Queen of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  This morning, I’d decided on a light blue bikini. The bottoms are tiny but settle high on my hips and the top is more like a strip with thin arm straps that hold everything safely in place.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yup.” I follow him to the wooden platform at the back before we step to the edge.

  As waves lap at the boat, a bolt of fear arrows through me. Kingsley slips my hand into his larger one before giving it a gentle squeeze. A zing of electricity shoots through my fingertips. I glance at him to see if he’s noticed the strange burst of energy. His gaze searches mine for a moment before his lips quirk. With our hands enclosed, he squats, preparing to jump.

  A spurt of nerves flutter at the bottom of my belly. “Wait!”

  He pauses, slowly straightening to his full height. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ummm.” I glance at the water. It’s so much darker out here than at the shore. Exactly how deep is Lake Michigan? I wrack my brain for the information but can’t come up with an answer. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Safe?” His brows slide together. “Of course. We’re in open water.”

  Yeah, that’s part of the problem. I always feel better when my feet can touch the bottom. That’s not possible here.

  “Do you think there are a lot of fish this deep?”

  He tilts his head and says carefully, “I’m sure there are a few.”

  My face scrunches. “You think they’re big?”

  “I’m not sure. I read somewhere that freshwater salmon can grow anywhere from fifteen to thirty pounds.”

  Holy shit! That’s not the answer I was looking for.

  “That’s huge.” Not to mention scary. When I swim at the beach, I never worry about that. Half the time, I don’t wade out past my waist. And if I see a few fish, they’re small. No bigger than my palm.

  When he tugs my fingers, my gaze snaps to his. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  His words leave my heart spasming. “Promise?”

  “I promise.” His eyes search mine for a long moment and something indescribable passes between us. “You’re safe with me.”

  I gnaw my bottom lip with indecision. I only met this guy yesterday, and already it feels like we’re doing one of those horrendous trust building exercises. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I trust him to protect me. How crazy is that?

  “All right,” I finally mumble, reluctantly giving in.

  “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to stay in the water. Okay?” He waits a beat. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  I blow out a steady breath, his reassuring words making me feel marginally better.

  “You ready to do this?”

  I jerk my head into a tight nod.

  “One, two, three!” he yells.

  With our hands tightly clasped, we jump off the edge of the swim platform before sliding beneath the surface and sinking into the cold depths of Lake Michigan. My warmed skin goes into shock as frigid water surrounds my body. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes tightly shut before untangling my fingers from his and propelling myself to the surface with a flutter of arms and legs. When the bright sunlight hits my face, I suck in a deep breath as my eyes pop open. I glance around frantically only to find Kingsley bobbing beside me with a grin.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I shake my head. No, it was actually kind of fun.

  Waves lap at my chin as I tread water. We’re about five feet from the boat and there’s a ladder hanging off the end in case a hasty exit becomes necessary. Now that my body has gotten used to the coldness that surrounds me, it feels refreshing. I take a few exploratory strokes with my arms. Kingsley keeps pace with me as we circle around the perimeter of the boat.

  As I start to relax and enjoy myself, something smooth slides along my leg. I yelp, dog paddling toward him before throwing my arms around his neck and locking my legs at his waist.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, laughter simmering in his deep voice.

  My head swivels, peering into the water as if I’m able to see down to the bottom. “Something brushed up against me.”

  One of his hands goes to my backside as he presses me closer.

  “Are you sure,” he whispers against the shell of my ear.

  My arms tighten around his neck as I frown. “I don’t know.” Whatever it was scared the hell out of me.

  After a few silent moments tick by and the Lake Michigan equivalent of Jaws doesn’t leap from the waves and drag us to a watery grave, I realize how intimately I’m pressed against the steely strength of his body. My muscles tense as a surge of arousal slams into me before settling in my core. This level of attraction isn’t something I’m familiar with. My gaze widens before fastening on to his heated one.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, unsure what to do next. I should probably untangle myself from him, right? It’s like he can read my thoughts as they flicker across my face and his grip tightens on me in response.

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  As we bob on the waves, tension gradually leaks from my body. His fingers splay wide on my bottom as he draws me closer.

  Mmmm. That feels so good.

  I keep the groan locked deep inside as I rest my chin on his shoulder while he kneads my behind.

  Holy moly. Has anything ever felt this good?

  We stay locked together, the heat of our bodies warming us in the chilled water. He’s barely touched me and already arousal is wrecking havoc on my system. All of my senses feel heightened with awareness.

  Kingsley shifts his lower body away from mine before clearing his throat. “You ready to get out. I packed us a lunch.”

  Hmmm. Lunch does sound good but staying here in the water with him sounds even better.

  Although, I can’t really say that, now can I? “Sure.”

  Funny how I was so reluctant to get in the water.

  And now?

  I’m even more reluctant to leave.

  Have you read?

  The Girl Next Door

  Chapter One

  Mia

  Summer before freshman year of college…

  “Get your butt over here,” my best friend squeals from the window where she’s taken up sentinel, “you need to see this!”

  That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I’ll take a hard pass. I have zero interest in spying on a yard full of drunken classmates who are partying it up at my neighbor’s house. Reluctantly, I glance up from the toes I’m painting with a pale pink polish. Coney Island Cotton Candy, to be precise.

  When our gazes lock, Alyssa waves me over. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. Kind of like a schnauzer.

  “Everyone is over there!”

  “Not true,” I mutter, lacquering my baby toe with an impressively steady hand. “We’re right here.” And that’s exactly where I plan to stay.

  “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.” She steeples her hands together before shaking them at me. “Please?” she begs. “Can’t we go over there for a little bit? Just a little? That’s all I’m asking.”

  That’s all she’s asking…ha!

  I’m calling bullshit.

  Alyssa knows I’d rather chew my arm off than crash one of Beck Hollingsworth’s parties. I didn’t mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive.

  No, thank you.

  It’s obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn’t live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I’d expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities.

  Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck’s father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He�
�s a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He’s one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you’ve been injured, you need to call them—they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements.

  The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let’s see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent’s brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day.

  Instead of hauling Beck to the station every time he’s picked up, they drop him at his front door and don’t bother talking to Archibald about it. Beck is on a first name basis with a number of guys on the force. A few showed up to his graduation party in June.

  It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Beck always figures out a way to circumvent the obstacles standing in his path. His parents. School. The law. It’s as irritating as it is impressive. Maybe one of these days, he’ll use his powers for good instead of evil.

  “Come on, Mia!” Alyssa whines, all the while flashing sad puppy dog eyes at me.

  Double whammy.

  My bestie knows I have a difficult time resisting puppy dog eyes.

  I wiggle my toes from the bed and grumble, “I can’t go anywhere until my nails dry.” I’m doing my best to prolong subjecting myself to the aggravation of being anywhere near Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy drives me bat shit crazy.

  And that’s putting it mildly.

  “Great! So…five minutes?” She swings away before pressing her face against the screen as her voice turns dreamy. “I bet Colton is already there.”

  Ugh.

  Colton Montgomery is Beck’s righthand man, so it’s not a wager I’m likely to win.

  Against my better advice, Alyssa has been crushing hard on Colton for more than a year. Not only is he popular, but he’s a football player. Heavy emphasis on the player part. If Alyssa were smart, she’d find a nice guy to fall in lust with, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker.

  Colton has it all going on. Brains, brawn, and more than likely, a one-way ticket to the NFL after college.

  The only problem is that he’s aware of his own appeal.

  His ego is as massive as other parts of him.

  Or so I hear.

  And not from Alyssa since he refuses to sleep with her. I can’t decide if the situation is amusing or sad. The more Colton keeps Alyssa at a firm distance, the more determined she is to have him.

  Last football season, Alyssa dragged me to every game. Even the away ones. My greatest fear was that Beck would assume my ass was in the stands in support of him. His fan club is already legendary without adding me to the ranks.

  When it comes to the ladies, Beckett makes Colton look like an innocent babe. He goes through girls like most people go through underwear. Speaking of panties, the girls at our high school are always happy—hell, I’d go so far as to say thrilled—to drop theirs for him.

  It’s ridiculous.

  He’s a chronic user and abuser.

  There should be a warning label slapped across his forehead.

  Beware. Toxic to the female species.

  But you know what?

  That wouldn’t stop these bubble-headed chicks from spreading their legs wide for him. I’ve stopped trying to figure out the appeal. All right, I’m well aware of what the attraction is. As much as I’ve tried to pretend I’m immune to his charms, I’m not. I just do a damn good job of burying them deep down where they never see the light of day. If I didn’t, Beck would annihilate me in a heartbeat, and I have zero desire to end up a casualty on his hit list.

  Given the choice, I’d rather flip through Netflix and find a movie to watch rather than be dragged over to Beck’s bash.

  Doesn’t sitting around in pajamas and stuffing our faces with pizza sound way better than watching a bunch of our classmates get sloppy drunk, engage in way too much PDA, puke all over the place before alcohol poisoning sets in?

  I won’t bother posing the question to Alyssa. There is no way she’ll willingly opt for sitting home instead of stalking her crush.

  Would you like to guess what Colton will be doing while I wipe drool from Alyssa’s chin?

  You guessed it. He’ll be flirting with every vagina he thinks he has a chance of penetrating.

  Honestly, it’s one of the most masochistic things Alyssa could do. I have no idea why she insists on putting herself through this kind of agony. Apparently, my job as her best friend is to support her decision to inflict untold amounts of mental anguish onto herself. I’d slap her upside the head if I thought it would knock sense into her.

  My prediction for the evening goes a little something like this—Alyssa will have a few drinks, moon over Colton, before dissolving into a puddle of tears while that manwhore makes out with other girls in front of her face. Then I’ll drag her home and she’ll end up knuckle-deep in a gallon of triple chocolate ice cream.

  But that’s what friends are for, right?

  Don’t worry, I’ve already made my peace with it.

  “Fine,” I grumble with a scowl, hoping she understands the depth of my reluctance. “But let it be known that I won’t be staying for more than an hour. So you better make good use of your time, girl.”

  She swings around to face me, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she claps her hands together with excitement. “Yay!” As soon as she gets the affirmative, she beelines for my closet, which is half the size of my room.

  I have the kind of closet most girls my age can only dream about. Shoes, purses, clothes, jewelry. It’s all there and organized.

  “Cue the montage music while I find something schmexy to wear!” she squeals.

  “What you have on is fine.” I roll my eyes and yell, “It was good enough for me, wasn’t it?”

  From within the depths of my closet comes a snort.

  For the next ten minutes, I’m treated to an impromptu fashion show. At the rate Alyssa is going, we won’t make it to the party any time soon.

  Take your time, girlfriend. I’m totally good with that.

  A dozen outfit changes later, Alyssa settles on a black knit tank and white skirt that showcases her sun-kissed legs to their best advantage. Alyssa has been taking dance classes since she was three years old. She’s toned with long, lean muscles.

  “Damn girl, you look hot.” Not that her crush will appreciate the effort. Alyssa needs to move on. I’m thinking a twelve-step program would help kick the Chase Montgomery habit.

  “I would gladly live in your closet if you’d let me.” She grins before doing a little twirl. “It’s my happy place.”

  A reluctant smile quirks my lips.

  My mother is a card-carrying shopaholic and has the Amex Black Card bills to prove it. She buys clothes like our house burned to the ground and nothing could be salvaged. Even with racks and racks of space, my wardrobe is bursting at the seams. Three quarters of the stuff has never seen the light of day. Alyssa is lucky we’re roughly the same size so she can borrow whatever she wants.

  Now that she’s dressed and ready to mingle, her eyes narrow as she takes a hard look at me. Wordlessly, she spins around and races back inside the closet only to resurface a handful of minutes later.

  “Here you go,” she says, tossing two garments at the foot of my bed.

  I glance at the shimmery gold tank and dark wash jean skirt that resembles a folded-up napkin. The skirt is cute as hell, but I would strongly advise against going commando while wearing it unless you’re looking to flash everyone your goodies.

  Since that’s not my usual style, the price tag is still dangling from the pocket. I have no idea what my mother was thinking when sh
e picked it up.

  Unsure why she’s throwing clothes at me, I point to the small pile. “What’s that about?”

  “You need to change.” She gives me a look that says—duh before clapping her hands together. “Chop-chop.”

  Changing my clothes was not part of the plan. I’m fine with going in my pajamas. It’s not like I’m looking for a hookup. Or anything else, for that matter.

  I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “No, thank you.”

  Her gaze rakes over me as she points at my T-shirt. “Is that a coffee stain on your boob?”

  With a frown, I glance at my chest and inspect the dark spot marring the fabric of my right breast. My guess is that she’s right. Caramel Macchiato, to be specific. “Possibly.”

  Her lips flatten. “I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like that.”

  “Great!” I stretch out before stacking my hands behind my head. “What kind of movie night does it feel like to you? Romcom? Horror? Psychological thriller? Angsty tearjerker?” A benevolent smile curves my lips. “You can choose.”

  Alyssa stomps her foot on the carpeted floor. “Mia!” she wails at a decibel that could shatter eardrums. A few neighborhood dogs howl in response. “You promised!”

  Promised?

  No, I don’t think so.

  I scrunch my nose and tap a finger against my lips. “I don’t believe I ever promised to do anything. Reluctantly agreed? Yes. Was browbeaten into capitulating? Definitely. But promised? Not in this lifetime.”

  When she straightens to her full height, I groan, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. “Mia Evelyn Stanbury! Do I need to remind you who was there when—”

  Argh.

  This is the portion of the evening where Alyssa trots out every damn thing she’s ever done for me until I relent. And she’ll start with Harper Hastings. The girl who bullied me relentlessly in seventh grade because Xander Rossi asked me to the movies instead of her. After months of Harper’s meanspirited attacks, Alyssa waited for the girl after school. My bestie let it be known that if Harper didn’t cease and desist, she’d spread the good word that the other girl was a known bra stuffer. It must have been true, since Harper immediately backed off and I never heard a peep from her again.