Nope. The only thing she has on is panties.
“Jenna!” I cover my eyes again.
“I don’t have nothin’ you haven’t seen before, chick.” No, but they’re not marred from having a ten-pound, eleven-ounce child, either. “Anyway. What’s your first class today?”
Gathering my things, I keep my eyes anywhere but on her. “Business Ethics, why?”
She’s silent for a moment—silent for so long that I’m tempted to look at her. Dread pools in the back of my throat, and I try my best to ignore it. However, when I hear her breathing hard, that’s when I can’t ignore it anymore.
My eyes find hers, seeing her shooting a troubling look my way. “What’s that for?”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, then by some miracle covers her chest by crossing her arms and leaning against the door jam. “Which teacher?”
What’s with the— “Mr. Erikson in Meece Building, why?”
She shakes her head, sighing. “Change him.”
“Wh—” I frown hard.
She cuts me off, “Today, Lo.”
I cut off mid-word as she backs into her room and closes the door on me. Doesn’t say a word, not even a “fuck off, Lo.” She just closes the door like she didn’t just trip me out over the teacher that will pave my way to getting my bachelor’s degree in business and finance.
Deciding to push her weird behavior to the side, I chance a glance at the wall clock, frowning when I see I have barely under an hour until my first class.
I make sure I have all my things, then head to the bathroom. Today is going to be a day where caffeine is needed, and if I don’t want to be late to my first class, I need to get a move on. If Maverick were here, he’d already have me pushed out the door and on our way to daycare.
Nothing would make me happier than for these four months to zip on by.
Hurriedly going through my routine, I’m ready and grabbing my bag as I head out the door. Walking through the loggia of the apartment building, I take the steps—very sturdy and refurbished steps—down to the first floor. Heading out of the loggia, I make my way toward the coffee shop I saw upon arrival yesterday.
Sun shines down from overhead, already heating up the campus. It’s not hot, but it is a little warm to be so early in the morning. Dew still lingers on the grass, giving everything a damp look.
To be honest, the campus is beautiful, even if the town is not. It’s a symbol for change and bettering my future. And I absolutely cannot wait to dive into the curriculum to get my business degree.
My eyes peer all over, taking in the sights of slowly dying weeping willows, maple, and oak trees. Some leaves have started falling off their withering branches, preparing themselves for the chilly bites of winter winds.
Something so beautiful can be said about the changing of a season. As if the earth is going through a metamorphosis of its own, coming to the end of its life to prepare for a new one. That’s how I see each season.
Spring, where everything is new, fresh, and birthed with the promise of becoming something special. It’s in the middle of raining to soften the soil for a new life, and also as days drag on, toughening up for the blistering season called summer.
Summer, there’s hardly any rain, and it’s scorching hot with a humidity of a hundred plus. A person can barely breathe; the air is so thick with moisture. Forget about fixing your hair—it’ll frizz two seconds after stepping outside. But all this leads to fall.
The beginning of fall is one of my favorite times of the year. It has two of my favorite holidays right smack in the middle. Halloween and Thanksgiving. Trick-or-Treating and eating. Both of which are where my thick thighs and bulbous ass came from. Mostly. The other part of that is what they call pregnancy spreading.
Seriously, it’s a thing.
Oh, and the last season. Winter. It used to be my favorite time of year, but now I’d much rather forget it altogether. The only reason I even celebrate Christmas or New Year’s now is because of Maverick. He doesn’t deserve to be punished because his father is a prick.
Stepping down off the pavement in front of my apartment, I maneuver into the crowd of students walking toward their first class of the day. Many of them look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to go, while about half of them look like they’re over it. It’s hilarious to see so many people inwardly wishing death on the school they applied to.
Making my way across campus, I’m lost in the scenery when I feel this familiar cold chill washing up my spine. I come to a stop and look behind me, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Pushing my feeling to the side, I keep on toward the coffee house. However, the feeling doesn’t go away. It only worsens.
By the time I grab the handle, I’m breathing hard. The ding is loud and boisterous above my head, echoing. However, the smell that immediately emanates from inside pushes all of my worries away.
Good Lord, it smells like heaven. Fluffy, crisp tarts keep warm in a case to the left of the barista station. There’s row after row of freshly baked and packaged muffins lining the shelves. And coffee. Just the smell of that beany goodness causes tingles to wash up and down my spine.
No one tells women that their sole reason for survival during the newborn months is coffee. Even while I was a junior in high school, my father caught me awake and feeding Maverick one morning around three a.m. I still had to get up for school in just a few hours and was dead on my feet.
Maverick wasn’t one of those perfect little babies that slept all through the night right from birth. No, he spent months upon months sleeping maybe an hour or two at a time. During that time, I learned that I slept when he slept, or I’d be getting no sleep at all. My mom wasn’t there to help me, and the only people I could depend on were my brother and dad.
So, the morning my dad found me nearly in tears, he pulled up a chair and showed me how blissful coffee could be if had in moderation. Ever since I’ve been like a crack addict needing a fix.
I never turn down coffee. No matter who it is offering, buying, or even selling. Been on the go since I had Maverick, and it’s only because of caffeine that I haven’t hit rock bottom yet.
Smiling, I peer up at the menu as I come to rest at the back of the line. Shifting to the side, I take in how many people are in front of me, then glance down at my Fitbit. Perfect. I should be in and out without any fuss or muss.
I decide on a long black with a blueberry muffin, my mouth fills with saliva at the thought of that warm, flaky piece of goodness. Anyone who knows me knows I love my blueberry muffins. Almost as much as I love double chocolate muffins. Except, I can only have my double chocolate with iced coffee and my blueberry with hot, black coffee.
Two more people move to the side to wait for their order just as the bell rings above the door, signaling another customer.
I stiffen when that familiar electricity buzzes through their air. I’d know that feeling anywhere, that oppressive tension that seems to emanate from his inner being. It’s the same feeling I always get whenever we’re in the same room together, even back in high school. Neither one of us could go anywhere without the other knowing about it.
Before I turn around, I already know who I’m going to see. But for some reason, I need physical proof. Flicking a glance over my shoulder, an exhale leaves my lips in a rush.
I was right. And I hate that I am, too. Knowing when Hunter is around meant I’m sensitive to his presence. I don’t want to be anything to him. He’s an arrogant asshole who needs a lesson in manners and how not to hurt people’s feelings.
Turning back toward the front, I cross my arms over my chest and click my tongue against the roof of my mouth in agitation. I feel him more than I hear him moving up to stand behind me like he didn’t see his arch-nemesis is here already.
The heat practically melts my backside from how close he is, his signature scent of Calvin Kline and spearmint rushing up my nostrils. He always smells expensive yet downright homey at the same time. It’s a conundrum
.
Still can’t chew that flavor of gum to this day without thinking about that bastard. Probably why I stick with cinnamon. Completely opposite from the gum he chews.
Hunter has ruined many things for me, actually. Gum is just the tip of the iceberg. He’s ruined stargazing, hide-n-seek, kissing, touching, even speaking to the opposite sex. It infuriates me to no end because I want to move on, but I don’t know how.
He’s everywhere without being anywhere, and any time I think I can move on, it’s always his face that manifests in my dreams.
“I see some things do change,” his voice slices through the air. “When did you become a morning person?”
Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him … Fuck. “A lot of things have changed in the last three years, Prince. What are you doing here?”
All of a sudden, my back is blazing hot and feeling like it’s on freaking fire, as he leans toward me. I can feel each exhale ghosting across the back of my neck, causing my ponytail to flutter back and forth like he’s a raging bull about to charge.
Instantly, and without provocation, I’m transported back to a time where this was Hunter’s favorite position. If you know what I mean. He’d snuggle into my back, weave his fingers through my hair, bite along the column of my neck as he thrust in hard and deep.
Hard to believe that just a few years ago, I was head over heels in love with this boy. Now, he’s the devil incarnate.
They say the heart is a fickle thing, but really, it’s the boy. It turns on you so fast and brutal, even when you know it’s better to stay away—physically and emotionally.
“Well,” he says, and his scent gets strong, as does his heat when he steps closer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but that barista over there?” My eyes immediately flick up to the one he’s talking about. And I know I’m looking at the right girl because she’s watching us like a hawk with what looks like disdain plastered on her face.
I really shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t fall into his trap … “What of her?” I went and did it now. What happened to ignoring him? Dammit all to hell.
He’s so close I can feel his smile against my ear, his top lip grazing against the lobe, causing a cold chill to race up my spine. My reaction makes him smile wider. “She owes me a blowie for giving her the big O a few nights back. I’ve come to collect. Shooting your load first thing in the morning is just as energizing as sucking down a vat of tar. You should try it sometime.”
My face pinches in disgust even as my heart pangs in sadness. Not because of the obvious sexually-related comment, but because of the image I now have fried into my brain. And I can’t decide if I like it or hate it.
Fuck, it’s going to be a long school year.
“When did you become so crude?”
He nips my ear with blunt teeth, causing my mouth to fall open and a rush of air to leave. I’m too shocked to even retaliate. “Probably around the time you screwed me over, little con.”
“S-screwed you over?” I inquire, confused.
With a shove, I find we’re next at the counter and are able to place our orders. Dumbly, I stumble the rest of the way forward, out of his reach, and place my hands on the cool, marble counter and recite my order.
“I’d like a tall black and a blueberry muffin.”
The girl only looks at me. She doesn’t yell it back over her shoulder like she’s done the last three people in front of us. She doesn’t say a word at all. Only stands there eyeballing me like I’m a bug she wants to crush under her shoe.
She’d be pretty if her lips weren’t trying to suck the rest of her face into their depths by pursing so largely. With dark hair, obsidian eyes that glimmer with malicious intent, she looks like one of those thin yet curvy, gothic emo girls you wouldn’t dare talk to in school for fear of being cursed.
“You’ll have to go somewhere else. Looks like we’re all out.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Scowling, I reply, “Okay, then I’ll just have an iced coffee with two shots of espresso and cream, and one of those double chocolate muffins in the case over there.” I point in the direction of the worst mistake to my waistline, already salivating for the chocolatey goodness.
She glances in that direction, then back to me, appearing unfazed. “Oops, sorry. It seems we’re all sold out of them, too. Can you please step aside so I can assist the gentleman behind you?”
When the girl flicks a demure look at Hunter over my shoulder, that’s when I put two and two together. I should have known he’d do something like this.
Spinning toward him, I glower. “Did you really get me blacklisted with a single goddamn look?”
He stares at me innocently, but I know him too well not to miss the flash of cynical glee that filters through his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The little fucker even gives me a megawatt smile as a cover-up. The kind of smile that makes hundreds of girls drop their panties and forget their own names.
Trust me, I got firsthand experience and a tiny kid to show for it.
“Go fuck yourself, Hunter Prince,” I whisper heatedly.
He rears back like I’ve struck him, then puts on the show of a lifetime. Really, Meryl Streep would be envious.
“Harloe Maree Rose!” he cries out, slapping a hand to his chest in faux shock. “Just because you throw yourself at me does not mean I will sleep with you! What kind of person do you think I am?”
The screeching lilt of his voice bounces off the walls, causing everyone who is within the vicinity to stop talking and gawk at the spectacle we’re creating.
Hunter knows better than anyone that I do not like being the center of attention. Years, he tried to get me to try out for the dance team because he knew I loved dancing, but I couldn’t do it. Being in front of all those people, seeing them watching me—it choked me up every time.
“Stop. It,” I grit out, looking around at all the people and giving a soft smile.
Every Tom, Dick, and motherfucking Barbara has stopped their morning routine to peer in our direction. Some with boredom, some with camera phones videoing, and others are guys looking at me with appreciation. Gross.
“And it gets worse!” he croons, putting the back of his hand to his forehead like he feels faint. “You want me to put what whe—”
I reach forward really quickly and slap my hand over his mouth. Does that make me look guilty? Probably. Do I care? Hell, no. He’s deliberately embarrassing me in the middle of a place he, a freshman just like I am, got another student blacklisted from.
“What will it take for you to shut up?” I ask, peering up into his eyes, noting the amusement shimmering within his multi-colored orbs. “We both know you want something or else you wouldn’t make a scene like this. Hunter Prince may be the Golden Boy of this town, but he hates being the center of attention just like I do.”
His amusement dies in an instant. He grabs my hand forcefully, shoving it off his face. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. Not anymore. As you so lovely put it, people change a lot in three years.”
He stops, peering into my eyes. The familiar feeling of drunkenness starts wrapping around my head. I have to shake myself out of it just as he asks, “Really want to know what I want?”
I nod.
He leans closer, getting all into my space. I’m afraid to breathe because I know what will happen if I do. My body will wake up and take notice—or more so than it already has.
He doesn’t stop closing the distance until his cheek settles against mine, making my eyes fall half-mast. Feels like the heat of him pressing against the side of my face is scalding hot, but I know he’s not running a fever, that’s just how my body has always reacted to his, like a goddamn bitch in heat.
But then my face falls with each syllable that falls from his lips, horror taking over. “The sight of you disgusts me. I’d want nothing more than for you to disappear like you did sophomore year. What happened back then, little con—hmm? Get
stuffed like a turkey and need to run for the hills?”
My anger simmers, then boils over. What he implied hits too close to home. Too, too close.
Without thinking, I lean away while my hand slices through the air. A loud, deafening sound filters through the air, quickly followed by dozens of sharp gasps from everyone around us. It takes me a moment to realize what happened. To realize how his proximity and filthy words caused me to react with violence—so much so, I lost my cool and smacked the shit out of him.
He stares down into my wide, disbelieving eyes as his glimmer with malice. I watch, entranced, as a devious smirk plasters across his face. “My turn.”
CHAPTER 8
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I jump up out of a dead sleep, my business ethics book sliding off my chest to fall open-faced onto the floor. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I shift around on my bed and try to orient myself with what’s going on.
Ever since I came back to the apartment this afternoon, I’ve had my nose in my book studying.
Answer me this—why would a teacher give a pop quiz over the syllabus? No one reads those things anyway. They merely follow along with the teacher, so they don’t become lost in the curriculum. At least, that’s what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Mr. Erikson throwing this test out there at the last minute.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Releasing this snorting-breath, I quickly acclimate myself and toss the quilt off me. Scooting out of bed, I maneuver my way through my pitch-black room. Not even a streetlight is shining through the half-open drapes.
Nearing the door, I nearly take off my little toe when I stub it on the end of the bed. I cry out as pain like no other assaults me, traveling up my leg, along the planes of my back, and into my brain.
“Motherfucking hell. Son of a bitch!” I cry out and hop on one foot as I cradle the other to my chest.
I was dreaming of good things. Abs, tattoos, nipple piercings—and now I’m getting my ass handed to me by the foot of my bed. Lovely.
Our Secret: A College Bully Romance (Golden Crew Book 1) Page 8