by Alley Ciz
From across the room, those purple eyes find mine, that dick-hardening defiance I itch to fuck out of her burning like a bright flame. That urge only pulses stronger when the end of her ponytail falls over her shoulder with a tilt of her head. It’s the first time all week she’s worn her long silver locks up. I don’t know if it’s because the hickey I marked her with on Monday finally faded or not, but what I do know is it makes me want to wrap it around my fist as I drive into her from behind.
Figuring I have a few minutes to kill while the girls collect their food, I turn to Duke to discuss our game plan for after school.
The familiar scrape of wood against marble alerts me it’s time to play as Banks pushes himself into Tinsley’s path. Instead of stepping back like she usually would, her eyes drop to his partially eaten bowl of ratatouille then go back to Samantha.
The lips I’m counting down the moments until I get wrapped around my dick fold between Samantha’s teeth and press into a line to restrain…a smile? Why the fuck is she amused? Since when does she take enjoyment from these little tête-à-têtes?
“Tell me something, Banks…” Tinsley slides a hand up his arm, my buddy’s jaw falling open as she steps into his space for the first time…ever. “How’s today’s special taste?”
It takes Banks a few seconds to blink himself out of the daze having the tables turned on him put him in. “It-it’s good.” His eyes flash to her tray, then back to the cleavage directly in his sightline.
Again Tinsley glances back at Samantha.
“Not hungry, Noble?” One of Samantha’s delicate eyebrows arches high at the untouched bowls sitting in front of me.
“Actually”—with my foot, I kick out the empty chair to my left as an invitation—“I was waiting for you, Princess.”
“Were you?” Sarcasm drips from her words, and it’s a struggle not to pull her over my knee and spank her.
The air grows thick with tension, snapping with volatile electricity. Then, shocking the shit out of me and everybody else in the room, she takes the chair. Her movements are graceful, her long, toned stems swinging around the wooden legs, hips swaying, back arching as she perches that delectable ass on the edge closest to me.
The fresh scents of cucumber and lime should be understated, but with my every molecule and hormone tuned to her, they easily overpower the spice of pepper and oregano wafting up from the dish.
Her body leans to the side, elbow sliding across the smooth surface of the table as she balances her head on the tips of her purple-painted fingers. “Not gonna lie—”
I’m disappointed when instead of moving to place my knee between the straddle of her legs, she crosses her feet at the ankles and tucks them off to the side.
“—I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done to make you think I would want to share a meal with you. So this”—one of those purple-tipped fingers bounces between one of the bowls and me—“makes no sense.”
“Play hard to get all you want…” I shift, placing my elbow an inch from hers to mirror her position. With my free arm, I hook it around her hip and tug her closer until our chests brush, and I drop my mouth to the shell of her ear, grinning when she shivers exactly the way I knew she would. Such a pretty little liar. “Because the more you fight me, the sweeter it will be when I have you screaming my name.”
Our close proximity allows me to feel the vibration of her scoff and has me spreading my knees wider to make room for the full-blown erection I’m now sporting. There’s a lot, and I mean a lot I can get away with at this school, but fucking Samantha in the middle of the lunch period? Yeah, that’s a line even I can’t cross.
Oh, how I want to…
She splays a hand on my chest, and I flex just to hear that tiny hitch to her breathing she can never hide from me. She pushes on me, but my size is too much for her to move, and she’s forced to arch her back to create space.
Except it backfires. All it does is thrust her luscious tits at me, her budded nipples begging me to suck them into my mouth.
Want surges and precum leaks onto my boxer briefs.
Thanks to her preference for not tucking in her uniform shirt, I’m able to snake my fingers underneath the hem of it, the silkiness of her skin momentarily distracting me from my train of thought.
I clear my throat and push one of the bowls in her direction. “See…I thought given how you started the day…” Her eyes narrow, the long mascara-coated lashes shrouding them as they lock onto where my mouth is hitched to the left. Messing with her has easily become my favorite part of the day. “How could I resist offering you a serving of ratatouille?”
A shocked gasp sounds from across the table. A beat passes before Samantha shifts her attention to her friend with only her eyes, leaving the rest of her still trained my way. My gaze falls to her plump mouth, watching the way it curves upward in increments until a line of straight white teeth is visible.
The hand that never left my chest rises, stretching between us and picking up the fork resting on a folded cloth napkin. Her ponytail swings forward, the soft strands brushing across my jaw as she peers into the ceramic bowl and spears a bite of the savory dish on the metal prongs.
Bringing her purple gaze back to mine, she raises the fork to her mouth, and I have to adjust myself as her lips purse to blow on the food, my tongue running across my own in response.
Instead of opening her mouth to swallow, she reverses, holding out the food to feed me.
My nostrils flare, and I push in, meeting the challenge in her eyes head-on and wrapping my lips around the ratatouille, pinching the metal prongs between my teeth. I’m so focused on her that I barely register the flavors dancing along my taste buds.
Slowly and with purpose, I chew, demonstrating how I savor the things in my mouth before swallowing.
There’s no missing the way she watches my jaw work or the line of my throat when I swallow.
The fork clatters on the tabletop when she drops it, then she’s curling her hand underneath my chin and using her thumb to wipe across my bottom lip.
I wrap my hand around her wrist, my fingers overlapping her small bones before she can pull away, and I suck the digit into my mouth. Another one of those hitched breaths escapes as I swirl my tongue and piercing over the tip and nip at it.
She visibly shakes her head to clear the haze in her eyes that she has no hope of hiding from me. Deny it all she likes—she wants me.
“You know”—again, she flicks her gaze to Tinsley and back—“it’s funny you say that, Noble.”
I resist the urge to growl at her continued refusal to say my name. One of these days, I’ll get her to say it, and when I do, it’ll be on a moan.
“Why’s that, Princess?” She’s not as successful at hiding her growl.
“Because”—she picks up the fork and stabs it so it’s standing upright in the bowl—“while you spend your time trying to prove you’re the king around here, playing your games by nailing rats to my locker, you are the one who ate the ratatouille.” Her body sways closer to me as she stands while remaining bent close, her lips brushing mine as she adds, “Emphasis on…rat.”
Does she mean…
My jaw unhinges, falling to the floor as her implication hits its intended target.
Samantha spins on her heel, rounding the table and taking Tinsley by the hand. “Hope none of you boys are vegetarians,” she calls out, increasing the volume of her voice and garnering the attention of the tables around ours. “Last I checked, rat isn’t a vegetable.”
One by one, the guys do spit takes, dramatic gagging and sound effects included. My gut roils with nausea at the idea that I’m currently digesting rodent, but I’m too focused on a backward-walking Samantha and the little finger wave she’s giving us before flipping us the bird to upchuck. The “special ingredient” she had served to us has nothing on the message she delivered.
CHAPTER 15
I may have ended my day on a win—the shocked, disgusted expressions painted on J
asper’s and his friends’ faces permanently etched in my memory—but the events of the week are taking their toll on my body.
There’s a bone-deep exhaustion I can’t shake. My muscles are sore, and my lungs still have an edge of feeling bruised. While Lyle’s pecan pie latte—his variation on a fall staple instead of a PSL—is delicious, the nutty aroma enough to have my mouth watering, I long to trade it out for a Red Bull. Unfortunately, due to my asthma, I have to be mindful of my caffeine intake. An energy drink is most likely to have adverse effects, so sticking to coffee it is.
After putting in some face time at the St. James with the Momster and playing along with the character she puts on for Mitchell, I was lucky enough to avoid getting shit about spending the rest of the evening with Tessa—though she did try to get me to change out of the leggings and purple plaid button-up into something more “appropriate”. I have no idea what that means when I’ll be spending the majority of my time watching Tessa’s cheerleading practice.
I beat feet the second I was able. I’d choose dealing with Jasper and his bullshit over spending any more time in close proximity to Natalie than strictly necessary.
Coffee cup in hand, I thank Daniel for dropping me off, confirm I’ll see him in the morning for school, and pull open the door to the NJA All-Star’s gym, The Barracks, then make my way through the massive one hundred thousand square foot building.
Exchanging greetings with the cheer parents I know from years of being around during Tessa’s cheer career, it takes me more than ten minutes to make it to the family viewing area upstairs, and then another fifteen before I can take my usual seat in the front corner.
By the time I fold my arms into a makeshift pillow, practice is already well underway for the teams filling the blue mats below. The Marshals—the large level six all-girl team Tessa is a base for—are on the mat directly under where I sit in the front corner. My best friend’s red hair makes it easy for me to find her in the sea of high ponytails and bows.
The seven four-person stunt groups go through the stunt sequence, flipping and spinning their flyers around while moving into a perfect diagonal line.
After holding a move called a bow and arrow, the seven flyers do a military salute and spin-twist down into a textbook cradle. Even from up here, you can hear the sound of bodies hitting bodies, and I wince. I’ve seen the bruises Tessa sports after a brutal practice. Tossing and catching a human in the air over and over is no joke.
I let the rhythmic beat of claps and counts from the coaches drain the tension from my shoulders. For the next two hours, I enjoy the simple pleasure of these elite athletes lulling me into a sense of peace I lack when at school.
Practice comes to an end, and as twenty-something girls cross the blue mats to the locker room, I settle back into my seat and scroll through my social media notifications.
“Can I tell you how much I love that you and T might be more codependent than JT and me?” I look to the left as Kay Dennings takes the free seat next to mine.
“Question…” I scroll back and hold my phone out so she can see the latest post from the U of J’s gossip site on the screen. “Do your ears ring when UofJ411 posts about you and Casanova the same way they say they do when people talk about you?”
Kay is no stranger to scrutiny from internet trolls. If her life hadn’t been severely affected by them, Tessa and I might find it amusing that she lives a real Gossip Girl existence. Thing is, when it comes to people you care about, it’s not as fun as when it’s fiction.
“No.” Kay shakes her head and pokes a finger to her left eyebrow, wiggling it around. “But I get a twitch right here.”
Not wanting to add to her stress, I lock my screen and pocket my phone. Bending a leg, I prop a foot on my chair and loop an arm over my knee. “I’m surprised to see you coaching tonight.”
Kay is an NJA alum and one of the head coaches for the senior level six large co-ed team, the Admirals. As a multi-time National and World Champion flyer, Kay is a stunt specialist for NJA, and it’s not uncommon for her to help the other teams, but usually that happens closer to the competitions.
“I decided to swing through so I could see you.”
That piques my interest, and I readjust to sit cross-legged, giving Kay my full attention. “Go on.”
“JT called me earlier—”
That’s not surprising. I’m sure getting a phone call from Tessa’s older brother is a daily occurrence for her. I make a rolling motion with my hand.
“—and mentioned that T sounded”—her head tilts back and forth as if working out the best way to explain—“off in her texts this week.”
Automatically, I nod in understanding. I may not have been prying as hard as I typically would due to all the bullshit I’ve been dealing with this week, but I’ve picked up a similar vibe from my bestie, and I say as much.
Kay stands, bracing her hands on the ledge I rested on earlier, and does a scan of the gym floor before spinning around to face me again, this time with her arms crossed over her Fix your ponytail and try again tank. Not even her trash-talking funny shirt can cut the tension pulsing off her. There are many people who would look at Kay and assume the four-foot-eleven beauty isn’t anything to worry about. For the most part, that may be true…until you mess with her family.
“She hasn’t said anything officially, but I get the impression things have been…difficult at BP without you there.”
Damn! I hate that my suspicions were correct.
Most would suspect with Tessa being both beautiful and a cheerleader, not to mention sweet as apple pie, she would be the most popular girl at Blackwell Public. Unfortunately, for the stereotypical high school hierarchy, that is not the case. For one, my best friend is brilliant—future valedictorian, remember? The other, and probably bigger issue: there is this weird, almost rival-like tension between the BP cheerleading squad and any of the students who cheer for NJA. I don’t need Kay to say it to know this is precisely what’s been going on.
I was afraid this might happen, and even more so I hate that when I started asking around about Tessa, I wasn’t able to suss out a straight answer. Because. I’m. Not. There. Nope, instead, I’m wasting my time dealing with bullshit at BA.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go to Carter with this.” Kay herself had a similar issue back in the day before my brother helped shut it down.
Kay pulls a face. “I’m trying to limit the amount of contact Mase has with your brother. Brainstorming revenge plots that could negatively impact his future career…” She rolls her eyes. “The last thing I need is for those two idiots to find themselves alone together and getting…ideas to use against that insignificant pencil dick.”
I snort, hiding a smile behind my fist. Carter may be more JT’s friend than Kay’s, but that didn’t stop Mason from seeking him out in dealing with Kay’s ex-boyfriend.
“To be fair…” I hold up a finger. “Carter may not be the King you have to worry about influencing Mr. Tight End.”
There’s no missing the way Kay’s lips twitch at the pun about Mason’s position on the U of J Hawks. I may be the Royal, but as her aforementioned shirt helps demonstrate, she is the queen of puns.
“Oh, I heard all about your fingernail-ripping suggestion, Savvy.” She levels me with a look that says Thanks for that.
I shrug, keeping my hands out in front of me, shoulders hunched up to my ears. “I guess it doesn’t help if I say that’s not the only appendage I could suggest removing?”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, Savage.” I beam at the use of my full nickname and shoot her a wink, which earns me another one of her famous eye rolls. She can’t blame me for my mutilating thoughts. Liam Parker could inspire Tessa to maim—he sucks that much.
“Before we get too distracted by your creative revenge plots”—she blows out a breath, her entire tiny frame deflating under the weight of her sisterly worry—“do you think you can find out what’s been going on with T?”
“I
’ve already been doing some digging.”
“Okay, great.” Kay nods. “I don’t think it’s anything like…what I went through, but something is definitely up.”
This is true, and it’s honestly the only reason I haven’t lost all control of my emotions.
Carter and the Royals established that bullying, in any capacity, would not be tolerated. It’s a cardinal rule. Guess without a Royal walking the halls at BP, it’s been all out of sight, out of mind.
That’s not going to work for me. It’s time to put my plan into motion and give a little refresher on the Royalty way to those who need it.
CHAPTER 16
Towels snap and shoes squeak as the athletes filling our designated locker room make their way through various stages of showering and getting ready for the school day to start. We may not begin official on-ice practices until next month, but Coach makes sure to have us in the weight room with the football team bright and early every day.
Fucking Samantha.
My muscles protest and long for an ice bath after the punishment they took from the supersets I did trying to work out my frustration with the silver-haired vixen. Thank fuck it’s Friday and I’ll have the weekend to recover.
I ate rat because of her.
She. Fed. Us. Motherfucking. Rats!
I have to have a screw loose or something because the memory of her retaliation shouldn’t make me hard—but it does.
Adjusting my semi so my belt helps hold it down, I finish dressing and wait for the rest of the guys to do the same. Having an athletes-only locker room makes it easy for Duke, Banks, and me to meet up with the others despite them playing a different sport.
“What’s today’s lesson for your little race slut?” Midas asks as we make our way down the senior corridor, barking at the few underclassmen we happen to pass, causing them to flinch.
I rub at my jaw and debate the best response. The answer is nothing. For as much as I loathe to admit it, Samantha had a point when she called us out for following a predictable script. I thought it best for us to hit pause and take a few days to regroup.