“You mean dicks?” I retort, and my tongue dips out while laughing.
Her brow rises. “You know what? That’s a fact, and I don’t even care.”
“Whore,” I say with a smirk.
“Whore you too,” she says.
And we both laugh at each other like two goddamn hyenas.
The drive to school doesn’t take nearly as long when I’m in the car with her. I have my own car, of course, but I prefer to carpool with her. It’s better for the environment and for my health. Chatting with Mo is pretty much the only thing that keeps me sane right now with that guy living in my home. I expected him to be gone before the end of summer, but some things are stickier than others, and this cum stain isn’t coming off so easily.
When we get to the massive gates surrounding our school, I swallow and sit back while Monica rolls down her window.
“Student number?” a voice says through the monitor.
“Five, one, three, zero, eight and five, two, six, four, one.”
“Thank you,” the voice replies, and the gates open at a snail’s pace.
We drive all the way up the hill on the stone path to the giant parking lot to the right of the school. Tons of expensive cars are parked here, most of them belonging to the spoiled kids attending the school, who got them from their rich parents. Not that I’m the one to talk.
“So … you ready?” Monica asks, clutching her hands together.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, shrugging again.
“Damn, you shrug a lot,” she says as she gets out of the car.
I follow suit. “So?”
She smacks the door shut and locks the car. “Is it me, or have you gotten bitchier lately?” she says, a defiant smirk on her face.
“That’s what happens after the worst summer ever,” I reply.
She cocks her head, and says, “Aww, c’mere.” Before I know it, she’s already smashed my face between her giant tits. “Hug.”
“You’re … choking … me …” I hiss.
“Good, maybe that’ll knock some sense into you,” she jokes as she releases me.
I cough. “Thanks.”
“You shoulda called more often,” she says. “I could’ve been there for you.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
“You sure?” She raises a brow. “I know you had it rough last year, with your father—”
I interrupt her by holding up a finger and give her the sternest face I can muster.
“Right.” She smashes her lips together. “Fine. We won’t talk about him. But you gotta promise me you’ll enjoy your senior year.”
“Oh, I definitely will,” I say, rubbing my lips together while we walk along the thick marble path.
“You owe it to yourself,” she says. “You need to have a good time. Live a little.”
“Yeah.” I suck in a deep breath. She’s right, but … telling yourself you should and actually doing it are two entirely different things.
“C’mon, let’s go. Time to wreck the school.”
Monica drags me with her toward the huge building. To this very day, Falcon Elite Prep School still makes my jaw drop. The giant regal building reminds me of a palace built by kings and queens to oversee their citizens, but I’m no royal. Though I don’t doubt some of them attend this prep school.
This whole school is a cesspool of rich, spoiled kids. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit I’m one of them. Still, the truth is the truth. I only got in because my father is a celebrity lawyer. But it was my mom’s idea for me to go here. But I befriended Monica here, so I’m happy with the choice as I can’t imagine my life without her now.
We walk along the path that boasts a dozen seats accompanied by exotic flowers and manicured trees. Sitting in their own little circle or hanging around the fountain or the pathways behind the trees, the cliques are everywhere in the grass surrounding the building. We don’t belong to any of them, and I don’t even want to. I’d much rather be an outlier than an it girl.
“Oh, my God, check that out,” Monica says, nudging me with her elbow.
Speaking of it …
One look at the brown-haired, long-legged girl marching in our direction while wearing a purple skirt too short for her ass, and my eyes almost roll out of my skull. Pretty Miss perfect Layla Parker. But I call her Bitch number one.
The other one is her lackey, Jenny, equally beautiful but a killer too. Not literally, but most boys who stumble into her path are left in ruins.
“Jenny looks like she’s on a murder spree,” Monica jokes. “Did you know? Rumor had it her last breakup was so bad the guy ended up crying on her lawn for hours.”
“No. But interesting.”
“And someone said Layla and Jenny caused a classmate to drop out last year just because they didn’t like the way she smelled.”
“Wow,” I reply, folding my arms.
“Yep.”
I don’t know if I should believe all the rumors floating around about them; and there are a lot. But they sure don’t deny them … and judging from the way they behave toward everyone around them—including me—I don’t think they’re really rumors after all.
Layla flaunts her stuff, strutting around the premises as though she knows she owns the property. People glare at her with a mixture of admiration, envy, and sheer panic. It’s as if the zoo has suddenly turned silent at the sight of the trainer carrying the bucket of food. Everyone wants a taste. But neither of them dish any of it out … or so they pretend.
No, Layla saves that for her darling quarterback boyfriend with his killer smile, six-pack, and V-line of which a tiny glimpse can be seen from underneath his shirt. Nate Wilson. The moment he appears from behind a tree, my eyes are glued to his presence, but I’m not sure if it’s in awe or in lust. I won’t ever admit that to anyone, though. The fucker is a grade A asshole, just like his girlfriend. The perfect match.
She’s headed straight for us, and I’m contemplating whether to step aside or best the storm coming my way. I’d be an idiot not to move, but it’s too tempting to stand my ground because this isn’t just her sidewalk; it’s mine too and everyone else’s. She marches around as if she owns the place, but she doesn’t, and someone needs to remind her of that.
The moment she passes me, she bumps her shoulder right into my bag and pushes me aside.
“Watch it!” she says.
When I’ve recaptured my footing, I hiss back, “You walked into me.”
She narrows her eyes at me and throws me a look. That look; the one that could make a thousand girls fall to the ground and beg for their reputations not to be ruined by the matriarch. But I’m not scared of her. What’s she gonna do? Hit me?
Her top lip curls. “Whatever, loser.”
I know why she hates me, but it doesn’t mean I care. My eyes aren’t fixated on hers.
All I can look at is Nate Wilson … and how he’s staring right at me.
My throat clamps shut, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. My feet feel rooted to the ground as he stands beside Layla, the moment our eyes lock seeming to last forever.
Suddenly, Layla turns her head and swirls her long mahogany hair. “Stay out of my way.”
She prances off in her Louboutins as though she’s the queen of her castle and we’re her defiant subjects. Nate follows but not before throwing me a single, hardened glance as though he’s trying to warn me not to get close.
Don’t say a word. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t follow us.
Before I know it, the moment has passed, and they’re gone, vanished behind the gold-engraved doors of the building.
Goddammit. Sometimes, Layla makes me want to poke her eyes out with a pencil.
“Hope you were careful …” Monica snorts. “You don’t want whatever she has. Raging bitch princess cooties or something.”
Mo always manages to make me forget my anger by making me laugh. But I still can’t help but stare at the door through which Layla
and Jenny disappeared … but most of all because of Nate.
Something in his eyes made a chill run down my spine. Like a dangerous threat and a sinful promise bundled into one delicious package.
Chapter Three
Nate
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My fingers thrum against the metal of the locker in front of me, the sound calming me.
My brain is fried. All I can think of is that girl …
The girl with the icy white blond hair who’s occupied my mind ever since I saw her that day in the ocean.
I should forget about her, erase her from my mind, but the moment she stepped right in front of me before school, it all came pouring back in. It’s as if she stared straight into the deepest, darkest pit of my soul. As though she’s seen it all.
No, she hasn’t. She hasn’t got a clue. No one does.
I sigh out loud. I’m staring at my locker and the books I’m supposed to pick up, but I can’t for the life of me remember what classes I’m supposed to follow today. I should’ve brought that damn schedule, but I forgot to print it out, and in my rush to get out the door this morning, my dumbass self left my phone at home. Maybe I could ask Layla for it …
“Heads-up!”
Before I even have time to respond, something hits me hard in the head.
“Sorry!”
I rub the back of my head and spin around. Robby just threw a ball at me. “Nice warning, bro.”
He smirks, but then says, “You’re so damn distracted lately. I don’t know what’s up with you, but ever since that party, you’ve been acting off.”
“What?” My brow rises. “Nah.”
I close my locker, and he punches me in the shoulder. “Was the booze a little too much for you? I thought you weren’t a crybaby.”
“I’m fine,” I say, throwing the ball back into his stomach so hard he clenches and an oomph sound leaves his mouth.
“Don’t cry now, Robby,” I retort.
“Thanks, I needed that,” he says while holding the ball, and he walks off. “You are coming to practice, right?” he yells. Typical. I give him a salute and shake my head when he laughs.
Suddenly, a familiar face completely redirects my attention. That girl with her icy white hair just walked past me, and I can’t help but follow her.
Like a man possessed, I tread in her footsteps through the crowd, leaving only a few people between her and me. She’s accompanied by another girl who I assume is her friend because I haven’t seen them separated yet, and this other girl is talking nonstop about their vacations and the boys here at school. She’s listening, but she seems distracted, as if she can sense something is wrong.
Suddenly, she turns around and stares right at me.
I stop but don’t flinch, and neither does she.
Then someone stands right in front of me. Layla snaps her fingers in front of my face, breaking the spell.
“Hello? Earth to Nate. I’m here.”
“Yeah? What is it? I’m kinda busy,” I say, and I grab her arms to push her aside so I can see where the girl is going, but Layla refuses to budge.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to have class?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You forgot, didn’t you?” She sighs and fishes her phone from her expensive-looking leather bag. “Here.” She opens an app and shows me the times and dates of each of the classes. “English in about two minutes, so you better hurry.”
She leans in and presses a kiss to my cheeks. “See you later, hun!”
Right before she passes behind me, she squeezes my ass. I hate it, but I never say it out loud.
I look around, desperately trying to find the girl I need to follow, but she’s gone. Dammit.
Sighing, I find my way through the long hallways until I come to the room number shown on Layla’s app. I hope I see her again today because she’s gonna need to print that schedule for me. Layla always knows where I’m supposed to be and when. She keeps tabs on me, and I like that. Maybe I let her use me as an accessory because I use her stay sane and get through the last year of this prep school alive. She’s like a personal obsessive fan who can’t get enough of you. Toxic relationship? Nah. Normal teenage stuff.
Without thinking, I step into the classroom even though the class has already started. The teacher throws me a grumpy look while I stand frozen in the doorway. There she is … that girl … sitting right here in the same class. And there’s an empty seat behind her too. Lucky me.
For a second, all I can do is stare at her until she looks up from her paper and notices me too. And boy, that look in her eyes riles me up.
I wish I’d noticed her before … before the summer … before everything.
“You’re late,” the teacher, Mr. Flanagan, says.
My nostrils flare as I look away, and say, “Sorry.”
The teacher licks his lips and rubs them together. Then he waves the paper in his hand up and down. “Go. Sit.”
I nod and walk past all the seats. Everyone’s staring at me. I know I’m late—and on my first day of the year too—but I don’t care. None of this matters. I don’t even know why I’m here … except for her. That girl glaring right back at me as I walk past and sit down right behind her.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, but I can smell her fear. It drips off her like the sweat beading on her skin just an inch below her shirt. I can’t help but stare. I need to know what she’s doing, saying … and thinking. If it’s about me.
I shift in my seat and flick my pencil up and down as the teacher begins to talk. I don’t listen to him even though I should because I can’t stop staring at this girl in front of me. She doesn’t even know what she got herself into the moment she got involved with me. My life, my space … it’s sacred. The people I let in are people I choose. But I never picked her.
She picked me.
And that makes me feel uncomfortable. Weak. And I don’t like feeling vulnerable.
I clench the pencil tightly, questioning what I should do. If I should speak up, talk to her, say the words. But what would a guy in my position say to a girl like her? What words could I ever use to describe the demons screaming in my head? None.
So instead, I lean in and peer over her shoulder, taking a peek at the texts she’s sending to who seems to be her bestie … a girl named Monica who can’t shut up about the guy she’s sitting next to in her class. I don’t want to read about some dickwad’s pretty face and how she’s already thinking about dating him, but I need to know whether I can trust this girl in front of me. If, when it comes down to it, she knows when to keep her mouth shut.
But the longer I peek, the more she seems at ease. It’s as if she’s forgotten I’m here. As if she’s completely engrossed in her conversation and not even paying attention to the teacher anymore. And for some reason, for a single second, I wish she was focusing all that attention on me.
The wind entering from a nearby window lifts her hair up, and her scent enters my nostrils, invading my sense of smell … completely overtaking my ability to focus on the cell phone in her hands or the sounds around me … or the fact that she immediately spins around in her seat and we come face to face. Finally.
Read Cruel Boy Now!
Books by Clarissa Wild
Dark Romance
Savage Men Series: Caged & Locked & Chased & Branded & Hanged
Under His Rule & Beyond His Control
A Debt Owed & A Debt Repaid
The Company Series
Delirious Series
Wicked Bride Games & Dirty Wife Games
Father
New Adult
Cruel Boy
Ruin
Fierce Series
Blissful Series
Erotic Romance
Hotel O
Bad Teacher & Bad Boss
The Billionaire’s Bet Series
Enflamed Series
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About Clarissa Wild
Clarissa Wild is a New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author with ASD (Asperger’s Syndrome), who was born and raised in the Netherlands. She loves to write Dark Romance and Contemporary Romance novels featuring dangerous men and feisty women. Her other loves include her hilarious husband, her cutie pie son, her two crazy but cute dogs, and her ninja cat that sometimes thinks he’s a dog too. In her free time, she enjoys watching all sorts of movies, playing video games, and cooking up some delicious meals.
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Rowdy Boy (A High School Bully Romance): Black Mountain Academy Page 29