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

by McKayla Box

  “I want to read it,” he says. “While I try to figure out what we should do next.”

  I shake my head, but stand up, and cross the room. I scan the bar. The only card I see is a rectangle shaped piece of cardboard with a welcome message from the hotel. I hold it up. “This?”

  He smiles. “Yeah.”

  I sigh and walk back to him. I hold it out. “Here.”

  He smiles at me. “Did you look at it?”

  “No. I brought it to you. And Jesus are you being a pain in the ass,” I tell him, glancing at the door. “I'm afraid someone is going to come running in here.”

  “Look at it,” he says.

  I shake my head, irritated, but look at the card. “It's a welcome message. Thanks for staying at our super awesome hotel.”

  “Right.”

  “So?”

  “So keep reading. Almost there.”

  I stare at him for a moment, then look at the card again. It's a typical welcome message. I scan to the bottom. There's a small black and white photo. People in white shirts and khaki pants, all smiling. Above the picture, it says, “Enjoy your stay with us. Our family welcomes you.”

  I look at the picture.

  Then I look below.

  “Sincerely, The Hays Family,” I say out loud.

  He laughs.

  “And you're in this picture,” I say, pointing at it.

  “I know,” he says.

  I look around the room, then at him. “What the hell? You own this hotel?”

  “Not me,” he says. “To be clear. My dad does, though. And this is our family's suite.” He smiles. “It's never rented out except to family and friends. Sometimes, my dad gives it to a client.” He winks. “But I knew it was empty this week.”

  I'm processing what he's telling me. “So you didn't break in.”

  “Nope,” he says. “Got the code right here.” He taps his temple.

  “And we were never in danger of security coming to get us? The cameras?”

  “Oh, there are definitely cameras,” he says. “But they know me.”

  “Was the thing with the cops even real?” I ask, bewildered.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says, nodding. “That was totally real. And to be fair, you just assumed that we were going to get in trouble coming in here. I never said we would.”

  “Bullshit,” I say.

  “Think about it,” he says, tapping his temple again. “I didn't.”

  I take a moment and think.

  Dammit.

  “You suck,” I finally say. “I was scared to death.”

  He laughs. “I know. It was really adorable.”

  “You suck.”

  “Come on,” he says. “You really think I'd run from the police and then sneak you into a hotel and then break into a room?” He squints at me. “How awful do you think I am?”

  I collapse into the sofa next to him. “I have no idea.” I look at him. “Why the hell did you bring me up here?”

  He laughs again. “I wasn't going to. I was just trying to get us inside until the cops cleared. But then you started freaking out and I thought this would be more fun.”

  I punch him in the arm. Hard.

  If it hurts, he doesn't show it. He just laughs.

  Again.

  “That wasn't funny,” I say. “I was seriously freaked.”

  “I know,” he says, nodding. “I was there.”

  I look around the room. “Your dad owns this place? Really?”

  He waves the card at me. “I mean, I'm in the picture. Only time in my life I've worn khakis.”

  There's something in the way he says it that just makes me laugh. Like, double over, stomach hurts kind of laugh. The entire thing is ludicrous. We ran from the police, took refuge in a hotel, and his family apparently owns the hotel. It's absurd.

  And all I can do is laugh.

  He chuckles, stands up, and walks over to the wet bar. He comes back with a beer in one hand and a can of Sprite in the other. He holds the soda out to me.

  “How do you know I don't want a beer?” I ask.

  He laughs again and sits beside me. “Because you don't drink.”

  I take the soda from him. “You don't know that.”

  “I don't?” he says. “Seen you at two parties now. Both times, you've pretended.” He stares at me. “You don't drink.”

  I open the soda and take a long drink. “Okay. Fine. I don't drink.”

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  I pull my legs up on the couch and fold them underneath me. “Why were you fighting with Heath?”

  He looks at the beer, then takes a long drink. “Guys fight.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He leans back in the couch. “I knew what he did. I didn't like it.”

  “So you decided to fight him?”

  “Yep.”

  “You didn't have to do that,” I tell him.

  “I'm aware.”

  “So why do it?”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, because you could've gotten hurt,” I say. “Because the cops were called. You could've been arrested.” I hesitate for a second, then reach out and touch the bloody corner of his mouth. “You actually did get hurt.”

  “I'm fine,” he says. “He's in worse shape and that's all I care about.” He looks at me. “He shouldn't have done that to you.”

  “I handled him,” I say. “I'm fine.”

  My hand is still on his cheek and he puts his over it, pressing it to his face. “You should've told me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to know stuff like that.”

  “Why?”

  He stares at me for a long time and the dormant butterflies in my stomach take flight, banging around like they are trying to escape. He leans closer to me and brushes his lips against mine. Electricity shoots through my body and my fingers tingle. He brushes my lips again and I reach for his face and hold him there. He tastes like beer and copper, this faint taste of blood, but I don't care. I kiss him harder and his tongue snakes into my mouth, exploring every corner. I moan and move closer to him, my hand sliding from his cheek to his chest. He reaches for me and pulls me on top of him. I don't resist.

  I know that we've been fighting for days now, the push-pull thing where sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but I know it's been building to this. There's a spark with him that I've never felt before and as much as he's driven me crazy, I've also wanted to touch him, kiss him, melt into him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. His hands dance along my back and he lifts up into me, pushing his hips into mine.

  I push back.

  It's his turn to moan.

  I reach down and find the end of his shirt. He raises his arms and lets me pull it off of him. I plant both of my hands against his chest, then lean down and kiss his neck.

  “I didn't bring you here for this,” he whispers, his hands slipping beneath my shirt.

  “I know.”

  “I swear.”

  “I know. Shut up.”

  I cover my mouth with his and my hands explore his chest, then his shoulders and his arms. His skin is soft and warm, just like I imagined.

  He pulls my shirt off over my head, then unclasps my bra and lets it fall away from my body. His hands move gently across my back, down my sides, then around to the front of me. I gasp as he cups my breasts and I drive my hips hard down into him. I can feel him in his shorts.

  I've had sex one other time in my life and it was unmemorable, with a boy that I liked but didn't love. I was just looking to not be alone and the whole experience was nothing like what I imagined it might be.

  But this?

  This is what I imagined.

  I find the waistband of his shorts and slip my hand inside. I find him and he groans, pulling me tighter to him.

  My heart hammers inside my chest.

  His hands swarm my body. My back, my stomach, my hair, my face. They slide
down my spine and he grabs onto my hips, lifting up into me. It's my turn to gasp and I wrap my hand tighter around him.

  “My shorts,” I whisper. “Get them off.”

  He kisses my neck. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He unbuttons them, pulls them down, and I let go of him to wiggle out of them. I push my underwear down with them. I kiss him hard, then tug on his shorts until they are off. I straddle him again, leaning into him, rubbing against him like a cat, wanting to take all of him in.

  He bites my earlobe. “You're sure?”

  I groan and lift up on my knees, take him in my hand, and then push him inside of me. I gasp and fall against him. My entire body is on fire and nothing has ever felt so good in my entire life.

  My hands find the back of his head and I grab onto his hair as we find our rhythm, slow at first, then quicker. I kiss him like he's the best thing I've ever tasted. Heat rises inside of me, something I've never felt before. His hands roam my body and I can't get enough of him.

  The heat inside of me erupts and I cry out, collapsing against his chest, writhing and digging my nails into his skull. He drives his hips up into me once, twice, three times, then I feel him slip out of me as he groans. His body shakes beneath me and I hold onto him like he's my anchor.

  Because, right at that moment, he is.

  Chapter 37

  “Hey. Hey. Nola.”

  His voice is far away at first, then I realize it's right in my ear. His breath tickles my neck. My eyes are heavy and I'm still straddled across him, draped over him like a blanket.

  “You gotta wake up,” he says. “You gotta get home.”

  I snuggle in closer to him, our skin still warm. He wraps his arms tightly around me. “What?”

  “You fell asleep,” he says.

  “Mmmm.”

  “For, like, an hour.”

  I force my eyelids open. “Seriously?”

  He chuckles. “Seriously.”

  “But...we're still right here.”

  “I haven't moved. I didn't want to wake you up.”

  I sigh and snuggle into him again. I love that we are naked and I can feel his skin sticking to mine.

  “I mean, we can spend the night here,” he says. “But I figured you need to get home.”

  I sigh again. “Yeah. I do. My grandparents will freak. They might be freaking already.”

  He kisses my neck and the last thing I want to do is get off of him, but I push myself off, unkinking the muscles in my legs and back. He sits there, looking at me.

  I pick my clothes up off the floor, but he just sits there.

  “You should get dressed,” I tell him.

  He spreads his arms out on the back of the sofa. “You don't like looking at me?”

  In truth, all I want to do is look at him.

  And get back on him.

  “I didn't say that,” I tell him, pulling on my underwear and shorts.

  He laughs. He's so utterly comfortable sitting there, completely naked, completely exposed to me. I'm not sure I could ever be like that.

  I find my bra and shirt and I'm dressed again. I pick up his clothes and throw them at him. He laughs, but starts pulling them on. I find my phone on the floor and I'm relieved that I don't have messages from my grandmother. But it's late and I really do need to go home.

  We leave the hotel and the air is cool as we walk back down to the beach and toward the parking lot. The chaos from the party is gone now, replaced with just the sound of the water, the moonlight, and the smell of burnt wood. We hold hands as we walk back up the sand and toward his truck.

  “How many times have you done this walk?” I ask.

  “With someone else?” He shakes his head. “Not once.”

  “Bullshit. You have a hotel suite all to yourself and you've never taken a girl up there before? You don't have to lie to me.”

  He looks at me. “I don't lie, Nola.”

  There is a seriousness to his words, a heaviness to them, that immediately makes me feel guilty for not having told him all of the truths about me.

  “I'm not an angel,” he says. “But that place is usually off-limits. I go there to get the fuck away from everything, but I don't take people there. Aidan and Nick have been up there.” He pauses. “But that's it.”

  “But you took me,” I say.

  He thinks for a moment, then nods. “But I took you. Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  He stops. “Is it so hard for you to believe that I like you?”

  I don't say anything.

  “I've flirted with you,” he says. “I picked you to swim with. I took you surfing. And I kicked Heath's ass for you. And yeah, I know. You didn't ask for that. But I did it.” He looks at me. “I like you. And I didn't take you up there to fuck you. I seriously didn't. But I'm not sorry it happened. Not at all.”

  I pull him toward me, push up on my toes, and kiss him.

  After a moment, I pull away from him. “I'm not, either.”

  “Good. Because that'd be really fucking awkward.”

  We get to his car and he turns the heat on as soon as we get in. I shiver against the air coming in through the vents, but it turns warm quickly and feels good.

  “I don't have my shoes,” I say.

  He laughs. “You wanna go look for them?”

  I shake my head. “No, it's fine. They're just sandals.”

  “I don't have mine, either, if that makes you feel better,” he says. “But I didn't wear any down here.”

  “That doesn't make me feel better.”

  He pulls out of the lot. “Glad I could help.”

  I laugh and shake my head.

  We are halfway to my grandparents when he glances at me. “You said your mom sent you out here. When we were talking about them being divorced and all. What did your dad think of that?”

  I look out the window. “Oh. It…well, it was my mom's decision.”

  “Yeah, but is he cool with it?”

  I bite my lip for a second. I want to tell him the truth about both of them, but I can't force the words out of my mouth. We've just had this amazing night and I'm afraid that if he knows the truth, he'll look at me differently.

  Because everyone always does.

  “Yeah,” I finally say. “He's fine with it.”

  “Did you, like, split time between them?” he asks. “Weekends with him or something like that?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I'm just asking,” he says. “I feel like I barely know you.”

  I look away again. “Yeah, it was like that. I didn't see him all that much.”

  I pause. “I lived with my mom.”

  True.

  “Okay,” he says. “Didn't mean to pry.”

  “It's okay,” I tell him. “Just hard to talk about sometimes.”

  “Okay.” We pass a house that spreads out across two lots and has a massive rooftop deck. “That's your other boyfriend's house.”

  “My other boyfriend.”

  He makes a face. “Heath.”

  “He's not my boyfriend,” I say. “Not even close.”

  He shrugs. “Lucky for you. But you thought he might be boyfriend material.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  He glances at me and rolls his eyes.

  “I didn't,” I say, irritated by the assumption. “He talked to me on the first day of school.”

  “So did I.”

  “And you were a prick.”

  He laughs. “Opinions vary.”

  “And he offered me a ride home from your party because you were being a prick,” I say. “Again.”

  “I was not,” he says. “You bailed on me.”

  “And you went to hang out with Megan.”

  He shrugs. “You bailed. I was mad.” He glances at me. “Maybe don't bail on me like that again and it won't happen again.”

  “Is that, like, a threat?�
� I ask.

  “I'm just saying,” he says. “Don't bail on me. And don't take rides from assholes.”

  I shake my head, hating his attitude. “I think I'm getting a ride from an asshole now.”

  “I'm serious,” he says. “Just stay away from him.”

  It sounds like an order.

  An order he has no business issuing.

  “Uh...since when do I take orders from you?” I ask.

  “I'm not kidding, Nola,” he says. His stare is like death. “I don't want you around him.”

  I’ve never had a fucking father figure before, and I sure as shit don’t want one now.

  Especially in the form of Archer Hays.

  I don't say anything until he pulls to the curb in front of my house. I push open the door and get out. I get my thoughts straight, then turn around and look at him.

  “Don't ever tell me what to do,” I say evenly. “Not ever. I'm not your property, no matter what happened between us.”

  Something flashes in his eyes. Hurt? Shock?

  I don’t know and right now I don’t care. “I will get rides from whoever the fuck I want, whenever I want.”

  He stares at me for a long time. Then he shakes his head. “You're wrong about that.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Because you aren't riding in here again.” He turns away from me. “Shut the fucking door.”

  My anger threatens to boils over. I don’t care that I’m acting irrational. “Hilarious that you'd assume I'd want one.”

  He looks at me. “You liked the other ride I gave you. But you aren't getting that again, either.”

  Anger radiates in my chest. “Don't worry. I'll find another one. And I know it'll be better.”

  I slam the door and stomp toward the house before he can say anything else.

  Chapter 38

  “I have your shoes,” Mercy says. “They're in the trunk.”

  It's the next morning and we're turning out of my driveway. My grandparents were already asleep when I got home and I tiptoed to my room as quietly as I could to avoid waking them. There were no questions at breakfast as to why I got home so late because they told me they got home late and didn't want to wake me. I was glad they assumed that my closed bedroom door meant I'd been asleep.

  “Thanks,” I tell her, dropping my bag at my feet. “I thought they were gone forever.”