Tainted Love: A High School Bully Romance: A Pacific High Novel

by Nichole Noel

  Tainted Love

  A High School Bully Romance

  A Pacific High Novel

  Nichole Noel

  Edition 1.00

  Publication Date: 10-11-2019

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Nichole Noel.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work and purchasing a copy of this book! This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Reader warning:

  The Pacific High series is written with a Young Adult/ New Adult Romance audience in mind. This story is filled with heart, humor, angst, and lots of steamy tension. This book is recommended for mature readers as it contains profanity as well as mature situations. With that in mind, welcome to the Pacific High world!

  With complicated boys and the girls who love them, there’s plenty of angst and drama to explore in this romance!

  Copyright © 2019 by Nichole Noel

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  I’ve been here before and I hated it just as much then as I do now. For some people, Bellingham might be a nice place to live—close to Seattle, kind of hipster, lots of food—but for me, it will always be the city that my dad died in.

  I was eleven when he passed away from cancer. Eleven when my entire world was turned upside down. After dad died, we left for California, but when work opportunities for mom dried up, we found ourselves back in his hometown of rainy, boring Bellingham.

  I know the people here, at least, I knew some of them. Back when I first lived in B’ham, I’d had friends, a real family, and a bully. Connor O’Brien. At twelve years old, he’d been the bane of my existence—constantly making fun of me, stealing my stuff, and otherwise making my life miserable.

  One day, I’d had enough, and I punched him about as hard as I could in the nose. Broke it in two places and he never bothered me again, though that might have had something to do with the fact that I moved away and not because he’d actually thought twice about bullying me.

  Some of my friends—Sarah and Kennedy—I’d kept in touch with over Insta and text, while others had disappeared with time. It’s nice to know that I’m not coming back to nothing, not exactly. But I’ve changed, and I’m sure most of my old friends have too, so there will be a lot to get used to.

  And Bellingham is not San Dimas. I’m going to miss the heat and the sun, Bellingham has very little of either, even in the summer. But today, as I wander through the downtown area and try to forget that I live here now, the clouds are airy and high, which lets some warmth filter through. It’s almost a nice day, or it would be if I wasn’t in Bellingham waiting for my final year of high school to start.

  I hit up the record store, because B’ham is hipster enough to still have an actual record store that sells records and CDs, but I get tired of the sales guy trying to strike up a conversation so I end up leaving and going for a walk down the street where I notice a massively huge line sticking out from one of the buildings—some sort of food is being sold there.

  If I know anything about restaurants it’s that, if there’s a line halfway down the block, whatever’s being offered inside is probably good. I get close enough to realize that it’s an ice cream parlor and I’m okay with that. It’s kind of warm and I could use a treat to sweeten up my mood.

  The shop is pretty large, which is great considering it seems like half the teenaged population of the town is in this place right now—with everything from shakes, to sundaes, and ice cream cones in their hands. Takes a while to get into the storefront, but eventually, I can see the ice cream flavors.

  The ice cream selections are out of this world, everything from Mexican chocolate to olive oil and a bunch that I’ve never heard of. I go with an adventurous combination of balsamic vinegar and strawberry, which actually ends up tasting pretty good together.

  All in all, I think this is a pretty successful adventure out on my own and I’m just about to text Sarah to see if she’s interested in hanging out when he walks in and my stomach drops.

  I’m sitting in an oversized chair, spoon in my mouth, hand hovering over my purse as I realize that if I don’t get the hell out of this shop quickly, Connor O’Brien, my childhood bully, is going to see me.

  My stomach rolls as I sink a little deeper into my chair, trying not to draw his attention. He’s popular, it seems. With a big group of friends—three boys and a few girls. They’re all laughing and joking around.

  It pisses me off to no end that someone who spent so much of their childhood making mine miserable seems to be so happy now.

  Especially considering it wasn’t always that way… I think wistfully.

  Once upon a time, Connor was my best friend, but then, one day, everything changed and I never found out why. Never mattered, really, considering how massive the change was and how horrible he ended up being to me.

  I’d tried to ask once, but he’d acted like he never liked me and wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, so I’d let it drop, but the bullying had continued until I fought back.

  I am not about to sit around and wait to find out if he’s changed at all, so I cram my cell into my purse, sling it over my shoulder, and try to covertly make my way the hell out of the parlor.

  And I almost make it too, except for the fact that I’m a massive fucking klutz and forever doomed to draw attention to myself. I fail to notice the giant pool of ice cream on the ground—probably some kid’s accident—and I slip and fall hard onto my ass, hands flailing, ice cream flying, as I hit the ground.

  Everyone in the shop notices. Everyone. Including Connor who takes one look at me as the most curious expression flits over his face, something like confusion, excitement, maybe a little malice? I’m not sure, but I don’t want to wait around to find out if he actually recognizes me.

  I duck my head and I’m trying to avoid one of the staff members who’s asking if I’m okay and offering me free ice cream when I hear my name being called over the din of the crowd.

  “MacLean.” One word and he’s sealed my fate. He knows who I am and, worse, he knows I’m back in town. This couldn’t be any more terrible, could it?

  I pretend not to hear him, which doesn’t stop Connor from chasing after me. I’m about halfway down the block before he finally catches up to me.

  “There’s no way I’d let you off that easy, MacLean,” he says from behind. I don’t turn around, why should I? I don’t want to see his stupid face, anyway.

  “As if I give a shit about what you want, O’Brien,” I shoot back. “And it’s Sadie. I have a first name and you know it, so why don’t you go back to your friends and leave me the hell alone?”

  He laughs, and it’s a deep, rich sound that I’d enjoy if it were coming from anyone else. “Still spunky as hell. No, no way I’m going to let you get away with making a fool out of yourself without adding to it. Still as gimpy as ever. Yo
u’d think with those legs, you’d have learned to walk by now.”

  Okay, that does it. I spin around and I kind of misjudge our distance because I come face to chest with Connor O’Brien. Except he’s not twelve years old anymore, and he certainly isn’t as small as I remember either. Connor was always cute, even as a kid and, at one point, when we’d been friends, I’d actually had a small crush on him that had all but disappeared when his attitude towards me changed and now…

  Oh no, he’s hot, I think to myself.

  This is terrible. Why couldn’t my childhood bully grow up to be like, super ugly? Or at least not so blindingly attractive that everyone on the street seems to notice him. He’s tall. Okay, I said that, but he’s really tall. Or I’m really short, one of the two. I have to crane my neck up to look at him, which is a mistake because it also means that I’m really damn close to him.

  So, so close. Close enough that, if I just press a little closer, I’d be all up against him. His hair is darker than I remember, thick and side-swept like he spent an inordinate amount of time getting it just right. When we were kids, I remember it being sort of brown, but it’s nearly black—maybe I misremembered?

  His skin is richer too, almost golden, like he picks up the sun easily. I vaguely remember that, while his dad was pale as hell, his mom was Italian—I think? He has more of his mom’s features than his dad’s. His eyes are deep set and a curious kind of hazel and, as he glares down at me, they almost look golden. They’re uncanny and I have to look away to keep myself from staring too badly.

  He’s handsome now, because of course he is, as if the tallness alone wouldn’t have done it for most girls. His lips are full, plush even, and on a less masculine looking face, they’d almost be too much. His jaw is sharp, with soft looking stubble giving him a very west coast vibe.

  And his nose still bares the scar that I’d given him when we were kids—a little ripple in another wise flawless face, but no, that’s not quite right. He’s also got a small mark on his chin, and I think that perhaps his childhood fights didn’t stop with me punching him in the nose.

  He’s dressed like a prep—bright blue polo with his sunglasses hanging along the neckline, khaki shorts, fancy sandals, all the major hallmarks of the social elite in this area. I resist the urge to smooth my red sweater and tug at my hole-filled jeans—purposefully, hole-filled, but I definitely look a little drab next to this small-town prince.

  My hair’s pulled up high into a bun and probably sticking out at all angles, strawberry blonde curls fighting to escape the trap I’ve pulled them into. I’d decided on minimal for makeup because I just don’t give a shit, so all I have on is mascara and a little liner—nothing to highlight the bright blue of my eyes and distract from the dark circles underneath.

  Skin’s probably as pale as it always is, except for my freckles, though I can feel the flush in my cheeks, which must just look fantastic. Normally, I feel decently attractive, next to Connor I feel like a slug, so I channel that insecurity into some anger. I glare up at him and continue to hate him on sight and, judging from the sour expression on his face, he feels the same.

  “You’ve changed,” I can’t help but say because it’s true. He’s taller, broader, and way more dangerous looking. There’s no way I could punch this boy in the nose and get away with it now, but that didn’t mean I was about to let him push me around. I’d been there once before, never again. “Looks like your nose set okay—mostly.”

  He doesn’t like that. Connor’s cheeks flush and the muscle under his eye ticks, perfect, pearly teeth flashing as he grits out, “Deviated septum. Had to get surgery on it. You’ve got one hell of a swing, MacLean—or you used to. Looks like you’ve filled out a bit since then. Less wiry,” he drawls with a pointed look at my tits.

  My tits are the bane of my existence because they are pretty damn huge, but there’s nothing I can do about that, so I just glare and say, “Too bad the same can’t be said for you. Still as tall and skinny and scrawny as ever. What a shame! Looks like puberty hit hard.” Which was true, it did hit Connor hard, in all the right ways—but I wasn’t about to let on that I thought my childhood bully was hot as hell.

  “Is that right, MacLean?” he asks before stepping close, which catches me so off guard that I take a big step back and find myself pressed up against the brick of the building behind us.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit! This is not good! I am literally between a rock and a hard place, here! I reach up to maintain some distance, but the absolute ass just presses his chest into my hand, so now I’m touching him and he feels even better than I’d thought he would—hard, defined like he spends as much time at the gym as he does perfecting his look.

  Son of a bitch! This is bad. Really bad.

  “Say it again, MacLean,” he rasps, head dipping close as his hands reach up and press into the wall on either side of my head. He’s so… gosh, he’s so muscular it’s almost stupid. His arms aren’t even flexed and still his muscles bulge. I try not to stare, but his arms are right beside my head so it’s really hard not to.

  When we were kids, Connor was active and I think I remember him playing hockey, and from the looks of it he kept it up because—wow.

  “Wh—what?” I stammer, eyes darting as I panic. I go to move my hand, but quick as lightning, his hand is over mind, holding it tight against his broad, hot body.

  “Say. It. Again,” he demands and I shake my hand.

  “Say. What?” I growl back.

  Connor dips his head close, close enough that I can feel the softness of his breath against my neck as he murmurs, “Tell me how hard puberty has hit me.”

  I swallow thickly, but I’m not about to be cowed by this dick. “Looks like someone was beaten with an ugly stick and my hand!” I manage, proud of myself for keeping my voice steady.

  Curiously, his thumb brushes against the back of my hand, almost like he’s trying to soothe me, which is so strange. He’s probably just trying to get into my head and it’s not going to work. I remember how he tormented me when we were kids and I’m not going to let him do the same to me now.

  And then, he just stares at me, like I’m a puzzle that he’s just dying to figure out. And I don’t get it. He obviously still hates my guts and just wants to reaffirm that fact, but the way he’s looking at me is almost… well, it looks kind of sad and it makes me feel… well, something other than absolute hatred for someone that I absolutely should hate and avoid.

  “You look the same,” he tells me and I glare.

  “Really? And here I thought I’d ‘filled out’?” Which is a stupid thing to say because why on earth would I want to draw attention to my tits?

  Idiot, you are such an idiot, Sadie! I chide myself.

  “Same attitude. Same scowl. Same little line between your eyebrows when you try to make a point. Tell me, do you still think of me as much as I think of you?” he says and this time, when he smiles at me, it is full of such anger that, if I wasn’t pressed up against a wall, I’d have taken a step back.

  “No. I don’t think of you at all,” I assure him, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time I need someone to hate, I think of his face. Every time some asshole guy screws me over, I think of his face.

  Every time I think of heartache and disappointment, I see his stupid fucking face as he told me how much he hated me, that he’d never liked me, and how he’d never be friends with someone like me. Ever.

  All my anger and hatred and angst were wrapped up into one person: Connor O’Brien. And now, as he stands before me, that anger seeps out of my body and I manage to channel it, finally pushing his hand off of mine as I pull away from him and quickly duck out under his arm.

  “You’re nothing to me, nothing but a selfish monster that broke the heart of his friend. You were always cruel and impossible. I see that hasn’t changed. You’re right, O’Brien, I haven’t changed. And neither have you,” I seethe as the adrenaline pumps through my veins.

  I am ready to fight.
I am ready to scream, but I am not ready for what he says next.

  That curious look crosses his face again like he’s actually considering all that I’ve said before he finally settles on his reply, “Good girl.”

  I make a choked noise as my anger gets the better of me and he grins at my fury. I absolutely, truly, and unbelievably hate him with my entire being.

  “You are such a dick. Don’t ever talk to me again!” I seethe.

  He snorts. “Good luck with that, MacLean. This is my town and I make the rules here.”

  “Ooh! King of Bellingham! What a big man you are!” I roll my eyes but his infuriating grin stays in place.

  “See you soon, Princess.” He says the word like an epithet, though once he’d used it as my nickname when we were friends. I am so screwed. He remembers me and I remember him, and nothing good at all is going to come from that.

  You don’t have to deal with this forever. Not much longer. Just make it through the school year! I tell myself, even though I’m freaking the fuck out. I look for the bus stop, walk over, and take a seat on a bench while I wait. Of course, I don’t have a car, so I have to make do with the bus system.

  Soon enough, I’ll be an adult and I have plans to get the hell out of Bellingham as fast as I can. I’d even decided on a university—Berkeley in California and, barring that, WSU in Seattle, which is more likely going to be where I end up.

  Whatever it takes to get out of this town, I’m going to do it. Because there’s no way in hell I’m spending one second more than I need to in the same space as Connor fucking O’Brien.

  After a short bus ride, I make it home. Mom’s still at work, so it’s just me and Kylo—my fluffy, black cat with a temper to match his namesake, but I love him. He might be a tiny villain, but he’s my tiny villain and, once you get passed the claws and the sour attitude, he’s remarkably cuddly and a great listener.

  And, besides, he had a hard life before we got him—shelter cat, lived on the streets, took weeks to finally let me touch him, but now he’s my bestest little fluffy friend.