I all but skip down the hall, high on victory. “What has you all chipper today?” Sharon catches me in the teachers’ lounge, brewing a tall coffee in the Keurig.
“Step one of my plan is in motion. I’ve gotten into Principal Powell’s good graces.” Nothing can bring me down.
“How’d you manage to do that?” When I finish with the machine, Sharon takes my place, filling her mug with java.
“I arranged a rival bake sale with Wilmington Academy to see who can raise the most money. Loser will essentially embarrass themselves in front of both schools.”
“You didn’t.” Her mouth drops open and it seems she doesn’t like the look on my face. “Olivia, are you kidding me? Haven’t you seen Bad Moms? Don’t you know how strict the guidelines are for bake sales these days? It’s a nightmare. These kids aren’t allowed to have anything. Hell, if they smell gluten they’re practically on lock-down and we get crucified.” She slumps into a chair which groans under her weight, or maybe it’s her once again grumbling under her breath.
I guess this community activity isn’t the way to win the hearts of my colleagues, after all. “I thought it would be fun.”
“Wait until you see the restrictions. Then see how fun it will be.”
I don’t really care if the only ingredient I’m allowed to use is air. I will find a way to bring Lucas down at this bake sale one way or another. I will watch him finally become the spectacle he always made me while embarrassing himself at homecoming.
It’s time for Lucas Fletcher’s reckoning and I can’t wait to deliver it.
Nine
Lucas
I love my job. The students are awesome, my coworkers already worship me, and I have Principal Ben Dover eating out of the palm of my hand. Do you know how hard it was for my brain to NOT make a joke about his fucking name? But now we’re golf buddies, so I guess it paid off.
Still, that doesn’t explain why I’m wasting my Saturday at a fucking bake sale to raise money for homecoming. I’d rather donate the funds myself than bring tasteless treats people won’t even enjoy to raise money for our already over-privileged private school students.
“Hey, Fletch, what did you bring?” Shelly, a cute little blonde with a pregnant belly as round as she is tall, asks me. She’s the art teacher and everyone flocks to her genuine personality. Even I don’t have anything snarky to ever say about her.
“Taste-free lumps of flour. We were allowed to use flour, right?” The question is rhetorical because I bought these cookies at the store twenty minutes ago.
Her bell-like laugh rings out of her and then her eyes widen and she glances down with a blush coloring her cheeks like she peed herself, which she very well might have, considering she’s ready to pop.
“Are you okay?” I reach my arm out to steady her and she nods with a tight-lipped smile.
“I’m going to go help set up.” She backs away on a waddle and I stop her.
“Shelly, go sit down. You can’t lift anything heavy. I’ll go help.” A grateful look graces her features as she waddles away to take a seat. She’s cute. I’d probably have sex with her if she weren’t happily taken.
“Hey Ben, where do you want me?” Please, tell me to go home.
“Can you take this table down to the corner of the sidewalk and set it up?” I do as I’m told when a large caravan pulls up, blocking me and almost running me over in the process.
“Can you watch where you’re going?”
We’re holding the bake sale at the local Target, probably hoping to run into some of the school moms considering chicks treat Target like the Disneyland of their hometown. I’ll never understand it.
A familiar brunette with oversized sunglasses and an attitude bigger than she is hops out of the van and struts toward me.
“Well, well Lucas Fletcher. What an unpleasant surprise.” Olivia stands before me, hands on her tiny hips and nose high in the air.
“Nice ride. Is that van just to transport all the unnecessary shit you plan to buy in Tar-Jay?”
“No, you ignoramus. We’re holding a bake sale here today. What are you doing here? Kidnapping children? Hitting on vulnerable mothers?” She’s smirking, but my thoughts are a jumbled mess of confusion.
“I think you have the wrong dates, sweetheart. Today is Wilmington’s bake sale. Here.” I nudge my knee into the large folding table I’ve been holding and her face drops.
“Actually, you’re both right.” A female voice responds and when I turn around, I see the woman walking over to me with Principal Dover at her side.
"Principal Powell, what’s going on here?”
“Well, Ms. Hart, when you suggested a friendly competition with our rival school I thought to take the idea seriously. Instead of hosting separate bake sales and comparing the outcome, we’re hosting one bake sale together. You’ll have to bring you’re A-game to beat them.” Marcia Powell pats my bicep and smiles, and I reciprocate.
“Hello, Marcia, it’s good to see you again.” I embrace her in a warm hug and there’s a thud on the sidewalk, likely from Olivia’s jaw hitting the ground.
“I’m still mad Ben was able to scoop you up. Was it a money thing? I would have offered more money.” I sneak a glance at Liv and there’s smoke coming from her now bright red ears.
“I’m sorry, how do you two know each other?” The words are more grit than anything and I swallow down the laugh that is begging to burst out of me.
“Lucas here interviewed at Coastal, but Ben stole him away from me.
If I had a camera right now, I would snap a picture of Olivia’s red, horrified face. She must be putting two and two together, realizing that Coastal vied to hire me and when I turned it down they hired her. She’s another second choice. Sorry, Livvy.
“This cannot be happening,” Liv grumbles under her breath and I don’t think the principals catch it, but I do.
“Ms. Hart, unpack the truck please. Everyone else should be here soon.” The moment our principals are out of reach, Liv spins on me, pinning me with her fiery gaze.
“What the hell was that?” My college nemesis backhands my arm, but it feels as if a feather fell from the sky and grazed me.
“What? Marcia is trying to set me up with her daughter. I met her a few weeks ago. She really wanted me to take the job at Coastal, but Ben and I hit it off. We’re kindred spirits, if you will.” I say it with an air of arrogance and pretension.
“That woman would get pleasure from giving me a root canal and here you are, having her eat out of the palm of your hand. What does everyone see in you?” The words aren’t said with malice but curiosity.
“No offense taken, don’t worry. Let me help you unpack the truck before Marcia comes back over and yells at you.” I set up my table quickly to get the ball rolling.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank you very much.”
Infuriating woman. Chivalry isn’t dead, she just won’t accept any help. “I never said you weren’t capable.” I walk around her to open the back of the van and unload a table. There are signs galore with glitter and large pictures of cupcakes in the back. “Did Marcia say you were the one to organize this event?”
“Yup.”
Olivia Hart is the reason I’m awake at ass o’clock setting up for a fucking bake sale.
“What did you bring? Oatmeal raisin cookies with as much flavor and excitement as you?”
Her lips press into a hard line and her eyes narrow with resentment.
“As a matter of fact,” she walks behind me, opening the passenger side door of the van and pulls out a Tupperware container, “I did.” She tosses the container on the table I’d just unfolded and crosses her arms.
“I’m sure kids will love to bite into those. Yum.” I roll my eyes and continue unpacking all of her extraneous, glittery shit.
“Thanks, but you can go.” Both her tone and her body language is dismissive, but little Olivia Hart doesn’t scare me.
“I think I’ll take th
is table right here.” I take a seat at the table beside her and prop my feet up on it. Liv wants a competition, she’s got one.
Ten
Olivia
Here are the things I know for certain. For one, Marcia fucking Powell, my nightmare of a boss, wanted to hire my arch nemesis over me. Those two would’ve been two peas in a hellish pod.
The second thing is that I want to murder said nemesis. Maybe he’s allergic to raisins and I can force feed him some of these cookies he was so quick to mock. What a fun, satisfying way to kill him.
He finishes setting up his table, right next to mine, and I can see our respective bosses glowing from across the way at the prospect of friendly competition. They’re blind if they can’t see how Lucas and I loathe one another. Or maybe that’s part of the fun for them.
My table is decorated with bright, loud signs gloating my gluten-free options and healthy snacks to all the moms who shop at Target. Pucas, on the other hand, has a table full of bad-for-you snacks likely containing cancer-causing ingredients, but the sugary treats mixed with his saccharine grin have the women all but dropping their panties in the parking lot.
“It seems I’m kicking your ass and you know, I knew it’d be fun, but seeing the loss etched on your face is the icing.” His voice floats over to me and I refuse to look at him despite being close enough to smell his cologne. I’m a petulant teenager breaking my neck to avoid my schoolyard enemy.
A gaggle of moms walk by like this is their fashion week. “Bake sale! Gluten-free!” I plaster on my broadest smile, imagining my teeth glinting like an actor in a Crest commercial.
“Ladies, I have donut holes. And cookies baked with pot.” I don’t have to look over to see Lucas wink at the line of middle-aged women with haircuts screaming they’ll want to speak with the manager. This is a Target, not a medical marijuana dispensary. Who does he think he is? And why are these women eating him up?
They’re squawking at him like geese in heat and I’m suddenly very glad I baked all the food in my house instead of eating it or I’d be retching up my breakfast all over my oatmeal raisin cookies.
“How about another wager?” Once the women take their Starbucks cups through the doors, I spin to face my enemy. I orchestrated this bake sale and the fact that I’m losing is infuriating. I won’t go down without a fight.
“What did you have in mind?” He asks with a smirk.
He’s Loki, the God of Mischief, with a voice to match. His eyebrow quirks in excitement at the idea of defeating me again, but this time I won’t be the one on the battlefield.
“The homecoming game is in two weeks. Rumor has it Coastal is going to kick Wilmington’s ass.” The two schools have a back and forth every year for the homecoming game, one almost never winning two years in a row. Last year, Wilmington won, which means it’s Coastal’s turn.
“There’s a first time for everything. Are you sure you want to bet on a bunch of students and an old-time tradition?” There was a rumor that both schools had an agreement to alternate winning years, but nothing concrete has ever been found on it. Either way, if it’s true, it’s in my favor.
“I’m sure.” He cocks his head and purses his lips for a brief moment to study me. He crawls under my skin and festers there like a bad infection.
He sits up straight and nods, looking me in the eye. “Hit me with the terms.”
With a smile, I deliver the best part of the deal. “When I win, you have to leave me alone. For good. No more teasing or taunting or embarrassing me. No more chastity jokes or calling me Mary. No more contact at all. It’ll be as if you never existed.” My grin broadens, but so does his.
“And if I win?” I motion to allow him to continue. He can make his own wager. I don’t control him. “Okay, when I win, you have to live like me for a night. No questions asked. You want to be fearless? Step up to the plate, Liv.”
My jaw drops. This man is certifiable. Live like him? Do what he says? What does that even mean? Does he plan to use me for sexual favors?
“Like a date? What are you going to make me do? I shake my head, causing him to amend his statement.
“Don’t get your chastity belt in a twist. Not a date, nothing illegal or sexual or dangerous. Well, nothing more dangerous than stealing a boat.” He winks and my face hardens. He wants to bully me into agreeing with him? I’m just crazy enough to fall for it.
With an outstretched hand, I nod. “You’re on.”
Eleven
Olivia
“You know I’m all for a party, but usually I’m the one dragging you to the bar, not the other way around.” McKenna reapplies her lip gloss in the back of the Uber for the umpteenth time, likely because our driver looks like a snack she wants to devour.
It’s the night of the homecoming dance, the game was last night, and I opted out of chaperoning. I haven’t told my best friend the real reason I have to go out tonight yet or why I need her back up.
In an unprecedented win, Wilmington beat Coastal for the second consecutive year which means I have to shadow Pucas around and allow him to be my puppet master. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement.
“I need back up tonight.” I was given strict instructions by the devil himself to ‘wear something sexy’ which had me rifling through McKenna’s closet before we went out and subsequently dragging her with me.
“For what? Are you finally ready to experience your first one night stand?” Her eyebrows wiggle with knowledge and ample experience of her own on that particular activity.
“I hope not,” I mumble under my breath but her expression says she heard me. With a sigh, I explain. “I lost a bet and have to wear this and meet my nemesis at the bar across town.”
“You don’t mean—”
My face contorts and I can imagine it’s an unbecoming shade of green at the mere thought of what I have to do tonight. “Don’t even say his name. I can’t believe I agreed to this. I thought we were a shoo-in to win and I was going to be free of him for the rest of my life. Instead, I’m about to be closer to him than ever.” Well, not ever. I still recall our brief kiss, despite my best efforts to bleach that memory from my brain.
McKenna chuckles at my expense, but I ignore her. I need to mentally prepare myself for tonight. What does he have planned for me?
I don’t care how dreamy his eyes are or how his crooked smirk glides over me like silk sheets on shaven legs, I refuse to partake in anything illegal, even if that’s his MO. Also, nothing sexual with him or anyone else. No one night stands. I’ll leave those for McKenna.
When we arrive at the bar, it’s packed, of course. There’s a line down the street of people waiting to get in. Maybe I’ll get lucky and have to wait in line for hours and Lucas will get tired of waiting for me. A girl can dream.
As soon as I step out of the car, I’m assaulted with the deep, overbearing voice of my arch nemesis waiting for me outside the club. “Liv and McKenna, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Do not hurt her, you skeeze. I will come after you and you will not live to tell the tale.” She jabs a finger into his shoulder and pushes him back slightly.
“Looks like a long line. Guess I won’t have to do your bidding after all.” I’m smug and tempted to call another Uber and leave right away.
“Not so fast. Jordan, they’re with me.” Lucas is chummy with the bouncer who lets us in before everyone else. Fantastic.
My arch nemesis leads us to a VIP-type section because, of course, Lucas Fletcher is a VIP. Could he be any more annoying?
I sit down on the edge of the leather couch, feeling about as comfortable as a comic book nerd getting happy birthday sung to her by the employees at Applebee’s—embarrassed, out of place, and hoping this ends as quickly as possible.
My roommate heads to the bar to get drinks and my nemesis takes the opportunity to get in my face and start this awful night with a bang.
“So, I tell you to dress sexy and that’s what you decide on?” Lucas sidles up next to me wi
th a tone full of disgust. It takes all of my willpower to swallow down the vomit rising in my throat.
“Sexy doesn’t have to equal skimpy, Pucas.”
I have on a pair of McKenna’s black leather pants so tight I’m afraid to go to the bathroom in case I end up like Ross from that episode of Friends. A u-neck tank top slopes low on my chest, showing off my cleavage in a tasteful, yet tempting way, if I say so myself. Even the shirt is McKenna’s, but the sky-high pink stilettos are all mine.
I don’t listen to whatever lame ass comeback Lucas offers. My best friend returns from the bar with a tray of shots and in this moment, I’m shocked the two of them never got together. They’re similar in so many ways, and yet I love McKenna and loathe Lucas.
A badass EDM song blares through the club and McKenna hops up faster than Tigger on coke. “This is my song!” She grabs the first hot guy she sees by the wrist and drags him onto the dance floor where she proceeds to fuck him through her clothes. I’m green with envy.
“What did you bring with you from your torture chamber tonight? What will I have to endure? Public whippings? I read about this cult one time that made you sit in a chair and all the members would yell in your face about how horrible you were. Is that what you’ll do to me tonight?”
The more I go on, the more hysterical Lucas becomes. “We’ll circle back to your research of cults later, but no, Livvy, what I have in store for you tonight is so much worse than public humiliation.” Good thing I wore my sexy underwear because I’m one hundred percent convinced he’s going to sell me to a Russian pimp. “We’re going to have fun.”
“I’m sorry, what?” There’s no way I heard him correctly.
“Yes, Olivia. F-U-N. Fun. Do you want the dictionary definition of it?” His eyes sparkle and a cocksure grin spreads across his smug face.
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