by Callie Rose
Fine. He’s not the only one who can play that game.
“Whatever you say, sir.” I toss the word out like it’s an insult, then slowly lower the scrap of lace from my chest.
His breath hitches, and his gaze, which was so carefully locked on my eyes, drops. I can feel my own breath pick up, and against my will, my nipples peak as nerves and a flush of arousal surges through me.
This is a stupid fucking game, and dangerous too, but I started it. I can’t stop now.
I straighten the panties in my hands and bend over slightly to step into them, watching him as I do. His gaze drifts lower, to the place between my thighs, and my inner muscles clench involuntarily as goose bumps rise on my skin.
He might’ve talked shit about my looks with his friends, but that’s not stopping him from staring at me now. And he doesn’t look like he hates what he sees at all.
When my panties settle on my hips, I turn around and grab a bra from the drawer, sliding that on slowly as well. Lincoln’s entire body is tense, as if he’s fighting some kind of internal battle, and the veins in his neck stand out a little. I walk to my closet, keeping my steps slow and measured despite my pounding heart and shaky limbs, and grab out a pair of jeans and a sweater.
I keep my back to him as I bend to step into the jeans, and the sound of his sharp inhale makes my heart slam against my ribs. My movements are a little jerky as I pull the sweater on, and I work hard to compose my face before turning back to him.
“Ready. Sir.”
My hair is still wet, but I’ll just let it air dry. And I’ll go without makeup today.
I feel like our little standoff has pushed one—or maybe both of us—to the breaking point, and I honestly don’t think I can handle another second alone in this room with him. I’m fully clothed now, but Lincoln’s gaze is still on me, still burning into my skin. We both know he’s seen everything underneath, which makes me feel like I’m still naked somehow.
“Good. Come on.” His voice is low and rough, and he turns away from me like it takes physical effort. He yanks the door open as I grab my backpack, hastily stuffing a few loose notebooks inside. “And don’t fucking make me wait again.”
I follow him down the stairs and to his car, my legs wobbling like all my bones have gone soft.
Honestly, in this weird battle of wills the two of us have going on…
I’m not sure either of us won that round.
7
I underestimated how awkward it would be to be trapped in a small metal box with Lincoln—or maybe it’s just because I hadn’t counted on him seeing me completely naked immediately beforehand.
But the second we get in the car together, I can feel it. His large hands grip the steering wheel hard, and I keep my gaze forward for a few minutes, but eventually, I can’t stand the tension.
I reach over to flip on the radio and start skimming through stations, listening to a few lyrics of each song before scanning forward to the next.
Lincoln makes a noise of irritation in the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something good.”
“They’re all fine. Just pick a fucking station.”
“Sorry. Radio privileges belong to the passenger. Everybody knows that.”
He growls and bats my hand away from the knob just as the radio lands on a maudlin country song. I smirk and sit back, running my fingers through the still-damp tangles of my hair. “Hope you’re happy.”
“Jesus. You are so fucking irritating.”
I glance over at him, my next question more genuine than teasing. “Is that why you don’t like me?”
“No. I don’t like you because—” He cuts himself off with another annoyed sound, shaking his head.
Dammit. I really wish he would’ve finished that sentence. I want to know what this guy’s problem is with me, although I’m not quite sure why it matters. Maybe it’s because sometimes it seems like he’s forcing himself to dislike me, holding that antagonism up like an armor around himself. And I can admit, I’m curious what’s behind that armor.
I’m about to press a little harder when he speaks again.
“I’m sorry about your mom’s car.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise—that’s just about the last thing I expected him to say.
“Did you do it?”
“What?” He shoots me an irritated glance. “No. I said I was fucking sorry it happened, not that I was the one who did it.”
“Are you just mad someone else thought of it before you?” I ask with a snort.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Forget it. Just change the damn station, this song is making me want to drive into a brick wall.”
I reach forward tentatively and spin the knob. This time, I actually try to find a song we’ll both like. I watch Lincoln’s face as I move through stations, and when it lands on a song by Post Malone, the muscles around his mouth relax slightly. So I let that one play and turn it up, drowning out the possibility of more conversation, and we don’t talk any more the rest of the way to school.
We’re late for first period, and Lincoln doesn’t say a word as we step through the white front doors of Linwood Academy and split up to head to our separate classes.
Mr. Becker stares at me over his glasses as I walk into Political Science ten minutes after the bell, but he doesn’t comment as I slink toward a seat in the back.
I was too busy trying to fuck with Lincoln to remember to eat breakfast, so by the time lunch rolls around, I’m starving. I grab two pieces of pizza from the serving staff and am carrying my tray over to the corner I usually sit in when someone sticks a leg out in front of me. At the exact same moment, a pair of hands push me hard from behind, and I fly forward.
The tray falls from my hands, sending my pizza and drink sliding across the floor, as I land hard. Pain shoots through my wrists, and my right knee smacks against the floor. I let out an involuntary cry, hissing a breath through my teeth. Laughter rings out around me, and I clench my jaw in anger.
Right. I almost forgot how many assholes there are at this school. Guess my mom’s little chat with Principal Osterhaut didn’t do shit.
But as I press up to my hands and knees, four pairs of feet come to stand in front of me. My gaze follows the legs up to find Lincoln, Dax, Chase, and River scowling at someone behind me.
“What the fuck are you doing, Savannah?”
I crane my neck to look at her as she answers.
“What? I didn’t do anything. She fell.” When their irate expressions don’t budge, she scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What the hell do you care? She’s just your maid.”
“Yeah,” Lincoln answers, his voice low. “My maid. So don’t fucking break her. Unless you want to come clean my house?”
The red-headed cheerleader scowls, apparently incensed at being compared to the help. And even though it’s all still kind of an insult to me, I can’t help but enjoy the look on her face.
“I wouldn’t—that’s not—” she huffs. “I don’t do that.”
“Didn’t think so.” Lincoln smirks. “So maybe back the fuck off the girl who does.”
Savannah gasps and sputters for a few seconds, and honestly, I can’t really blame her. I mean, Lincoln and his stupid friends are the ones who got this ball rolling. They made damn sure on the first day of classes that everyone in the fucking school knew who I was and what I was. And now they’re, what—sticking up for me?
I can’t quite process it, and neither can the cheerleader.
Her jaw snaps shut as her pink lips curl. “You’re an asshole, Lincoln Black.”
“Noted.”
The kid whose leg I tripped over—a sophomore girl who just joined the cheer squad and hangs on every word Savannah says—tucks her feet under the table in front of her, staring down at her food like she’s trying to make herself invisible.
But Lincoln ignores her, turning back to me and jerking his chin at the puddle of pizza and Diet Coke. “Better clean that
shit up.”
He and his friends turn to walk away, and Chase shoots a glance over his shoulder, grinning at me.
What the fuck?
I’m torn between gratitude and annoyance. Lincoln just publicly shamed Savannah for fucking with me and obliquely called her out for the car thing, which I’m pretty sure she instigated. But of course, he couldn’t do something nice without immediately being an asshole to make up for it.
That guy drives me fucking crazy.
I do an extremely half-assed job of cleaning up the spilled food and drink, then grab another couple slices, wrap them in a napkin, and leave the cafeteria. I don’t really feel like being around people right now.
I head outside into the mild fall air, and make my way to the bleachers surrounding the track. I don’t sit on the benches but duck underneath the bleachers themselves, finding a quiet, shady spot. After scarfing down my food quickly, I roll my wrists tentatively, sucking in a breath at the pain that still lingers. Not sprained, I don’t think. Just jarred and bruised.
I dig a little plastic baggie out of the bottom of one of the side pockets in my backpack and roll a joint, then light it up and take a deep drag.
“Hey, Pool Girl.”
The voice behind me makes me jump, and I turn to see Dax and Chase standing near the end of the row of bleachers I’m under.
I transfer the joint to my other hand, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What do you want?”
They share an offended look, and I almost laugh because their faces are so damn similar, right down to the expressions they wear.
“What makes you think we want something?” Dax asks. His darker copper hair glints in the sunlight.
“I dunno,” I say dryly. “Do you always just go poking around under the bleachers?”
“Maybe we do.” Chase grins as the two of them duck their heads to step into the tight space underneath the seats. “Or maybe we saw you sneak out of the cafeteria and wondered where you went.”
“Yeah? Why do you care?”
He shrugs, not answering the question. His eyes are blue, with just a hint of green, while Dax’s are the opposite. The similarities and minute differences between them make me feel like I could stare at them for hours, but I force my gaze away, clearing my throat.
“So what are you guys, like identical twins or something?”
“Why?” Dax grins at me. “Do you care?”
“Jesus, I’m just making fucking conversation. You’re the ones who came looking for me down here.”
“Yeah. We’re identical.” Chase grins. “Except I got all the good looks, and Dax got the small hands and tiny di—”
“Shut up, motherfucker.” Dax punches his arm hard before he can finish that sentence, and I raise my eyebrows. “I have an extremely large dick,” he adds.
“I dunno. I’ve seen better,” I say pointedly, flicking a glance down toward his crotch.
Those are the exact words he used to describe my boobs that day in the pool house, and I know he doesn’t miss my reference, because his face flushes.
Chase laughs loudly at my slam on his brother, but the only reason I don’t have a dig for him too is because I didn’t hear what he said about me that day. I know Dax wasn’t the only one talking shit though. Either way, this whole conversation just reminds me why I don’t want to have much to do with these guys.
They can obviously be charming and funny when they want to be, but that doesn’t preclude them being assholes too.
Dax looks pointedly at the joint in my hand, as if I owe him a hit for insulting his manhood or something. I shrug and pass it over.
“Why did Lincoln call Savannah out like that?” I ask as he takes in a long drag. It’s been bugging me since the moment it happened, and now with these two being nice to me, it makes me wonder even more what the hell happened.
“Eh, who knows why that cranky motherfucker does anything.” He shrugs, passing the joint to Chase, but his evasive glance away makes me certain he knows more than he’s saying.
“Seriously, why?” I press. “You guys were all assholes to me when I first got here. You were the ones who basically told everyone to throw trash at me. I didn’t do anything to you before, and I haven’t done anything now. So what changed?”
“I dunno.” Chase shrugs, and he and Dax share a look, their faces doing that eerie twin-reflection thing again. “Maybe Linc just figured you weren’t going to be around all that long, so there was no point in giving you any more shit.”
“What?” I blink, my gaze bouncing between the two of them. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be around?”
“Don’t worry about it, Pool Girl.” Dax shakes his head, and if I weren’t still stuck on what Chase said, I’d roll my eyes at the fact that even though they’re being nicer to me, that stupid-ass nickname has stuck.
“No, hang on. Why wouldn’t I be around?”
“We gotta get to class. We’ll catch you later.” Chase takes one last quick hit before handing me the joint back. Then he and his brother duck out from under the bleachers and walk away quickly, leaving me gaping at their retreating backs.
What the fuck was that all about? It almost seemed like they came to check on me, but was that comment about me not being here long a warning… or a threat?
I grit my teeth, stubbing the joint out before hefting my backpack over my shoulder as I crawl out from under the bleachers too.
Dammit. I swear to God, if Lincoln or his friends do anything to fuck shit up for my mom and me, I’ll find some way to fuck their shit up right back.
8
There’s a party the next weekend, and I actually get invited. I shouldn’t be so shocked, but I kind of am. After the shitty first week I had, I kind of assumed I’d spend my entire senior year as persona non grata.
But the thing about one of the kings of the school calling out the head cheerleader for being a bitch to you? It kind of makes everyone else think twice about treating you like shit too.
Sure, there are still assholes who whisper taunts at me as I pass by, and I still get the occasional piece of garbage thrown at me. But it’s all subtler and sneakier—not because they’re afraid of getting busted by the teachers or staff, but because they don’t want to get in trouble with Lincoln, River, Dax, or Chase.
Mom’s car is back from the shop, but Mr. Black insisted his son keep driving me to school, saying it only made sense. Lincoln doesn’t offer to drive me to the party though, even though I know he’s going. I hear him leave around eight, but I take a little longer getting ready, curling my hair a little at the ends for a beachy wave look and touching up my makeup.
I don’t have anything very fancy in my wardrobe, so I hope this isn’t that kind of party. But I pick out a soft blue t-shirt and a jacket I like before I go find my mom to tell her I’m leaving.
She’s downstairs in the study talking to Mr. Black. I’m about to walk through the open doorway, but I pause for a second, lingering in the frame. She’s sitting on the couch, and he just got up to refresh his drink, I think. Her gaze lands on me, and her face lights up—but my focus is on his face, and on the look he was giving her just as I walked in.
Like he was… checking her out.
His features smooth immediately as he notices me too, and the two of them smile brightly.
“You heading out, Low?” Mom asks. She was positively giddy when I told her I got invited to a party. She knows things have been better at school, and I think she sees this as a sign of progress.
“Yeah. I won’t be out too late.”
“I trust you.” She smiles.
“Must be nice,” Mr. Black mutters with a chuckle, and she turns to him.
“Oh, Lincoln’s a good kid too!”
“He is, he is. Just… headstrong.” He shakes his head in bemusement as he brings his drink back to the couch, taking a seat next to Mom.
Huh. I didn’t know they were getting that close.
Then again, Mom’s personable with just about everyone she
meets. I swear, she could become best friends with a rock. That look I saw him giving her skeeved me out a little, although it’s nothing new; my mom’s a smokin’ hottie, and she doesn’t even know it. I catch guys checking her out all the time.
“I’ll knock when I get back,” I tell her, then cast my gaze between the two of them. “Uh, have fun.”
“We will! Samuel is going to Arizona on a business trip in a few months, so I’m giving him the inside scoop.” She grins.
Oh, whew. That explains the conversation. Although neither my mom nor I are the best people to ask about what to see and do in Arizona. We mostly kept our heads down, trying to survive.
But I don’t steal her thunder, leaving them to it as I head for the main entrance. I cut west toward the second garage and slip into the newly cleaned and repaired car. Instead of garbage, it smells strongly of lemon cleaner—but I guess that’s the better of the two options.
The party is at a house as big as Lincoln’s, and it looks like at least half the school came. I wend my way through the bodies, nodding to a few people I recognize. I’m looking for the drinks, because even though people aren’t all being assholes to me anymore, I don’t exactly have any tight friends at this school yet. I text Hunter pretty much every day, but we can’t be each other’s wing-women at parties from thousands of miles away.
Therefore, drinks.
I find the kitchen and grab the first thing I see—a fancy looking beer with a name I can’t pronounce. It tastes good though, dark, sweet, and heavy.
Clutching it like a lifeline, I move back through the crowd until I spot a group of kids I know from my Business and Economics class.
I’m heading their way when I catch sight of River. He’s standing near the curved staircase that leads to the second floor, his back to the wall. Lincoln, Dax, and Chase are nearby, embroiled in a deep discussion. But I quickly realize that what drew my attention was the flash of white-blonde hair as Iris approached him. She’s obviously a few drinks deep already, because she wobbles slightly as she drapes her arms around his neck, smiling seductively up at him.