Blinded: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 1)

by McKayla Box

  Which I don't want to answer.

  “Vodka,” I say.

  Mercy rolls her eyes. “Of course. Leave me to be the lone wolf. As always.”

  “Well, if you'd stop drinking that Captain Morgan garbage,” Brooke says.

  Mercy pulls out the bottle of Tito's and pours some into a cup, then pours some Sprite over the top of it, and hands it to me. “Captain Morgan is one of the most important men in my life. I can't help it if none of you know what a good drink tastes like.”

  Dylan and Brooke laugh and I manage to force something that sounds like a laugh out of my mouth. Mercy finishes pouring the drinks for herself and the other two, then holds up her cup.

  “To our senior year,” she says, then smiles at me. “And to new friends.”

  We all touch our cups together and I hesitate for just a second before putting the cup to my lips. I pretend to tilt it back, but the liquid never reaches my mouth. The smell of the vodka causes my stomach to lurch, though, and it takes everything I have to not gag into the cup.

  “Alright, ladies,” Dylan says. “Let's make our entrance.”

  Mercy links her arm with mine and we start down the road.

  I have no idea what to expect.

  Chapter 13

  There is no possible way that I could have even imagined what Archer's house looks like.

  As we walk down the road, the noise coming from around the corner grows. I hear laughter and shouting and music. Both sides of the road are lined with cars. People are walking in groups toward the noise.

  We come around the corner and the house takes my breath away.

  It's white and sleek and long, like someone took life-sized white and clear Legos and built a mansion with them. It's all angles and glass and spills out in either direction. It's two stories tall and I can see people on the roof. End to end, it has to be the length of at least three football fields. On either side are rolling grass lawns that cascade downward. The driveway in front of the house is as big as my grandparents' home and filled with expensive cars. It reminds me more of a museum than a home someone might live in.

  “Jesus,” I blurt out.

  Mercy laughs. “Uh huh. Just wait until we get inside. This is the boring side.”

  “What exactly does his dad do?”

  “Something with money,” she says. “Finance or investing. I honestly don't even know. But he bought this land about eight years ago and then it took two years to build the house. I can't even imagine how much it cost, but there's no chance there's a more expensive house in Del Sol.”

  “I heard his dad thought about selling it a year ago,” Dylan says. “My dad said the number he heard was thirty million.”

  “Dollars?” I say, disbelieving.

  Dylan laughs. “Yep. So when we all think our families have money?” She shakes her head. “We don't have shit compared to Archer's.”

  The music tumbles out of the windows and people are everywhere, holding cups and bottles, and talking and laughing. We make our way down the drive and toward the massive front doors that have to be at least twenty feet tall. One is already open and we walk through it and into the huge entryway.

  Everywhere I look, it's marble and glass. Everything looks expensive. There are massive paintings on the walls and big vases and things that I didn't think people really put in their homes. People are jammed together in small groups, and I can barely hear anything because the music pumping from speakers I can't see is so loud.

  Mercy squeezes my arm and points forward. I nod and hang onto her, terrified she'll lose me in the crowd. I've already lost sight of Dylan and Brooke.

  She leads me through the crowd and we step down into a living room that is twice as big as the apartment my mom and I shared in Florida. The TV on the wall might as well be a movie screen. Long, black leather couches sit like giant dominos in the room and people are clustered in and around them. I start recognizing some faces from my classes and Mercy is waving and yelling things to people that I can't quite make out. All of it is sensory overload.

  I look down into my drink, the one I’m still clutching in my free hand. I know the vodka will taste good and maybe even settle my nerves.

  But I'm not ready yet.

  I feel cool air rush to my face and I can't believe that the air-conditioning is that strong. I look around.

  And then I realize that it's not the air-conditioning.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows, which look to be at least twenty feet high, aren't really windows.

  They're doors, and they are open.

  Mercy pulls me through the throng of people until we pass through the doors/windows and we are on an enormous concrete deck that's roughly the size of a high school gym. At the far edge of the deck is an infinity pool and there are people in the water. Beyond the pool, all I can see is ocean.

  “Holy crap,” I say.

  “I know, right?” Mercy says. “It's an incredible view.”

  Incredible is an understatement. As far as I can see in every direction is the Pacific. Far down to the left I can make out the shoreline, but we are well up above it. It's like being a bird over the water.

  “Hey, you made it,” a voice behind us says.

  I turn around and it's Heath. His sandy blond hair is damp and it looks darker than it did at school. He's wearing a long-sleeved purple T-shirt and jeans. His brown eyes look a little red around the edges.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “I was hoping you'd be here,” he says, smiling down at me.

  “Yeah, her and every other girl who doesn't know better,” Mercy says.

  He shoots her a look. “Mind your own business, Mercy.”

  “Nola is my business,” she says. “I'm, like, her chaperone tonight. Keeping her out of trouble.” She gives him a fake smile. “Which means keeping you away.”

  He frowns and looks at me. “She's mad at me because I won't hook up with her.”

  “Oh, please,” Mercy says. “Go find some freshman girl who doesn't know any better. Back off, jackass.”

  Mercy pulls me away from.

  I look back over my shoulder.

  He holds up his hand and waves goodbye.

  “You were kinda rude,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, well, trust me,” she says. “I've never wanted to hook up with that dude. And he's just hoping you haven't heard all about him yet so he can hook up with you.” She squeezes my hand. “You can do better, Nola. Just trust me.”

  This is the second time she's told me I can do better. I'm not entirely sure why she thinks that.

  We head back into the house and find pizza in the kitchen. I pretend to take sips from my cup as we hang out and chat, but none of it has reached my lips yet. When Mercy is talking to someone else, I'm able to dump some of it into a trashcan.

  Dylan and Brooke emerge from the crowd and get themselves to the huge island in the middle of the kitchen.

  “She can't decide on a victim,” Brooke says. Her hair is a little windblown, her cheeks pink.

  “I saw Luke Vaughn,” Dylan says. “He looks pretty good, but I'm pretty sure I hooked up with him sophomore year. And Danny Clinton must've done some heavy lifting this summer, because his shirt barely fits him. But I can't get excited about him.” She sighs. “I may have to go younger.”

  The three of us laugh at her as she grabs a half-empty bottle of vodka next to the pizza boxes and refills her cup.

  “Make sure and leave a tip,” a voice says behind us.

  Then Aidan pushes between Dylan and Brooke and grabs a slice of pizza.

  “Here's a tip,” Brooke says. “Use gasoline for shampoo and bring a match.”

  Dylan cackles.

  Aidan wolfs down half the slice of pizza. “You're drinking my vodka and eating my pizza. Least you could do is leave a tip.” He grins at Brooke. “Or you can just blow me.”

  “I'd rather blow an ape with syphilis,” she says, making a face like she wants to puke.

  Dylan high-fives her.


  Aidan continues grinning, but looks at me. “How you like all this, Miss Nola? This what it was like wherever you came from?”

  I shake my head.

  He laughs. “Yeah, no shit. No place is like Del Sol. Or Arch's house.” He winks and points at me. “He's gonna pick you.”

  “Pick me?”

  “Yup yup,” he says, nodding. “So be ready.”

  “Pick me for what, exactly?” I ask.

  But he's already turned and heading out of the kitchen.

  I look at Mercy. “Pick me for what?”

  “Who the hell knows,” she says. “He's probably talking out of his ass. Like usual.”

  “I thought about him,” Dylan says.

  “Aidan?” Brooke says, disbelieving. “You thought about hooking up with Aidan?”

  “Oh, don't act like you're too good for him,” Dylan says. “You and Nick were hot and heavy for a while.”

  “Yeah, but that was Nick,” Brooke answers. “Not...Aidan.”

  Dylan turns and watches Aidan through the crowd. “Something tells me he knows what he's doing. And all of those surfer muscles really do it for me. I might just have to tape his mouth shut.”

  We all laugh.

  I grab Mercy's elbow. “No, I'm serious. What was he talking about? What would Archer be picking me for?”

  Mercy starts to say something, but her eyes drift over my shoulder for a moment before meeting mine again. “I'm not sure, but you can ask him yourself. Because here he comes.”

  Chapter 14

  It's impossible not to notice Archer as he strides across the living room toward us.

  He's taller than everyone else and the room parts like he's the emperor or something. The girls are trying to steal glances at him and the guys are either getting out of his way or reaching out to fist bump him as he comes through. He's in a black T-shirt, blue board shorts, and he's holding a beer in his left hand.

  And he's looking right at me as he comes toward us, a crooked grin on his face that buckles my knees as he gets closer.

  He studies me for a second, then nods like he's right about something.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shrugs his massive shoulders. “Nothing.” He nods at my cup. “Get you something else to drink?”

  “No, I'm good.”

  The grin gets a little more lopsided. “Okay then.” He looks around at Mercy, Dylan, and Brooke. “Ladies. Good to see you brought your new friend.” He looks at me again. “Nola.”

  Dylan lifts herself up and sits on one of the counters. “Arch. You letting freshmen in?”

  He makes a face like he can't believe she's asking the question. “Of course not. I've got a couple of people watching the doors.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm looking for fresh meat,” she says. “Everything here is...stale.”

  Archer chuckles. “I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for. But stay out of my bedroom.”

  “But you've got the nicest room,” she says.

  “I'm planning on using it,” he says. Then looks at me. “Later on. Right?”

  “You fucking wish?”

  He laughs and takes a drink from his beer. “Relax. I'm teasing.” He sets the empty beer bottle down and squints at me. “How are you in the water, though?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “In the water,” he says. “You like water, right? I know you liked seeing me in it the other day. I'm just assuming you like water.”

  “Oh gawd,” Brooke says, rolling her eyes. “Give it a rest, Archer.”

  “I'm just asking your new friend a question.”

  “I like water just fine,” I tell him. “As long as it's not filled with giant assholes.”

  The other girls hoot and holler.

  Archer laughs and does that nod again.

  “Good one,” he says. “Well, we're gonna find out.”

  “Find out what?”

  He rolls his eyes. “How you are in the water. Stay with me now, Nola.” He chuckles. “Nola. Is your real name New Orleans?”

  “Good one,” I tell him. “If only I hadn't heard that seven thousand times in my life.”

  He smiles.

  I know he's arrogant and a bit of a prick, but Jesus.

  That smile.

  “I'm gonna call you Orleans from now on,” he says. “Anyway. The water. You're my partner.”

  “No, I'm not,” I say. “And for what?”

  “Archer,” Mercy says, shaking her head. “No. Come on. Stop being a jerk.”

  He laughs. “What? I thought I was being nice by including the new girl here.” He winks at me. “Orleans.”

  I look at Mercy. “What is he talking about?”

  “Senior swim,” she says.

  “What's that?”

  “Every year, a group of seniors swim out to the buoy and back,” Dylan says. “In teams. One girl, one asshole.”

  Archer snorts.

  “It's just a bragging rights thing,” Brooke explains. “I don't even know how or when it started, but it happens every year and it's always on the first night of school.”

  “At night?” I ask. “You swim in the ocean at night?”

  Archer grins at me. “Don't worry. The sharks won't be out there. Hopefully.”

  “Stop it, shithead,” Dylan says. “There are no sharks. He's just being a dick.”

  “It's the fucking ocean,” Mercy says. “There are fucking sharks.”

  “Hey,” Archer says.

  The way he says it, it's almost like a purr.

  I look at him.

  “I won't let anything happen to you,” he says.

  “I'm not doing it,” I say. “I'm...not a great swimmer. And I haven't spent much time in the ocean.”

  “This is a perfect way to learn them,” he says. “You can ride me.” He laughs. “I mean...ride on me.” He tilts his head, considering his words. “Wow. That still sounds wrong, doesn't it?” He looks at me. “We can do whatever you want, Orleans.”

  My stomach does a little flip-flop. He's flirting with me and even though he's arrogant, I don't hate it.

  “I'm not swimming,” I tell him. “Or riding.”

  He laughs. “I'm not sure which I'm more disappointed about.” He leans down, closer to me. “Come one. You gotta do it. I'm gonna win, so you're guaranteed a victory.” He smiles. “And a little bit more time with me.” He looks around the crowded kitchen. “And trust me. There are plenty of girls who'd like a bit more time with me.”

  “Maybe you should go find them then,” I tell him. “They probably need you to find them. Because I'm assuming they can't find you because they're blind.”

  The girls laugh and he chuckles.

  “Orleans, you've got some fire,” he says.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Swim with me and I will.”

  “I'm not swimming with you.”

  “Of course you aren't,” a voice says from behind me. “Poultry can't swim.”

  Chapter 15

  I recognize Reese's voice before I even turn around. It's like dragging my knuckles over a cheese grater.

  She stands there, smirking at me, her bitch crew of two standing behind her, trying to emulate the same smirk. Somehow, Reese's looks more nasty and original.

  She looks at Archer. “You can't really think that pulling dead weight like her through the water is going to win you the swim. Do you, Arch?”

  He keeps his eyes on me. “She's going to swim with me and we're going to win.”

  “Oh, I think your new friend is already shaking in her shitty little boots,” Reese says, giving me the once over. “Sorry, shitty little sandals. I mean, are you even sure she knows how to swim?”

  “Jesus, you're a bitch,” Dylan says.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Make me.”

  Reese rolls her eyes.

  I don't like being the center of attention and I really don't like Reese calling me out.
I'm scared of the ocean, but I'm more scared of bowing down to her in any way.

  I look at Archer. “How far is it?”

  He smiles and nods. “There we go. Not far at all.”

  “Bullshit,” Brooke says. “It's far. Out to the buoy and back. At the very least, it's several hundred yards.”

  I'm not sure if I've ever swam that far in a pool, much less the ocean.

  “Look at her,” Reese says. “She's already pissing herself.”

  Mercy puts her hand and my arm and leans close to me. “Don't listen to her and don't listen to him. You don't have to do this. No one will care.”

  But I know they will. I know I'll be the girl that chickened out, that Reese bullied me, and that turned down Archer.

  I don't have a problem with the last one, but the first two bother me.

  “Orleans, listen to me,” Archer says, leaning closer. “You only get one shot at making a first impression, right? This is it. You don't do this, you can't walk it back.” He leans back. “I'll be down on the beach in thirty minutes. You should be, too.”

  He turns and walks away before I can say anything else.

  Reese hits me with her smirk again and follows him out of the kitchen, trailed by her minions.

  “Fuck him,” Brooke mutters when they're out of earshot.

  “Oh, I would,” Dylan says. “I definitely would.”

  We all look at her.

  “What?” she asks. “Come on. Look at him. I know he's an asshole, but...come on. Don't you wanna know what all of those surfing muscles feel like?”

  We all laugh. At least she's honest.

  “But you shouldn't swim if you don't want to,” Dylan says. “Seriously. It doesn't matter what he says, or Reese. If you don't want to, then don't, and no one's going to give you any shit over it. I mean, Reese will, but fuck her.”

  “Do a lot of people do it?” I ask.

  “Fair amount,” Brooke says. “Some people will try to win and some will just go out there to say they did it. Or tried to do it.”