by A. J. Logan
Looking to me, he says flatly, “Drop it.”
“That answers a lot.”
He shakes his head, not saying anything. There’re few people who can call either of us on our shit, but that doesn’t mean it’s always what we need, which is clearly evident as Victoria strolls into the kitchen. Stepping to the fridge, she doesn’t acknowledge either of us sitting there.
“Where’s your new friend?” Asher asks Victoria, to which she responds with only an eye roll.
“I thought we were dropping it?” I chuckle, earning me a glare from Asher as I let him know it’s clear to me that Quinn has something to do with his prickly demeanor.
“How’d you even become friends with her?”
“Well, she was sitting at a table alone, and I knew she didn’t like you, so it was a win-win,” Victoria teases, heading out of the kitchen, though Asher appears unamused.
“Stay away from her,” Asher says, causing Victoria to halt in her tracks. She turns slowly, looking between the two of us.
“Tell me why I should, and I’ll consider it.” Victoria smirks, knowing she’s backed her brother into a corner.
“Yeah, I’d like to know too,” I chime in, enjoying the moment until Victoria turns her glare on me.
“Nobody is talking to you.”
“That never stops him,” Asher mumbles, making a sad attempt to change the subject.
“Truth,” I agree, nodding to Victoria. “But we’re still waiting on an answer.”
“Keep waiting.” Asher promptly stands, ramming the barstool back as he exits the kitchen in a huff. As annoyed as Asher is, he’s left me with a supremely pissed off Hastings who has her glare set on me.
Doubt I’m going to get the answer I want, but I ask anyway. “You ready to start talking?”
“Yes, to anyone except you,” she replies, walking out of the kitchen.
I take the opportunity to aggravate her a little more while she’s still in earshot as I yell, “Later, Bitchtoria.”
Looking around my best friend’s vacant kitchen, I’m not in a hurry to leave. Even with two pissed off Hastings under the same roof, it’s better than my house any day of the week. Dropping my elbows on the marble counter, I feel nothing but tension in my neck and shoulders as I try to relax but it’s no use. Asher will come around when he gets his head sorted out. The other Hastings, that’s an entirely different beast. Since it was the first day of school, there was no workout or weight lifting, and I need to channel this somewhere. Hopping off the barstool, I head to the home gym I’ve used just as much as my own, if not more. A workout usually clears my head, until recently that is. The view from the weight room torments me, yet I go back for more. Gladly. Because the gym overlooks the indoor swimming pool, separated only by floor-to-ceiling glass walls, which Victoria frequents often to swim laps. And my eyes are drawn to the unoccupied pool every other minute throughout the workout. Coming up empty each time leaves my head jacked up. I’d spent the entirety of the intense workout wondering if she really is done with my shit.
Heading out of the gym, I cuss under my breath, knowing it’s a mistake, but my feet lead the way while my brain doesn’t seem to be in control. It’s risky with her brother just down the hall, but I need to talk to her.
Taking one glance around the empty hall, I reach for the doorknob, turning it slowly before slipping inside her bedroom. It’s more than likely I’d be able to bullshit my way out of being caught by telling Asher that I was hanging out in here since he was all puffed up over Quinn. But eventually, I’m worried he will see straight through my BS because he’s usually the only one who can. It’s easy to put up a happy front for my awaiting audience, my best friend is another story, and I’m not ready to explain what’s going on with his little sister because I’m not sure myself.
Sitting on a loveseat near the window, she doesn’t notice me since her back is to the door and earbuds are in her ears. She scribbles away in a black leather-bound sketchbook, similar to the many I’ve witnessed her doodling in over the years. My guess is she has dozens of sketchbooks stashed away somewhere because it’s not often she is without one in hand—but only at home (meaning hers or mine) have I ever noticed her drawing.
Looking at the paper, I watch as she shades a magnolia flower, the charcoal pencil smoothly gliding over the page. I enjoy her fluid strokes and soak in the last moment of tranquility on her face, knowing I’m really about to infuriate her and all the serenity will be gone in a blink.
Leaning forward, I intend to pluck the earbud from her ear, but instead, my fingers brush across the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear, the same spot my face was buried against when she’d straddled my lap.
A sharp gasp escapes her lips, and she reflexively slaps at my hand, jumping to her feet as the sketchbook and pencil fall to the floor. Her shock is quickly replaced by annoyance as she looks to me. “What are you doing in here?”
“Expecting someone else?”
Her lips form a thin line as she glares at me. “Not you since you’re so concerned about Asher ‘flipping his lid’ … yet here you are.”
Yes. That’s still a concern, but the answers I want outweigh what little self-preservation I have. “Did you sleep with him?”
“You really are a jackass.” She reaches down, grabbing her sketchbook and pencil off the floor before sitting on the sofa to resume drawing.
“I need to know.”
Her hand freezes in place as she looks up, her emerald eyes penetrating every cell in my body. “Not that you’re entitled to an answer, but I’ve already told you that nothing happened. Whether you believe it or not is your choice because I don’t give a damn either way.”
I want to believe it, but I can’t. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I’d rather focus on that than the way she feels pressed against me—which is perfect, like she belongs there. “You’re lying.”
“Okay.” She resumes her task, leaving me standing there like the pitiful chump she’s turned me into. “You stink by the way.”
Bending down, I take in a breath of her before whispering, “Think I’ll go for a swim. Wanna come?”
Tensing, she leans away from where I stand, glaring at me in exasperation. “No, not with you. Besides, you’ll probably back out before we get there anyway.”
Pretty much, because it’s easier to do the leaving than be the one abandoned. Plus, I can only resist her for so long. Then when I do cave, my brain takes a long time to overrule my dick. I want her and I shouldn’t. What a clusterfuck. “And I’m sure you’d find someone to jump right into my place soon after.”
She doesn’t give me any response, worse she puts the earbuds back in, drowning me out with music as I stand by drowning in her. With no way to surface on my own, and all it does is make me want to pull her under with me. Misery loves company—if I’m gonna suffer, she should too.
Reaching forward, I snatch the sketchbook from her, stepping out the French doors onto the balcony. She follows me out, clawing at my arm. I rear back, slinging the book through the air. It splashes into the water of the large pond just off the back patio, the loud thwack and the fountain’s spiraling water splashes are the only sounds to be heard as a heavy silence stretches between us. As Victoria stares at her prized possession floating in the murky water, my eyes don’t leave her face.
Slowly, she turns, locking eyes with me as she speaks harshly. “Go get it now.”
“No.”
Furious, she lunges forward. “Get it. Now.”
Gripping both of her arms, I pin them to her sides as she struggles against my hold. “Go get it yourself, or maybe you can have someone else take care of that for you too.”
No longer struggling against me, she speaks bluntly while I maintain my hold on her. “I hate you. I really do. All I’m doing is staying as far away from you as possible. Just like you wanted me to.”
“I never said that’s what I wanted.” The words escape before I can stop them, but they seem to do
nothing but enrage her further.
“Too bad because that’s what I want.” She jerks away as I release her arms, hurrying through the doors.
All I can do is stand rigidly in place, realizing I got exactly what I was aiming for. And yet, I still feel like I’m drowning.
5
Victoria
Stepping into first period, Mr. Sutton greets me warmly and I return the acknowledgement with a smile. The morning hasn’t felt as smothering as the first day since all the unknowns and unfamiliarities are out of the way. Now it’s just a matter of going through the motions. Opening my calculus book, I skim the pages as Allison plops in a desk next to me. Great.
“So, I’m guessing the word got out.”
Looking to her with confusion, a million thoughts about what she’s referring to zip through my mind, none of them good. “What are you talking about?”
“Question is, who really is the winner, Victoria?” Smirking she waits like I’m supposed to understand her cryptic question. When she realizes I’m not planning on responding, she continues, “Elliot or Grant? I’m guessing Bass discovered your fun time with Grant from that showdown in the hallway.”
“There’s nothing for Elliot to discover because nothing happened between Grant and me, and once again, what are you talking about? What ‘showdown’?”
“You don’t know.” Her smirk turns into a full-blown grin as she excitedly informs me of the news. “Elliot started a fight with Grant, and from the looks of it, Elliot was the clear winner. But I’m dying to know who’s the bigger winner in the bedroom.”
How was I ever friends with this neurotic twit? I don’t particularly care for either asshat’s well-being, but the last thing I want to discuss are their dick sizes. “I wouldn’t know.”
Chuckling she stands from the desk. “Sure, Victoria. I’m sure that’s why Elliot just tried to murder Grant with his bare fists in the hallway.”
“They’re dumbasses. It had nothing to do with me,” That was a little louder than I’d planned, as evidenced by Mr. Sutton looking from me to Allison as she leaves the classroom. A few curious students are still looking to me like they expect me to say something else. But I can’t because I have no clue what’s going on. And now thanks to Allison, I have to know. Elliot had gone out of his way to question me about Grant—twice. And even though I’d told him it was nothing, moving on was my way of dealing with all of it and not extending the torment further. I just want to forget everything about that night, sleezy Grant and idiot Bass included.
It takes everything I have to focus on the calculus lesson until the bell sounds, signaling the end of first period. Quickly standing from the desk, I hurry out of the classroom and down the corridor to the front office. Staying away would be the best thing but there’s something about Elliot Bass that brings out the fool in me. Taking the opportunity while the secretary is occupied with a student, I peek into one of the small office doorways and spot Grant sitting at a table. His head is tilted to the side with an ice pack covering one eye while the other is closed. Ouch. I can’t feel sympathy for him, but I can imagine that it is about as painful as it looks.
“Can I help you, Victoria?” Mrs. Ruth asks, signaling for me to come to her desk.
The office secretary has been the same over the years, and thankfully I’ve only ever been summoned to the front office for good occasions. “Yes, ma’am. I was looking for Elliot. There’s an important assignment I need to speak with him about,” I lie.
She gives me her stern, no-nonsense look as she debates on if she should allow it.
“I promise, it’ll be quick.” That is not a lie. It won’t take very long for me to tell him he’s an idiot and hope he will tell me it had nothing to do with me.
“Make it quick,” Mrs. Ruth says, pointing to a door that’s open just a few down from the one Grant is occupying.
“Thanks, Mrs. Ruth.”
“Mm-hmm.”
That’s a good response from Mrs. Ruth, so I don’t hesitate to move past her. Quickly slipping through the doorway, I close the door behind me. Elliot is reclined in a chair, his fingers entwined casually behind his head.
Moving his head slightly to the side, his smug glare holds me as I instinctively prop a hand on my hip. “What brings you in, Lil’ V?”
“Seriously? Is everything a joke to you?”
“It appears that way, doesn’t it?” He turns his head, focusing his eyes back to the ceiling.
“Did you start it? Why were you even fighting with Grant to begin with? I realize you’re an idiot, but this is ridiculous even for you.”
He chuckles, dropping his hands to his sides as his head falls back. “Now you want to talk.”
“No, I really don’t. This is the last place I want to be.”
“Then get the hell out, but be sure to check on your boy toy on the way. He wasn’t looking so hot the last time I saw him.”
He doesn’t look so great and from Elliot’s arrogant demeanor, he’s proud of himself for that tidbit.
This is the last place I should be. “You’re hopeless.”
“So I’ve been told,” Elliot mumbles. Leaning forward, his hands drop to the table and his gaze drops to its surface while his fingers tap against the hardwood.
“No. I’m not going to feel sorry for you. I’m more than certain you brought this on yourself, but just know, if it had anything to do with what you think happened over the weekend, drop it. That’s all I want to do. Everything about the weekend was a mistake, and I’m ready to forget all of it happened.”
“Pretty full of yourself to think this had anything to do with you. I was warning Quinn about the douchebag and things escalated. Besides, why would I fight anyone over a pussy I don’t even want?”
“Good. Then it shouldn’t be hard to stay away from said pussy.” As I move to the door, he has to get in one last jab, just in case I don’t think he’s a big enough jerk already.
“Don’t worry. It’s not hard at all.”
I don’t acknowledge the anatomical reference as I walk out of the room because no matter what I say, he’ll have the last word. And with Elliot Bass, you lose even if you win because he really is hopeless.
6
Elliot
“Finally,” I mumble, dropping my head to the table after Victoria walks out. The only thing more infuriating than her questioning me about why I started the fight is the fact that she was indeed the reason I’d lost my temper. It started out with warning Quinn about the sleaze bucket, but he had that shit-eating grin on his damn face. The exact same one as he’d had at the party when he’d dropped Victoria’s stupid shoes at my feet, running away like a coward. This time when Grant made the insinuation that she initiated whatever the hell happened between them, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to knock it off his goddamn face. Either way, I don’t like it, but for her to seek him out for that purpose would be an even harder pill to swallow.
About an hour passes before Principal Huntington appears in the doorway, motioning for me to follow him. “My office now.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Rising from the table, I follow him the short distance to his office where he tells me to have a seat. I plop down in the stiff leather chair in front of his desk. “I plead the fifth.”
“That’s great, but you’re not on trial. The consequences of your actions have already been decided. You and Grant will both attend weekend detention for two months.”
“Two months? That seems excessive.”
“Fighting at school is excessive, therefore your consequence is also. And maybe you and Grant can work out your issue while spending the next eight Saturdays and Sundays together.”
“I’d prefer at-home detention. I.e., suspension.”
“And that’s why I don’t believe suspending students from school is the correct solution.”
“Debatable,” I mumble, wishing the punishment would take me away from here, not bind me to campus seven days a week—with Grant.
“I s
poke with your father moments ago. He was unable to come in, but he was made aware of what transpired.” Huntington hesitates for a moment—something I don’t see from the usual blunt, stern man before he continues. “He informed me of the situation with your mom.”
Of course he had. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding as I want to punch something or someone else.
“He reiterated the importance of keeping it under wraps, and I gave him my word. I want to assure you of the same.”
“I don’t give a shit if you announce it over the intercom. It’s him who wants to keep what she did a secret, scared his little country club buddies might think twice about golfing with him while his wife is locked away.”
“Elliot. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you, and I want you to know you can come to me if you need anything at all. Even if it’s just to talk or get something off your mind. Or we have a team of excellent school counselors if you’d prefer to speak with them.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, she does, and so do you.”
I can’t respond because my anger is fading, sadness and shame taking over. Standing, I move to leave the office. It’s smothering me and I can’t get out of there fast enough, but Huntington says my name.
“Have a seat back in the conference room. We’re arranging a mediation between Grant and yourself before you both return to class.”
“Can’t wait,” I say sarcastically, knowing that the mediation will consist primarily of me keeping my mouth shut because I don’t want to discuss anything—including the reason for the fight and why I want to start another one.
The garage door gradually lifts to reveal my usual spot. I pull into the garage and shut off the engine. I grip the steering wheel, already regretting coming straight home instead of hanging out at the Hastings’ place. Only, I know my father is gone, so that made my house slightly more appealing than facing the red-headed nuisance at the Hastings’ house.