud.
“Sam?” mom asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I turn my head, and say, “I, uh …” I can’t. My throat clamps up. If I tell her, I’ll be implicated. My mom will call the cops. And everyone will know it was me. Everyone at school will know I knew … and I didn’t do shit.
My life will be ruined.
“I forgot something this morning and went looking for it without cleaning up,” I lie, and I swallow away the lump in my throat. “Sorry.”
“So it was you?” She makes a tsk sound. “Sam, you know you shouldn’t leave your room like this.”
“I know. Sorry, Mom,” I reiterate.
She pats me on the back. “It’s okay, as long as you clean it up.” She adds a smile to make it sting less, but it doesn’t help.
I go inside and pack up some of the papers and pens while she watches, stuffing it back into the drawer. When she’s finally gone, I pick up the pink poppy lying on the floor and stare at it for a second. Images of a casket being hoisted into the ground come to mind, and I shiver.
I immediately throw the flower in the trash.
I search arou
nd, but my laptop is nowhere to be found. It’s gone, and I know he fucking stole it.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter to myself.
I never imagined he’d go through with his threat, that he’d actually go to this length to get his hands on the pictures.
Guess it’s time to pay Mr. Steal-Yo-Things a visit.
After cleaning up the mess he made, I close the window and make sure it’s locked properly before grabbing my bag and rushing down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” mom asks.
“Out,” I reply.
“Did you clean your room?”
“Yes!” I shut the door before she can ask any more questions I don’t want to answer. I have more important things on my mind right now.
I hop into my car and fish my cell phone from my pocket, then open Google to search for his address. It’s not hard to find when I combine it with his dad’s business, which is apparently a landscape architect for the rich and famous. Now all I need to do is pay him a visit and demand my laptop back.
I start the engine and race off. It doesn’t take me long to get where I need to be. I park my car right across the street. When I get out, I run my fingers through my hair, clear my throat, and straighten my back. No one’s going to mess with me like that.
I march up toward their super deluxe home and ring the doorbell at the front gate.
My heart is almost beating out of my chest the moment someone finally answers, an older man, whom I presume is his dad.
“Hi, um, is Nate home?” I ask. “We are in the same class. We were supposed to study together today.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile awkwardly, because I know someone’s watching through the camera. I also know I’m telling a lie, but saying anything is better than nothing at all, especially when trying to get into someone’s home.
“Huh … Just a second, I’ll open the gates for you.”
A beep is audible, and the gates push open by themselves. I walk up to the house and the door opens before I can knock.
The man looks a bit perplexed. “Hi, Sam, right? Did you just say you were here to study with Nate?
“Um … yeah,” I reply, biting my lip.
“Hmm …” He narrows his eyes, almost as though he can’t believe it. Maybe I picked the wrong lie to tell.
He turns his head, and yells, “Nate! Someone’s here for you.”
He licks his lips and reverts his attention back to me. “He’ll be here in a minute. Shouldn’t take him that long.” His father walks off and leaves me standing in the doorway.
I nod and take a casual glance at their home with its big circular staircase on the left and big hallway on the right with golden embellishments everywhere. Nice.
Suddenly, Nate comes casually down the stairs, and I immediately turn my head away so he doesn’t see it’s me until he’s here. Otherwise, he might spin around and walk off again.
The moment his hands touch the door handle, I stick out a foot so he can’t slam the door shut in my face. His eyes slowly find mine, and when they do, fire almost erupts.
“Sam …” A sparkle in his eyes makes me shiver. A vicious smile follows. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Give me back my laptop.”
He frowns, but there’s a cheeky undertone that makes me wanna scream. “Laptop? I don’t have your laptop.”
“Stop lying,” I say, clutching the doorjamb. “You broke into my goddamn room.”
“What?” He laughs. It’s obviously a fake laugh. “I’d never do that.”
“You’re a liar, and you know it,” I hiss, stepping even closer. “I’m not leaving until I get my laptop.”
“Fine. Then don’t. Stay on the porch all night,” he says. “I can bring you a blanket and a cup of coffee if you want.” I want to rip the smirk off his face.
“How dare you come into my room and steal my stuff?” I growl, and I get up in his face. “I know you have it. I don’t care what you say; you’re the only one with a fucking motive.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that then, Sammie-Sam?” he muses, leaning in. “To get those pictures you said you didn’t have?”
“You won’t get your hands on them. They’re not on there anymore,” I say through gritted teeth.
His eyes and lips twitch. It’s a telltale sign. He’s lying. I’m sure of it.
“Give. It. Back.”
He snorts. “Even if I did have that laptop of yours, which obviously I don’t … What in the world makes you”—he presses his index finger against my chest—“think I’d ever surrender it to you?”
I swat his hand away. “Because it doesn’t belong to you.”
He inches closer, a devilish grin on his face. “As they say … finders keepers.” He tries to close the door on me again, but I shove another foot inside.
I grumble with clenched teeth. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, asshole.”
“Is that your nickname for me now?” he jests. “I need a better one.”
“Oh, I know one. How about bastard?” I growl.
We’re right up in each other’s faces now, and the lightning is practically shooting from his eyes. “You’re terrible with words, Sammie-Sam,” he says.
“Stop calling me that,” I hiss.
“Aww, don’t like it?” he teases. “Too bad for you, I do.”
I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my skin. “Just give me back my goddamn laptop.”
“What would you be willing to do to get it? Assuming I even had it, which I don’t,” he mutters. His eyes travel down my body, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
“Oh, now you wanna negotiate?” I say with a snarky voice.
“No one is talking about negotiations,” he says, biting his lip as he gazes at me. “Convincing is more like it …”
He gives me that same look he gave me the moment he saw me all wet in the pool with my see-through clothes. It’s as though he’s undressing me with his eyes right now, imagining how I look underneath. Fuck.
“I think I know something,” he murmurs.
“Oh, yeah? What?” I say, cocking my head.
“You … giving me your panties as a start,” he says with a wicked grin spreading on his face that could melt panties right off.
But I can’t let my stupid teenage hormones take over. I can’t ever let my guard down around guys like him.
I shake my head. “Fuck you, Nate Wilson.”
He’s toying with me, and I’m not having any of it. “Fuck you. I hope you fucking enjoy sifting through my personal belongings.”
I spit right in his face. I don’t fucking care if it’s assault. He deserves it, and after what he did to me in the pool, I doubt he’ll press charges. He’s got a lot of shit following him, and he knows.
He wipes off the spit with the back of his hand, the look on his face turning dark.
“You’ll regret that,” he says with a gruff voice.
“I don’t think so,” I reply, walking off. “But have fucking fun with the nonexistent pictures! I saved them in a place you’ll never reach.”
He continues to stare at me while I walk back to my car.
As I get into the car, he calls out from behind me, “I will get my hands on those fucking pictures, Sam, I promise you.”
I get in and slam the door shut without responding. His words sound like a threat, and I’m sure they are.
Let him fucking bring it. I’m ready.
Chapter 11
Nate
I can’t believe she came to my fucking house.
Sam Cook really doesn’t know the kind of trouble she’s trying to stir up.
As she drives away, I stare after her, wondering if she’ll come back for another round. I wouldn’t be surprised because she’s one tenacious little firecracker. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like that girl. So violent and attractive all the same.
Rolling my eyes, I close the door and run my fingers through my hair. Weird how an encounter like that
can completely tilt me off my axis even though I was the one who kept pushing her buttons. There’s something about her that makes me want to go on and on until she snaps. I want to see how far I can take it before she’ll crumble and break.
She’s right. I am bad … the devil himself …
But I don’t fucking care anymore.
There’s only one thing I care about and that’s saving myself and my reputation, no matter the cost.
“I thought she was coming here to study with you?” my dad says as he walks out of the kitchen.
My eyes narrow. Is that what she told him to get him to call me? Smart. “No, she had to leave. Emergency, and stuff.”
“Oh …” My dad nods and frowns. “Pity. She seemed nice. Unlike that other girl.”
I snort and shake my head. I know he’s talking about Layla. “Thanks.”
“Well, at least she wanted to study,” he adds.
“Guess I’ll have to get a rain check on that.” I lick my lips. “I’m gonna go back upstairs.”
“To do your homework, I hope?” my dad asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply as I walk up the stairs.
“I don’t wanna get another call from one of your teachers about your grades!” he adds.
“I know!” I yell back, but I know deep down every word I say to my dad isn’t true.
I go back to my room and slam the door shut.
My phone rings and rings. I stare at the screen. Layla’s calling, but I don’t feel any need to pick up. Instead, I cancel the call. Within seconds, the messages start to pour in.
Layla: Why aren’t you answering?
Nate: I don’t want to talk.
Layla: But we need to talk.
Nate: ’Bout what?
Layla: WTF happened at the pool maybe??
Nate: Not important.
Layla: Y tho? Are you hitting on her? SMH
Oh, my fuck … she’s jealous.
I smirk to myself. Never thought I’d see Kayla get jealous over another girl I’m toying with. Then again, that’s typical of her to assume she’d have any say in that.
Nate: No.
Layla: Peeps saying you & Sam are a thing.
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