Redness pools beneath his skin and I imagine his face to be hot to the touch. The crimson color only deepens when I smirk again, and his stare stays trained on me when I slip from between his body and the locker I rested against. I feel his eyes chasing after me as I leave him behind.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going? We’re not done here, Southside,” his voice thunders.
But I don’t owe him more of this conversation. Which is why I keep moving and wiggle my fingers teasingly to wave goodbye.
“Oh, we’re definitely done here,” I say. “I’ve already told you more about me than you deserve to know.”
His stare darkens, but not in a threatening way. All I see there is lust, him wishing he had the power to control me like he does everyone else.
“Later, King Midas. I have a dance to get back to,” I add dismissively, which I’m certain is driving him crazy.
He called this game we engage in “foreplay”, and I’m starting to think his theory might not be too far off base.
Biting my lips, a smirk breaks free as the distance between us grows.
We’re twisted enough apart, but damn if we aren’t even worse together.
However, in the spirit of honesty, I have to admit … I’m starting to like it.
Oh, yeah. Note to self: Thank Dane. Dude’s a freakin’ genius.
@QweenPandora: Careful flirting with not one, but two Golden boys, NewGirl. After all, let us not forget that Cain slew Abel. Despite all the drama already, the dance isn’t over yet. Stick around to see who’s crowned king and queen. Then, don’t you dare miss the afterparty in Bellvue, hosted by KingMidas, PrettyBoyD, and MrSilver. That is, if PrettyBoyD isn’t banned after that sexy little stunt he pulled.
Later, Peeps!
—P
Chapter 28
BLUE
King Midas in a crown? Seems fitting.
I’m not even aware I’m smiling until Jules nudges me.
“Something you want to fill me in on?”
Her eyes bounce toward the platform where West stands beside Joss—the crowned queen—and then back to me.
“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me what happened when he dragged you off, caveman-style.” She teases.
To contain the huge, stupid smile that breaks free, I bite my lip.
Don’t let him get inside your head. You still hate him. He still sucks.
The pep talk brings a small measure of reality back to me, but it’s hard to cling to with him staring at me from the stage. Like he’s still ready and willing to finish what we started if I just say the word.
And, wow … I’ve never wanted to give in to anyone as badly as I want to give in to him. But there’s a principle I must uphold. What kind of girl would I be if I let my enemy have his way with me?
A pitiful one.
…A satisfied one.
I’m a freakin’ lost cause.
Jules is still smiling at me in my peripheral, but I’m saved by the bell. Glancing down at my phone, an unknown caller pops up.
“Be back,” I say to her, and then run out of the gym as quickly as I can in heels. I make it out to the hall just before my voicemail picks up.
“Hello?”
There’s silence on the other end at first, and I plug my ear to listen harder while making my way toward the school exit. Maybe reception is bad in this area.
Cool air sweeps over my legs when I make it outside and lean against the brick.
“Hello? Someone there?”
This time I hear something. And it sounds like crying. Right away, I’m on high alert, thinking the worst.
“Scar? Are you okay?”
My heart’s racing a mile a minute, especially with what Hunter shared this morning, but she should be fine. I texted an hour ago and she was safe at Uncle Dusty’s.
“It’s not Scar,” a familiar voice says. “It’s me.”
A rush of air leaves my lungs, and with it, my ability to process words.
“It’s Mom, Blue-Jay.”
Music from the gym is faint but serves as a soundtrack to this surreal moment. It’s been months—months—since she’s called. So, why now?
“How are you, sweetheart?” she asks, speaking through her sobs.
I envision the state she’s probably in right now—disheveled, pathetic.
“How do you think I am?” I snap, feeling my throat tighten with emotion. “Where the hell are you?”
Her voice shudders on the other end and I’m guessing my tone has upset her, but who the hell cares? ‘Upset’ has been my default setting for quite some time now.
“I’ve been around,” is the lame answer I’m given. “But, Blue-Jay, I can’t talk long. I need … a little favor.”
And there it is. This call has nothing to do with wanting to know how the children she brought into this world are faring without her. She’s calling because she needs something.
“What?” I ask flatly, sounding every bit as frustrated and disgusted as I feel.
She holds back for a few seconds, but then gets to her point. “I could use some cash.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say mostly to myself. Her request has me pacing.
“I’m not asking for much,” she insists. “Just a couple hundred bucks. I swear I’ll get it back to you by next week.”
A laugh slips out. “I’m sorry, but do you have any idea what I could do with a couple hundred dollars right now? For starters, I can make sure I feed your daughter something other than bologna and ramen five days a week. Oh! And I could’ve paid to keep the electricity on myself last month. And I wouldn’t have to work so many hours that I’m failing at being the parent you were supposed to be to Scar. Do you need me to go on, Mom?”
There’s silence on the other end, like I knew there would be. She sniffles in the background and I’m panting
