Feisty: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  “I won’t,” she whispered a soft promise, blinking those warm, amber eyes at me.

  I kept any following remarks to myself, because there was no way she could ever promise something like that. When you had to vomit, you had to vomit. There was no magical button to push and make the urge disappear.

  My hands went to grip her left foot, and I held onto her ankle as I reached for the zipper, slowly pulling the boot off her foot and setting it aside. The same thing with the other boot. I got to my feet, gesturing to the clothes I’d put on the vanity. “You can change into these if you want. You will not sit on any couch of mine while wearing a dress full of feathers and, what I’m guessing, alcohol.” If this girl wanted to stay in the bathroom until she felt better, that was on her.

  I turned around to leave, but I froze the moment I felt her hand grab my arm, her fingers lightly curling around it. My feet immediately stopped, and I turned my head to stare at the hand as if it was some alien thing.

  I never wanted to touch this girl, but tonight, apparently all of my rules were thrown out of the window when I realized what dire straits she was in.

  Stupid. It was fucking stupid, and I knew in the end I would probably regret what I did tonight. I was no angel, saving her was not my priority. I really should’ve just let her lie in her own bed, a bed of her making. I bet no one made her go to that party. Whoever had picked her up had lied to her, feeding her what she wanted to hear, and she believed him. She wanted to believe him.

  Like I said: stupid.

  I was about to hiss out a don’t touch me, but the moment our eyes met, my annoyance faded and instead I felt…a strange thing. Pity. Whatever was left of my heart hurt for this girl the moment I met those big brown eyes. Being lied to wasn’t fun. Being thrown to the wolves wasn’t, either.

  Her breathing was hard, as if it was difficult for her to keep a steady rhythm in her lungs. Her feet, covered in tights, were flat on the floor as she slowly stood, her hand still on my arm. I didn’t turn to face her; couldn’t say why, but I was almost fearful of what I thought she’d say next.

  “Can you…” Jaz blinked, her eyes like chocolate diamonds, sparkling in the fluorescent light. “Can you help me?”

  What I should do was yank my arm out of her grasp—her hold on me was not strong, so it’d be something I could easily do—and yet as I measuredly turned to face her, I didn’t. Her hand lingered on my arm, and I felt a warmth blossoming there that I shouldn’t.

  “Help you?” I repeated, sounding like a broken record. She should really get that hand off me. Even though her hand was curled outside of my jacket sleeve, her warmth seeped through anyway. It took everything in me to ignore it.

  “I got into it myself,” she murmured, shaking her head, a fleeting expression of unease rising on her features. “But that was before, when I didn’t feel so…” She let go of my hand, practically falling over herself as she leaned toward the toilet, barely able to get the lid up before throwing up again.

  She must’ve had nothing in her stomach, no recent food, because what she threw up was mostly liquid. Stomach bile, and whatever else she’d been given at the party.

  Her hands shook as she gripped the sides of the toilet, wiping at her mouth before reaching for the handle to flush. Good, because the last thing I wanted to see was more puke. Bad enough I had to throw out a pair of shoes because of her.

  “Get up,” I said, watching as she slowly did so. Her thick black hair covered where the zipper was in the back, so I had to brush it aside. More than once. So much fucking hair. My fingertips brushed the nape of her neck, and I froze the moment I felt how soft her skin was.

  No. I…I should not pay attention to that. Knowing how smooth her skin was was not something I should be aware of. Not at all.

  I let out a slow breath as I forced my hand to the zipper, undoing most of it. The dress clung to her slender form tightly, the zipper following the curve of her spine. She must’ve worn a strapless bra under it, for I saw another black strap wrapping around her chest—Jaz’s bra was not something I should let myself focus on, and yet the moment my eyes spotted it, it was all I could think about.

  Fuck me.

  This was a terrible fucking night. Why couldn’t it be over?

  My breath suddenly felt so heavy in my chest, and it took a lot out of me to pull myself away from her semi-dressed form and say, “It’s done.” I turned my face away, trying to focus on literally anything else, anything other than her.

  She was…there was something about her that, for whatever reason, decided to draw me in tonight.

  She was a trap. Jaz might not be aware of it, but she was a beautiful, entrancing trap that, in spite of my best efforts, tempted me.

  Fuckity fuck fuck.

  I turned to head out of the bathroom, needing to put more distance between us. I needed to vent the emotions out of me, and I needed to do it soon.

  “I’m going to shower,” Jaz called after me.

  I stopped by the door, not daring to turn around to face her again. What if she’d taken off the dress and stood there in just her bra and whatever else was under it? No, I would not see her wearing less. No, no, no.

  Saying nothing, I grabbed the handle and closed the door behind me. I stood there for a few minutes, waiting until I heard the shower’s water start to run. Soon enough I heard the curtain being pulled aside, and then again after she stepped in. I hoped she wouldn’t slip or fall—she could hit her head, knock herself unconscious…or worse.

  Should I stand here and listen? That felt like a bit much, especially since I knew she was in there naked.

  I really shouldn’t think about Jazmine Smith’s naked body. Not her curves, not her soft skin, and most definitely not those eyes.

  I ended up deciding if she took too long in the shower, I’d make sure she was alright. For now, I would go and…I didn’t know. Make some dinner, since mine had been ruined. Or maybe work out, because I needed to get this tension out of my body before I allowed it to fester.

  Workout. I decided on the workout. The food could wait. Once she was out, I’d make her something. She had to put something in that stomach, something to help settle it. I wasn’t a very good cook; more often than not I simply ate out because I hated doing dishes and the prep work. Hell, I wasn’t even certain what I had in my refrigerator, but I’d make do. And if not, I could always get a pizza delivered, now that I had more than enough money in my bank account.

  My place was a two-bedroom apartment, but instead of having a second room with a bed, the room was full of workout equipment. After being forced out of the Midpark Police Department, I took up working out. It helped get my mind off things, off my mistakes and what I did, and it helped me to focus my anger.

  I changed into black sweats and a thin, athletic shirt, my bare feet taking me down the hall to the room at the end. I pushed open the door, gazing around at my equipment. It took me a few moments to decide on the punching bag. My wraps hung over the stand, and I grabbed them, frowning to myself as I wrapped my knuckles. When I got into my workouts, I lost myself. My thoughts often wandered, and with everything that had happened tonight, I knew I had a lot of pent-up emotions to vent out.

  Moving to stand before the punching bag, an old worn bag I’d had for years now, I let out a sigh. I ran my hands along the sides of the bag before taking a step back and spreading my feet, fingers curling into fists, the wrappings around my knuckles tightening.

  And then I began to workout, punching the bag over and over, from different angles every so often. My shoulder and back muscles clenched, and soon enough sweat lined my brows. My skin grew hot from the workout, and I put my all into it.

  I tried to ignore my thoughts, but like always, they threatened to drown me.

  Hah. Drown. As if anything could drown me. No, if something was going to get me, it would be the opposite. Fate would have me die like the rest of them, screaming in agony and choking on smoke.

  My fist connected with the punch
ing bag, and I felt the jolt of skin connecting with the bag up my arm.

  My truth was not a truth anyone else knew. In fact, everything about me was a lie. I lied to everyone I met, the moment I opened my mouth and told them my name. The real Jacob Hall had died a very long time ago.

  I couldn’t say how long I’d been punching the bag, but a growing uneasiness in my gut made my abdomen tingle. I paused in my punching, lifting up my shirt to see the scarring there. The pain that radiated from the scarring was in my head, I knew, and yet I still hated it. I brought the bottom of my shirt to my face, wiping off the sweat on my hairline.

  I went back to punching, losing myself in the moment. It was a sad thing that I’d rather think about her than my past.

  Jaz. She was one person I should not let dominate my mind, but it would be stupid of me to not realize it. She might not have worn elegance tonight, but there was something about her that I couldn’t describe. Jaz was bold, defiant, and yet so very gorgeous. So much more gorgeous than someone of her age should be. Her looks would get her in trouble, undoubtedly.

  It wasn’t what I should think about, and yet I found my mind could not go anywhere else. She’d caught me in her web somehow, even though I’d fought it.

  Fuck. Where the hell was I supposed to go from here?

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Jaz

  The water helped to steady me. I turned it hot, but not too hot. I stood there for a while, letting the water wash over me, clinging to every inch of my body, in hopes that it would help to wash away the awful night I’d had.

  My head hurt like a bitch, and I still wanted to collapse and sleep for days, but I could stand now. I could breathe. I still kind of wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in my stomach to vomit up anymore; nothing but stark yellow stomach bile. My hands shook, but not because of me feeling so ill.

  No, they shook in anger over what happened. Over what those idiots did to me.

  How dare they? Who the hell did they think they were, making a fool of me? And Archer—what the fuck was wrong with him? His hot and cold act was just that, an act, and I’d fallen for it like a fool among fools. Hook, line, and sinker.

  I never thought I was an idiot before. Sure, I did some rash things, but didn’t everyone? Everyone had their moments. This…there was no comparing this to anything. Tonight had been just cruel. Awful and cruel, not kids being kids. Tonight was about kids trying to play God, trying to tell me I didn’t belong here in Midpark.

  You know what? Fuck them. Fuck every single one of them.

  They thought they got the best of me tonight—and they might’ve, if Jacob hadn’t shown up—but never again. I swore to myself as I rinsed off my face, scrubbed off the smeared makeup and ran my hands through my wet hair, I swore to myself I would never let them get the better of me again.

  They thought they’d seen the real Jaz? They had no idea the fire they’d set inside me. No idea how badly I wanted to get them back. Revenge. I wanted revenge, and I would have it. They had no idea the lengths I would go to to get them back for tonight.

  Dramatic? Maybe, but they’d crossed the line. They had to have drugged me. A drink, even on an empty stomach, wouldn’t affect me so quickly.

  What? Did they think to mock me, have me realize the truth, and then pass me around to the lucky guys who were there? Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

  My mind was a whirlwind of potential torment, thinking of all of the ways I could make them pay. Archer, Brittany, her friends. They would all rue the day they thought they could get the best of me.

  I had no idea how long I stood there in the shower, but eventually I got out. I had to use the towel hanging on the wall to dry myself, and as I rubbed it against my face and hair, I couldn’t help but catch the scent on the towel. It smelled like Jacob.

  It…wasn’t a bad smell, actually. Musky, manly. The kind of scent I could close my eyes and get lost in—if it wasn’t for tonight, I might’ve let myself. But now wasn’t the time to get lost in a man’s smell, especially someone like Jacob. Someone who I was not only working with, but also someone who was quite a few years older than me. He had to be nearing thirty. That was…a bit old for me.

  Maybe.

  Once my body was dry, I paused as I stared down at my dress. My legs felt a little stiff, and a whole lot sore, as if I’d done some hardcore exercise without realizing it. Maybe it was just my muscles trying to recover from whatever was in my system earlier.

  There was no way I’d get myself into that dress again. That dress…held some awful memories now, memories I’d rather forget entirely.

  No, there would be no forgetting what happened tonight. The memories would fester in my brain until they got their comeuppance.

  My eyes spotted the clothes Jacob had brought in. They were his—and I bet they smelled like him, too. I probably shouldn’t wear them either, but what choice did I have in the moment? I put my bra back on, along with my panties. I kept the tights off, leaving them on top of my dress on the floor. Might as well throw that shit out. Mom wouldn’t know the difference…until she saw me coming home in clothes that weren’t mine.

  Damn. I couldn’t tell her the truth of what happened. I’d only worry her, and I wanted to be able to take care of it myself. Might have to play dirty, but obviously those other girls—and Archer—didn’t care about playing dirty. I’d have to think up another story to tell Mom, but I wouldn’t worry about that now. Right now, I just wanted to get dressed, maybe run a comb through my hair, since I assumed he didn’t have a brush in this place.

  Jacob obviously didn’t have a girlfriend. It was very clear he lived alone here. Not sure if that made me curious or relieved. Curious because he was a cute guy beneath that stubble, and relieved because I didn’t want a girlfriend to get jealous of me or something. Things weren’t like that between us.

  The shirt he’d given me had some kind of sports logo on it, and I swayed a little on my feet as I slipped it on. I had to grip the vanity’s edge to keep myself upright as I stuck one leg in the sweatpants, one after the other. I looked in the drawers for a comb, and I found one after two drawers, under a bunch of things.

  Man, this guy had no organizational skills whatsoever. Everything was just thrown into the drawers haphazardly. Maybe he needed a girlfriend.

  Brushing my thick hair with a comb was a bit of a process. It got tangled more often than not, and after a few tries, I simply gave up. My hair was too thick and too long to succumb to a comb. I needed a legit brush to get its lengths under control.

  I tossed the comb back into the messy drawer, shutting it with a frown. Quietly, I exited the bathroom, pausing to hear where Jacob was. Of course, I realized I was technically in the apartment of a stranger, but I figured if he wanted to take advantage of me, he had ample opportunity to.

  My ears heard grunting coming from a semi-open door down the hall, and I slowly walked toward it, taking my time in moving. If I went too fast, I’d probably fall. My legs did not feel strong enough to hold my body weight, and let’s not even get into how badly my head felt right now. I literally felt like I’d been run over by a train.

  Not an exaggeration, sadly.

  My bare feet on the vinyl flooring were near silent, and I peeked into the room before stepping in, not certain of what I’d see.

  Jacob. He’d changed into workout clothes and was furiously going at a large punching bag that looked like it’d seen better days. He might not take care of himself physically, but he worked out like a maniac, apparently. The room was full of workout equipment—weight machines, an elliptical, and that punching bag. He was very fit under those clothes, wasn’t he?

  I moved to lean against the door frame, silent as I watched him give his all to the punching bag. Over and over he hit it, his fingers curled into fists. Both his hands were wrapped in something white—bandages?

  His arm muscles tensed every time he did a jab. Watching him work out was something I could do all night, frankly. It would help get my mind off ev
erything that happened tonight; a nice distraction.

  I was content in watching him quietly, but then he paused in his punching and reached for the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up to wipe his face; he must’ve been sweating too much. As the fabric lifted up, I spotted something on his lower back. Since I wasn’t next to him, I couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked like it wrapped around his abdomen to his stomach.

  What was that? A scar? Some kind of deformity? It didn’t matter. Regardless, Jacob was a fine male specimen, even if it did look like he hardly slept and forgot to shave more often than not.

  A huge part of me wanted to address whatever was on his lower back, but instead I simply broke my silence by saying, “What were you doing there tonight?” I was in my own mind more than I was when he’d first appeared at Brittany’s house, and now I wondered just how the hell he’d been there to become my savior for the night.

  Honestly, it didn’t make sense.

  Jacob abruptly stopped wiping at his face, tugging his shirt down before he turned to me, his dark eyebrows drawn together, hazel eyes narrowed as if he wordlessly told me I wasn’t welcome here, in this room, or even in his apartment. To which I’d only say, I was here because of him.

  As much as I didn’t like to admit it, I owed him. Who knew what would’ve happened if I’d have been alone tonight?

  He sent me a frown, tilting his head slightly. His light brown hair looked so much darker drenched in sweat. It wasn’t a bad look. He didn’t leave his punching bag, but he did say, “Where?” As if he didn’t know, as if he’d forgotten tonight’s events.

  Playing dumb didn’t suit him.

  Maybe it was because I’d had enough shit for the night, but I left my position at the door frame, my feet dragging across the floor as I moved closer to him. My head hurt like a bitch, but I ignored it, just like I ignored how my legs felt like jelly. I watched his posture straighten at my approach, and said, “At Brittany’s. Were you working for someone else?” Couldn’t say why, but I didn’t like that thought. I mean, I knew he wasn’t my private investigator, that other people could hire him, but I couldn’t change the envy inside me at the thought of him being at Brittany’s for someone else.