by Bethany-Kris
She didn’t want to talk anymore.
Trisha didn’t care. “That kind of blows if you’re still into him, or whatever.”
“Not into him, Trisha,” Catherine mumbled around her bite.
“Good, because I think someone else has been looking your way for a couple of weeks now.”
Catherine flicked a stray wave of hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh, yes, you do. Derik, tall as hell, blond and blue-eyed, plays great defense, and took you to the movies last week.”
So yeah, that had happened.
Catherine still wasn’t sure if she liked Derik the way he seemed to like her. He was a lot like most guys were—physical, pushy, and way too freaking hands-on. Like just because he was a guy with a dick, and she was a girl with a vagina, that automatically meant the two needed to fuck. The more she backed away, the more he seemed to think she just needed more pressure applied. Sure, she’d done some things with a couple of guys she dated the previous year when she had felt comfortable enough to say yes, but it wasn’t very damn much.
Sex was still firmly off the table.
Derik certainly wasn’t going to be the guy who changed that decision. No matter how hard he tried.
“I mean, you are dating Derik, aren’t you?” Trisha asked.
Catherine sighed. “You could call it that.”
“Then don’t worry about you-know-who and whether or not they’re together. Not important.”
“I wasn’t worrying about it. You three just wouldn’t shut up, and I couldn’t not think about it.”
Lies.
All lies.
She’d been thinking about it too damn much.
Thankfully, Trisha’s phone buzzed with a text, taking her attention away from Catherine for the moment.
Catherine couldn’t help herself but check on the two across the lot. She found she was not alone in her staring this time around; Cross was looking in her direction, too. Unfortunately, his distraction didn’t seem to be missed.
Dina, chatting along, frowned when she realized Cross wasn’t paying attention to her. The girl followed his gaze to see he was staring at Catherine. Her brow furrowed, and then she said his name loud enough for Catherine to hear it fifty feet away.
Cross still didn’t respond. Dina gave him a shove on his shoulder. That finally got his attention, but it was too late.
Dina was already walking away, glaring at Catherine the whole time.
Wonderful.
Cross heard a floorboard creak, but didn’t even get the chance to open his eyes before a bucketful of ice-water fell on his body. He must have kicked off the blanket in the night because all he felt was freezing water hitting bare skin.
His shout was drowned out by the laughter of his step-father and little sister.
“That’s payback, bitch,” Camilla crowed.
Cross was still frozen in some cold hell of his sister’s making; one part of him trying to remember what he had done to get this treatment. The other half of him was terrified that if he moved, he’d feel like icicles were stabbing into his skin again.
“Cam!” Calisto shouted at her back as she fled the room. “Ladies don’t say those kinds of words!”
“Ma says I can be whatever I want to be, thank you very much!”
Cross fell back to his soaked mattress, and glared at the ceiling. “Fuck my life.”
“It could have been worse,” Calisto said.
“Please, tell me how. Because from where I sit, there couldn’t be a worse way to wake up.”
“Could have been naked.”
“Get the hell out.”
Calisto went, but he laughed the whole way. “Happy seventeenth birthday, principe. Next time, you won’t put saran wrap on your sister’s toilet seat.”
Oh, that …
Yeah, he’d done that.
And it was worth it.
“Fuck my life,” Cross groaned again as he rubbed his wet palms down over his face.
“Thirty minutes, and you better be in the car for school!”
Cazzo.
“Move your ass,” Calisto added as he strolled back by Cross’s bedroom door, “or the next bucket of water is coming from me, son.”
Why did God hate him?
And on his birthday, no less.
Cross got ready for school in record time, though he was pretty sure he could have gotten out of going if he really wanted to. He grabbed the cream cheese bagel his mother held out the kitchen entryway and held it between his teeth as he slipped on his school blazer and a tweed coat over it.
“Thanks, Ma,” he mumbled.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
Cross rolled his eyes. “Not a baby, Ma.”
Emma leaned out the entryway to kiss his forehead despite his cringe. “Still my baby. Go, you’re almost late.”
“My bed is soaked.”
“Sleep in the guest bedroom for a few days.” His mother winked. “You were due for a new mattress, anyway.”
“You all planned this,” he accused.
“You know it,” his sister said.
Camilla smiled sweetly at the front door, and dressed in her lower Academy school uniform. She looked entirely innocent.
Sweet, sure, but evil.
God, he’d taught that kid well.
He was damn proud.
Calisto came around the corner with a set of Mercedes keys in his hand. “Let’s get moving.”
Cross gave Camilla a one-armed hug on his way out the door. “Well played.”
She beamed.
Pure evil, but she learned from the best.
Calisto made the forty-five minute drive from their suburb neighborhood in Amityville to the private Academy school in thirty minutes, but Cross knew they were still cutting it close on time. He would most likely slide into homeroom just as the bell rang, knowing his damn luck.
“Cross, wait a second,” his step-father said before he could get out of the car. “But, Cam, get going before you’re late.”
“Bye, Daddy,” Cam told her father, leaning between the seats to kiss Calisto on the cheek. She poked her brother in the forehead before he could bat her hand away. “Happy birthday, sucker.”
Then, his sister was gone from the SUV.
Calisto tried to hide his amused smile, but failed miserably.
Cross just rolled his eyes.
“I’m going to be late, too,” Cross pointed out.
“Like you care.”
“Yeah, well, it’s you who gets the calls.”
Calisto tipped his head to the side. “Point taken. Good luck with your game tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“And I don’t say it much, but thanks for being a good brother to Cam.”
“I’m the only brother she’s ever going to have, right?”
Calisto nodded. “Right. Get going before I get a call or some nonsense.”
Cross jogged across the school parking lot, and slipped in through the upper Academy’s front doors just as the bell rang overhead. He ignored the buzzing phone in his pocket, knowing who it probably was.
Dina.
Again.
Some girls he dated were low maintenance, and he preferred that, honestly. He wasn’t up for the clingy type because he didn’t have the give a damn or energy they took, and he only really wanted to have fun, anyway.
Dina was not like those girls. He’d met her toward the end of summer at a party Zeke had gone to, and Cross went along for the ride. He knew her from the Academy, but hadn’t made an effort to approach the girl until that night at the party.
Cross didn’t like titles. He didn’t want to be somebody’s item. He was perfectly content to just be him, and take some detours along the way to make the trip worthwhile. Dina was convinced she could change all of that over time—three months and he was still the same. He thought she understood where he was at regarding them. Not an item. Not together. Not going to change. She was perfectl
y happy and down to fuck at first, but then school started, and suddenly they had to be other things, too.
No, Cross wasn’t up for that. Dina would either learn it quick, or fuck off somewhere with somebody else. Either way, he would be fine.
Cross was reminded of another reason why Dina was a hell of a lot more clingy and on his ass lately as he rounded a corner for his homeroom.
Catherine Marcello.
She stood at her locker, dressed in jeans and a very familiar leather jacket. The hallway had practically cleared of students. She wasn’t dressed in the standard school uniform, and didn’t look to be in any kind of rush to get to homeroom.
Yeah, she was a big reason why Dina was pissed at him in a major way.
Two months into the school year, and Catherine was everywhere. Cross had done okay for the year he attended upper Academy while Catherine was still in the lower school. It was easier because he didn’t have to see her very often, if at all.
It took him a while, but he realized why it had hurt him so goddamn much that day she showed up at his house. She broke his heart into pieces. He hadn’t realized quite how much he cared for the girl until she didn’t want him to care for her at all.
Catherine Marcello was every single reason why Cross wouldn’t be anything with anybody. That girl got under his skin quick, fast, and in a real fucking hurry. He thought about her more often than he should, considering they hadn’t been very much to begin with.
First loves were like a poison a person couldn’t save themselves from, apparently. And his first love taunted him every day without even knowing it.
He wasn’t about to let someone else do that to him again, but frankly, he wasn’t sure anybody else but Catherine could do that.
Cross wasn’t sure why he approached Catherine while she was still digging through her locker. Maybe it was because she was wearing his leather jacket—the damn thing still looked far better on her than it ever had on him. Or maybe it was because this was the first time he had the chance to speak with her alone; there were always too many people around at every other time.
“That’s my jacket,” Cross said.
Catherine stiffened, and her arm froze inside her locker. Slowly, she turned to face him, looking up to stare him in the eyes. “Cross.”
A pretty pink colored up her cheeks, and she smelled like sweetened cherries. He was surprised how much a little over a year could change someone, and that time had been especially good to Catherine. She was beautiful before, sure, but now he was much more aware of just how much. From the long waves of her hair, to her long legs, trim frame, and perfect curves, she was exceptional. Clear skin, bright green eyes, and lips that set into a natural pout even when she was smiling.
“My jacket,” he said again.
Catherine swallowed hard, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I stayed at my cousin’s last night. Forgot my school uniform. My brother ran over a change of clothes this morning. I told him to grab a jacket out of my closet, and this is what he grabbed, so.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“Your brother ran you over a change of clothes but not your uniform?” Cross asked.
Catherine chewed on her inner cheek before saying, “So, I forgot to mention the uniform.”
She was lying.
Cross didn’t have any reason to point out her lies, but he did. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to already be at your cousin’s or something, and you didn’t mention the uniform because you were already supposed to have one?”
“What does it matter?”
“It’s a matter of my curiosity.”
“Well, mind your business.”
“You know they’re going to pull you out of class and make you change into a uniform in the office, right?” Cross asked.
Catherine shrugged, and turned back to close her locker. “As long as they don’t call my parents, I don’t give a shit what they make me do.”
“Did you plan on going home in those clothes if they didn’t make you change?”
“They won’t be home until after supper—already got that covered, thanks.”
A sly girl.
That’s what she was.
Catherine hadn’t changed a bit. Cross realized in that moment. To everyone else, she was the good girl. As long as they didn’t look at her for too long or too hard.
“I have to get going,” Catherine said, “so, excuse me.”
Cross didn’t move, instead keeping Catherine firmly against the lockers as he brushed one of her stray waves of hair back over her shoulder. She didn’t tense at his touch, and instead, smiled. He didn’t miss it. “In a sec. Question.”
“What?”
“Is your number still the same as it used to be?”
Stupid, dumbass, the rational part of his brain taunted. She’s going to bury her claws in you again and tear you the hell apart with them.
Another part of him whispered, don’t fucking move.
He liked that a lot better.
Catherine blinked up at him, and her tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip. “Why?”
“Curious.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend, Cross?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I wouldn’t call her that, no.”
Technically.
“Well, I kind of have a boyfriend. Or something close enough to it.”
Yeah, Derik.
A defensive linebacker on the football team. Cross suddenly hated that prick, even if the guy did keep him from getting concussions every game.
“I didn’t ask a thing about a boyfriend,” Cross pointed out, “I asked about your number.”
Catherine looked down the hallway, as though she expected someone to be there. No one was. “Yeah, Cross, it’s still the same.”
Good enough.
He let her pass, and he would happily take the detention for being late.
Then, Catherine looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Cross?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy birthday.”
Locker rooms full of teenage boys getting ready for a game had to be one of the loudest places on earth. Cross mostly tried to ignore the sounds of his teammates banter and lewd remarks as he tightened the drawstring on his white pants. His pre-game ritual included a lot of peace and quiet, or a lot of loud music blaring in his ears. Once he was finished getting ready, he needed to get out of the locker room, and get in his damn zone for the game.
“Hey, Donati.”
Fuck.
“What, Derik?”
The defensive linebacker leaned against Cross’s locker, effectively blocking him from grabbing his upper gear and jersey hanging inside. Cross folded his arms over his bare chest, and tried not to let his irritation rise more than it already was.
“I’m going to need you to back the hell off a bit,” Derik said.
Cross cocked a brow. “Come again?”
“Catherine Marcello. Ring a bell?”
“I’m about to ring a damn bell for you.”
Derik’s jaw tightened. “Careful, Cross. Piss off your teammates too much, and your dumbass will be left wide open on the field. You’ve got a good arm, sure, but you still need the rest of the team to carry you through.”
“Leave me open on the field, and I’ll beat your fucking skull apart on it before they carry you off on a stretcher, Derik.”
How’s that, asshole?
“You’re missing the point.”
“Then get to it,” Cross said, unaffected.
“You dated Catherine a while back, didn’t you?”
Cross stretched his arm to crack his shoulder as he replied, “Back in lower Academy, sure.”
“For like a year—I remember.”
“About that long, yeah.”
A little less, but who was fucking counting?
“Someone let me know they saw you chatting up Catherine this morning before homeroom. A bit too close, they said.”
�
�People at this school should learn to mind their business.”
“Better they don’t. I’ve seen you staring once or twice. Back off. You’ve got a girlfriend, stick to her.”
Yeah, that was quite enough playtime for Cross.
“First, shut your face before I break it. Second, what I do is none of your business. Fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Derik.”
Cross laughed, put his hand on Derik’s shoulder, and pushed to move him out of the way. He added, “I can talk to whoever the hell I want. I don’t need your permission to do fuck all. Don’t come to me, and expect me to ask you how high when you demand I jump. I answer to no one. I don’t give a single shit what you want. Got it?”
Derik moved forward in an instant so that he stood toe to toe with Cross. “You heard what I said.”
“Threats will get you everywhere you don’t want to be with me,” Cross said. “Fair warning, and it’s the only one you’re going to get, fucker.”
He hadn’t realized it until then, but the locker room was a hell of a lot quieter than it had been a few minutes ago. He still didn’t take his eyes off Derik.
“Did you ever even get the chance to fuck Catherine?” Derik asked lowly.
Cross didn’t respond.
Derik only laughed. “Yeah, I bet not. Shit, she’s not so young now. I’ll let you know how she tastes once I hit it, though. Nearly got it last night, actually. Fair’s fair, right?”
Rage was a blissful thing to Cross.
A beautiful thing.
A bad, terrible, and wonderful thing.
He felt nothing else but rage in that moment.
Cross didn’t even think or consider what it would mean when he drilled Derik in the face with a punch hard enough to break his nose and send him flying back into the lockers. No, he didn’t think at all.
He simply hit the guy again.
And again.
Damn.
His birthday had started out so well, too.
“Mr. Donati, this is your son’s fifth suspension in as many years as he’s been attending the Academy for fighting specifically,” the principal said. “That’s not even counting suspensions for other infractions.”
Cross tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. With his earbuds in his ears, he could pretend like he wasn’t listening to the conversation happening between his step-father and the principal, all the while ignore his sore knuckles.