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by Ashley Jade
I try to leave, but my archenemy places his arms on either side of my head, caging me in. “You know what the difference is between us?”
“Golly gee, where do I begin?” I start ticking things off with my fingers. “You’re selfish, mean—”
Shock flows through my system when he leans in, his mouth a razor’s edge from mine.
“I don’t give a fuck.” His eyes shine with malice. “And you desperately need one.”
My cheeks flame with indignation. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
His tongue darts out to lick the seam of my lower lip before he eases back. “I wasn’t offering.” The menacing sneer he shoots me is as ruthless as he is. “Besides, we both know if I wanted to fuck you, I would have that night.”
His words are the equivalent of being dunked in a vat of lava.
“Go to hell.”
I don’t bother hiding the despondency in my voice. Maybe once he has validation that he managed to hurt me again…he’ll go away for good.
Misery etches his expression for one fleeting second before he paints on a cocky smirk. “Trust me, Bible Thumper. If the bullshit you believe in turns out to be true, I’ve earned a first-class ticket there.”
Once again, I’m torn between wanting to rescue him from whatever his demons are…and wishing the ground beneath us would open up and swallow him whole.
“Goddamnit.” Closing my eyes, I draw in a shaky breath. “I just want you to leave me alone.”
Stop torturing me.
Stop invading my thoughts.
Stop looking at me like I’m your little toy you can use and abuse whenever the urge strikes.
Stop making me feel things for you I shouldn’t.
“Hurts when you can’t have something you want, doesn’t it?”
Not waiting for a response, he clutches my jaw. “Remember how much you hate me right now.” The grip on my chin tightens and he inclines his head. “Because the second you think I’m capable of changing, or there’s any good in me, I’ll prove you wrong and hurt you again…worse than before.”
This time I let the tears fall.
Not because I’m scared of his threats.
But because he’s giving me glimpses of how dark and tortured his soul is.
And no matter how hard I pray for him…I’ll never be able to help or save him.
He’s beyond it.
“Colton,” I whisper as the night sky opens up and cool rain begins to trickle.
His name is the one tiny bit of truth he gave me that night.
A piece of him no one else has.
Something passes in his gaze. “You would have been perfect for him.”
I have no idea who he’s talking about.
“Perfect for who?”
Ignoring my question, he leans his forehead against mine. “Ask me again what I want.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What do you want, Colton?”
The pure agony that slashes across his face wraps around my heart and squeezes.
“Something I can never have…because I’ll destroy it.”
Chapter 7
Sawyer
I’m ten minutes late by the time I walk into Cluck You, and Mr. Gonzales is not happy.
I’m in the back tying my apron on when he approaches me.
“You late,” he states in broken English.
His dark furry eyebrows are pinched together, and his lips are so tight they’re turning white around the edges.
Oh, boy.
Considering I’ve been working here for almost two years and I’ve never been late before-—not to mention I’m covering for a coworker—you’d think he’d cut me a little slack.
However, now is not the time to bring that up, so I do the mature thing and offer up an apology followed by an explanation. “I know. I’m sorry. I was at the homecoming game and after it ended, I realized I forgot my textbook—”
He cuts me off with a long-winded sigh.
Oh, boy. Here we go.
“Desde que era un niño pequeño. Soñé con abrir un restaurante. Pasé todo mi tiempo perfeccionando el pollo perfecto.” He holds up his hands histrionically. “Trabajé sobre la estufa día tras día. Sufrió quemaduras de tercer grado. Algunos días mi piel se despegaba de mis dedos y lloraba mientras cocinaba. Solo para tener la oportunidad de hacer algo de mí mismo y mantener a mi familia. Y ahora llegas a mi restaurante diez minutos y veinticuatro segundos tarde.” He stomps his foot. “¿Estás tratando de destruirme? ¿Mi familia? ¿Mi pollo?”
Good Lord.
Long story short, my boss worked his butt off perfecting his chicken recipe—even suffering third-degree burns in the process. He came to America with a goal of opening a restaurant to provide for his family. However, according to him, my tardiness is putting his business, his family, and most importantly, his chicken in jeopardy.
While I respect his hard work and determination, the man sure has a flair for the dramatic.
I shake my head, hoping to put his fears to rest. “No—”
Before I can finish my second apology, Stone waltzes over to us. “Relax. Sawyer’s never late.”
Rumor has it Stone was hired as a dishwasher because Mr. Gonzales was a close friend of his dad’s and he wants him to stay out of trouble.
He’s only been here a short time—given he’s sixteen—but he works his ass off, and I have no complaints about the guy.
Well, except one.
He’s Tommy DaSilva’s younger brother.
Awkward.
I have to constantly remind myself that Tommy and Stone aren’t the same person and judging him for the terrible things his brother did to the Covington family would be wrong.
Visibly irritated, Mr. Gonzales waves a hand in my direction. “Ponte a trabajar.” He looks at Stone. “Both of you.”
I shoot Stone an appreciative smile before I get back to work.
It was busier than usual tonight, and by the time I have a second to breathe it’s after ten and my shift is over.
I don’t even attempt to stifle my yawns.
“Tired, huh?” Luis, the second waiter on shift tonight comments as we bring the last of the dishes to the back.
Not only is Luis a sweetheart, he’s in college studying to be an engineer, so he understands my pain when it comes to balancing school and work.
He also doesn’t come from money and works hard for everything he has.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “I have to turn in my admissions essay for Duke’s Heart in two weeks, and I still haven’t started it.”
He lets out a long whistle. “You shouldn’t put that off until last minute, ma.”
He’s right.
It might not be a big deal to most students, but when you’re poor and need a full ride more than your next heartbeat—it’s a huge deal.
Not to mention, turning it in before the deadline gives you an advantage and makes it appear like you took it seriously.
I walk over to the sink when I notice Stone’s up to his eyeballs with dishes and give him a hand.
“I was going to tackle it tomorrow, but I promised—” I catch myself before Dylan’s name slips out.
Stone knows she’s my best friend, but it makes things weird between us whenever I bring her up.
Not only is she dating Jace Covington, but Tommy was legit obsessed with her last year. The dumbass even went so far as to try to force her to have sex with him at a deserted marina.
Luckily, Dylan is stronger than she looks, and she kicked him in the balls before anything bad could happen.
“I agreed to tutor my friend’s cousin,” I settle on.
Luis stops what he’s doing. “Hope he’s paying you.”
“He’s not, but—”
Luis cringes. “There’s a reason they tell you to put your life vest on before assisting others. You have to focus on yourself, ma. You’re already burnt out. Stop adding more to the pile.”
He’s right. Most nights I aver
age three hours of sleep…if I’m lucky.
But I’m not turning my back on Oakley and I refuse to give up Bible study and choir. I also need a job, therefore quitting Cluck You is out of the question.
So is giving up my own study time.
I have no choice but to find a way to make it work.
Stone—who’s been awfully silent—speaks. “You should start drinking coffee.”
I try not to laugh. “Too late. I already have a cup before school and a cup after school.”
In the beginning it helped, but a year later…not so much.
He thinks about this for a second. “Damn. In that case, upgrade to energy drinks.”
“Or Adderall,” Luis cuts in.
Confused, I turn to look at him. “Adderall? Isn’t that for people with ADHD?”
Focusing isn’t my problem. Lack of time is.
“Yeah, but it gives you mad energy and helps you concentrate. Plenty of people on my campus take it to help them study.”
That’s…unnerving. “How? Don’t they need a prescription from a doctor?”
“They’re not getting it from their doctor,” Stone informs me.
Luis and Stone exchange a glance before Luis adds, “They get it from their street pharmacist.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Drug dealers.”
Luis shrugs sheepishly. “Pretty much.”
Stone reaches for a towel. “Not worth it. That shit is basically legal speed.”
“Yeah, but it works,” Luis chimes in before looking at me. “As long as you don’t take it all the time.”
Hold the phone. “You take it?”
I’ll admit I’m surprised. Luis is the last person I’d ever suspect of using drugs.
“Nah. Not on the regular.” Grinning, he plucks his shirt. “I’m already skinny and that shit makes you lose weight like crazy. First week I tried it I dropped five pounds, so I sold the rest of the pills to my cousin.” He laughs. “But I studied like a motherfucker and passed all my tests with flying colors, so there’s that.”
“Oh.” I’m at a loss for words as I walk over to the clock and punch out. “I have to get home and study for my history test. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
Sawyer
Looking for your shit?
Here’s a clue, it’s where people like you belong.
Xoxo
The Squad.
The irritated groan that rips from my throat startles the few students studying in the school library.
For the last hour I’ve been looking for my purse and backpack Casey and her squad of bitches stole out of my locker.
I’ve searched classrooms, the cafeteria, even the dumpsters out back…and nada.
Why Casey decided to target me today is anyone’s guess. You’d think she’d have more important things to worry about considering all the rumors flying around about her and Cole’s breakup.
I’ve tried to mind my business and tune it out, but the gossip is straight up vicious.
Allegedly, the queen bitch has been cheating on her boyfriend for months with the quarterback from Royal Hearts High because of Cole’s…well, shortcomings and inability to sexually please her.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice to see Cole in the hot seat for once.
Although a big part of me truly feels bad for him. It sucks when people make fun of you and spread false, hurtful rumors.
Not that I have any proof as to the validity of Casey’s allegations.
It never got that far between us.
But as usual, I’m trapped in the Cole Covington vortex and my heart feels things for him it shouldn’t.
Things like compassion and empathy…despite knowing he’s a royal asshole.
Focus, Sawyer.
As if on cue, my phone—which was fortunately inside my pocket during Casey’s little locker robbery—vibrates.
Dylan: Here’s Bianca’s number. Jace said she’s at cheer practice right now, but if she refuses to tell you where your stuff is, let him know and he’ll get it out of her.
Relief flows through me as my phone vibrates again.
Dylan: And if he can’t, so help me God, I’ll slap it out of her.
I smile down at my phone.
Sawyer: You’re the best, but I’m pretty sure it won’t come to that.
Bianca’s a bitch, but she’s not heartless.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I type out my next text.
Sawyer: Hey Bianca, it’s Sawyer. I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me where my stuff is. I have work in an hour and if I’m late again, my boss will fire me.
Bianca: Sawyer who?
Seriously?
Sawyer: Sawyer Church
Bianca: That’s a terrible name. You should really consider changing it.
She’s got to be kidding me.
Sawyer: Sure thing. I’ll jump right on that. As soon as you tell me where my stuff is.
Bianca: I mean I could….
Another groan lodges in my throat when I receive her follow up text.
Bianca: But it’s gonna cost you.
Of course it is. Heaven forbid the girl does something for the sake of being nice.
Sawyer: I don’t have much money.
Bianca: g2g. Casey’s bitching at me for being on my phone during practice.
Shit on a stick.
Sawyer: Wait. How much do you want?
Bianca: I don’t want your money. Christian’s throwing a Halloween party this weekend and I need you to come with me.
What she’s asking doesn’t make any sense. She’s a cheerleader and a member of Casey’s squad. Showing up with me would be social suicide.
Sawyer: Why? Last I checked you said we weren’t friends, remember?
Bianca: We aren’t. But Jace found out about me going to Christian’s party a few months ago and flipped his shit, so now Cole won’t let me go to them anymore. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to be excluded?
Yes, yes, I do.
Bianca: And now everyone keeps referring to me as Jailbait Covington and no guy will touch me. It’s seriously fucking up my reputation.
Gee, what a shame.
Sawyer: As tragic as that all sounds, I really need to know where my stuff is.
Bianca: Not until you agree to help me out.
Swear this girl is as stubborn and manipulative as they come.
Sawyer: Fine, but what makes you think going with me will change Jace or Cole’s mind about you going to the party?
Bianca: You’re kidding, right? You’re pretty much the equivalent of a saint and Jace trusts you. Going with you is the only shot I have of going at all.
Before I can protest, another text comes through.
Bianca: Pick me up at 9 on Saturday and try not to look so…you. TTYL.
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes, but I have more important things to focus on.
Sawyer: What about my stuff?
It takes her five whole minutes to respond.
Bianca: In the boys’ locker room.
Weird Casey would choose that location, but whatever.
My stomach sinks when my phone pings again.
Bianca: In the toilet.
Awesome sauce.
The overpowering smell of sweat and musk with a twinge of onion invades my nostrils the second I enter the locker room.
Holding my breath, I make a beeline for the stalls.
My stomach falls when I open the last one and find my purse in the toilet. Just like Bianca said.
“Perfect,” I mutter aloud.
On the bright side, my backpack was too big to join the party, so my notes and books are unscathed.
For a brief moment I debate leaving my purse right where it is, but then I remember my car keys are in it.
With a disgusted sigh, I slowly lower my hand into the bowl.
I freeze when I hear heavy footsteps followed by the sound of deep voices.
Chapter 9
>
Cole
“Casey was looking hot as fuck during practice today,” Cortland jeers as we make our way to the locker room. “Now that she dumped Cole’s ass, I wonder if she’d let me hit it.”
Between getting my ass reamed out by Coach Stalter for getting sacked multiple times during practice, the bullshit rumors Casey started, and Cortland taking the opportunity to be an even bigger dick than usual today—I’m on my last thread.
“Come on, brother,” Dwight chimes in. “Is your dick so desperate you’d fuck that two-timing slut?”
Cortland peers at him like he sprouted another head. “Hell yeah. It’s not like the bitch cheated on me.” Scoffing, he looks around. “Besides, she only cheated because Covington here doesn’t know how to use his coc—”
I lunge at him before he can finish that sentence.
“Shut the fuck up before I make you swallow your tongue.”
I’m about to launch my fist into his face, but someone grabs both my arms.
“Coach already ripped you a new one today, don’t give him a reason to do it again.”
Lennox. Not only is he the voice of reason on the team, he’s a big motherfucker.
Only way I’m getting out of his ironclad grip is if I dislocate my shoulder.
However, I’m not about to back down.
Not until I clear up a few things and put the douchebag in his place.
“On second thought, I think we’d all like to see you try and hit it with that pencil in your pants you call a dick.”
A few snickers erupt around the locker room and Cortland’s face takes on a maroon color, but I’m not finished yet.