No Good: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Stevie J. Cole

  Desks scraped the floor as students switched seats. Drew didn’t budge, and neither did I. She glanced around the room. When the commotion of shuffling desks fell silent, Drew didn’t have a partner. One, she was obviously Barrington. And two, no one in this school would come within five inches of her because I’d all but taken a piss on her yesterday in the hall.

  I swept her hair from her shoulder, leaned over, and placed my lips beside her ear. “No one wants to play with you. Except for me.”

  “Oh, no.” She placed a hand to her chest. “I might cry.”

  I grabbed her ponytail, yanking her head back. “Please, fucking cry. Rich girl tears are like black tar heroin.”

  “Would you get off on it?” The sexy-ass low rasp to her voice immediately had my dick hard.

  “All over your pretty, rich-girl face.”

  “Mr. West!” Mrs. Smith clapped her hands before balling them on her hips. “Please tell me why in the hell, you’ve got New Girl by the hair?”

  “Because she’s hot.” I nodded toward Drew as I released her ponytail.

  “My class ain’t no Plenty O’ Fish.”

  “I know. But I heard this girl’s gag reflex is practically non-existent.”

  A boom of laughter echoed around the room before Smith clapped her hands again. “All right, Hugh Hefner. Go see Principal Brown.” She pointed at the door. “I ain’t got time for your shit today.”

  With a shrug, I pushed out of the chair, flicking Drew’s hair as I passed by. “See you later, baby girl.”

  Brown’s idea of punishment was having me spend the remainder of second block in the office, helping the aide file charts. And honestly, I was patting myself on the back for getting sent to the principal today because the file I had just grabbed was none other than Drucella Morgan’s.

  Drucella Morgan? What a shit name. On a laugh, I quickly crammed the folder underneath my shirt and went back to filing the rest of the charts. By the time the bell for lunch rang, it felt like the thing was burning a hole into my skin.

  I skirted into the hallway, opening the folder as I fell in with the students pouring out of classrooms. I flipped past her Barrington address and phone number to her transcripts—straight A’s at an out-of-state school called Black Mountain Academy, some dumb rich-kid boarding school. And then I came to her notice of expulsion. I expected the reason to be dealing drugs, screwing a teacher, something worth a little excitement. But no. Little Miss Perfect had been expelled for cheating on a test. What a letdown.

  “Cocksucker.” Hendrix strode up beside me, his gaze dropping to the open file in my hand. “Drucella?” He stopped outside of the cafeteria and doubled over on a cackle. “That’s a shit name.”

  We went into the lunchroom, skipping to the front of the line. “Where’s Wolf?” I asked.

  “Smith held him after class.” Hendrix reached across the line, scooped a handful of mashed potatoes up with his fingers, and licked them off before passing the tray back to the cafeteria lady and asking for another serving. “She wants him to have an all he can eat on her musty, dusty muff buffet.”

  “Jesus, Hendrix.” I filled my tray with crap food, trying to block the mental image of Smith’s muff buffet from my mind when we went to the cashier and swiped our cards.

  He spent the first five minutes rattling off his updated Hit it and Quit it list while I read over Drew’s file. “There comes Drucella and Scora Nora…” Hendrix snorted a laugh. “They can both be on my list, too.”

  I glanced toward the front of the noisy cafeteria, and the moment Drew’s gaze landed on me, I framed my mouth with my fingers then flicked my tongue through the opening. She shot me the bird.

  “She’s defected,” Hendrix said through a mouthful of food. “Most of those rich girls are like horny little beavers hungry for wood.”

  “It’s defective, you idiot.”

  “Defected. Defective. Doesn’t matter. She’s not gonna bang your wang, man.” He chucked a fry at me, dragging my attention away from her. “Not gonna go all champion pogo-stick rider on your nub. Not going to…”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, the number to Frank’s Famous Chicken flashing over the screen. Ignoring the tirade Hendrix had veered off on, I left the table and headed into the courtyard to take the call. And when I hung up, Drew Morgan was no longer my problem, but I was most definitely hers.

  6

  Drew

  I was halfway through my shift at Frank’s when Eddie, the manager, rounded the corner, with splotchy red cheeks. “Drew Morgan!” He stopped in front of me, nostrils flaring like a stampeding bull. “You’ve been selling cannabis from my drive-thru!”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” His balled fists dug into his waist. “Yesterday evening, I received a phone call from a concerned citizen. He said the”—he made air quotes— “hot brunette with an attitude”—another set of air quotes—“put it in his bag.” Eddie glanced around. “Do you see any other brunettes in here, Drew?”

  This had to be Bellamy, and this was low. “It’s bullshit,” I said. “I’m not—”

  “Bullshit?” He gave a curt nod. “Bullshit. Do you know the number of people who have come through the drive-thru over the past week asking for a Big Mac? I Googled what that means. And it means weed!”

  Motherfuckers.

  “If you weren’t William’s daughter, I’d have called the cops.”

  The cops. He would have called the cops when he didn’t even have proof? What an asshole.

  He shook his head with a disappointed frown. “I’m sorry, Drew. But I have no choice but to fire you. William’s daughter or not.”

  He was firing me. With no proof.

  “Whatever.” I tossed my cap onto the counter and brushed past Eddie to grab my bag. This was unbelievable. Now my dad was going to crawl even further up my ass because God knew Eddie wouldn’t keep this a secret. Just great.

  As soon as I got home, I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a Rainbow Push-Pop from the freezer, then went to the living room and flopped back on the stuffy couch. With each angry bite I took from that popsicle, my teeth hurt.

  My phone buzzed again and again. Father flashing over the screen. He’d evidently heard from Eddie, which was why I didn’t open any of the messages. I wasn’t in the mood for his wannabe parental lecture right now over something I hadn’t even done—just like cheating on that test at Black Mountain.

  I took another chunk out of the Push-Pop. My dad was going to be such a dick about this, and that made me hate Bellamy with a passion I rarely felt. The buzzing quieted for a moment, before sounding again a few minutes later. But this time, it wasn’t my dad.

  Unknown number: Sorry to hear you lost your job.

  Unknown number: Baby girl.

  Simmering rage shot through my veins as I stamped my fingers over the screen: Me: How did you get my number?

  Unknown number: A magician never reveals his secrets….

  I’d had every intention of keeping my head down and getting through the next two months in this hell hole with as little drama as possible. Until now. Now Bellamy West was top of my shit list. He thought I was some spoiled rich girl, well, he was about to learn exactly how rich girls played.

  The next day at lunch, I watched from across the bustling cafeteria as the token bad boy of Dayton sank to his stool, glaring at me. Anger bubbled beneath my skin. Not because I’d been fired, but for the simple fact that he’d had the audacity to get me fired.

  Nora unwrapped her sandwich, then lifted a brow as she nodded across the lunchroom. “So, I’m guessing that hasn’t gotten any better?”

  “Define better? He got me fired for “dealing weed at Franks”.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Diane, one of Nora’s friends, shoved a forkful of wilted lettuce into her mouth before turning to stare at them. “I heard that...”

  “What the...” I threw up my hands. “Do I look like the kind of person who deals weed?”

  “I mean,” Nora shrugged,
“what does someone who deals weed look like anyway?”

  “Them, Nora.” I nodded toward the guys. “It looks like them…” Tattoos and piercings and a dangerous edge that was far too enticing.

  “Shit…” Nora mumbled. “You made eye contact, Diane. You whore.”

  Bellamy pushed up from their table and approached ours, jaw set as he skirted around the corner, then behind me. The intoxicating scent of his cologne swirled around me seconds before his hands landed on my shoulders and warm breath touched my neck.

  “Gotta problem?” His rough voice dragged over me like a lover’s caress, sending a bolt of adrenaline straight through my chest. There was something wrong with me.

  “You know I do.” I twisted on the stool to meet his smirk.

  He leaned over, gripping the table behind me and caging me in with his arms. “Do tell, baby girl…”

  I hated him for getting me fired, and I hated this ridiculous reaction my body had to him. “You’re an asshole. You got me fired.”

  “To be fair, I did tell you not to mess with me.” The slight tilt of his head was annoyingly sexy.

  “I wasn’t selling weed,” I said, but I’d sure as hell make him regret not doing his research.

  “Right…” He huffed a laugh. “Just like you’re twenty-one and your name’s Genevieve, huh?”

  Like he gave a shit about my name. Of course, the decision to hook up with a stranger was biting me in the ass. Why wouldn’t it? Everything else in my life was a shitshow.

  He stroked a finger over my cheek. “Know what I think, Drucella Morgan? That you’re a really bad liar.”

  “You know what I think?” I did not need to find this guy exciting. Or rise to his challenge. But I did. “That I’m about to be the worst thing to happen to you, pretty boy.”

  Without warning, his hand clamped down on the back of my neck, and with one simple tug, he brought my lips mere centimeters from his. “Try me, baby girl. Try me…”

  I found it hard to pull away from him, and the moment I did, I missed the force of his grip.

  “See you later, Drew.” He patted my cheek—hard—like the condescending prick he was, then he cut back through the cafeteria of students focused on me. Screw him and his perfect face.

  I turned back to my tray, and Diane and Nora gaped at me.

  “Holy. Shit,” Diane breathed. “That was, like, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I grabbed my sandwich and picked off the browned lettuce. “He’s an asshole,” I mumbled.

  An asshole. And a problem.

  One I needed to quit and intended to—in monumental fashion.

  7

  Bellamy

  Music thumped through a busted stereo in some run-down house on the outskirts of Dayton. A couple of the girls had stripped down to their bras and panties, while guys pounded back cheap beer. And what was I doing? Typing out a text to Drew.

  Me: So, what was it you were planning to do, baby girl? Use your daddy to get me blocked from Ivy League schools?

  Baby Girl: A magician never reveals her secrets...

  I fought a smile.

  Me: Just so you know, I’m really fucking scared.

  “Bell!” Hendrix shouted from across the crowded room, grinning like an idiot while he pointed at Betty Newman, topless and dry-humping the arm of the couch. “Guess who's plundering booty tonight?” The guy was an idiot… and for some reason, the girls lined up for it.

  I drained the rest of my soda, checked my watch, then pushed up from the couch. Mom left for her second shift at work in an hour, which meant I had to have my ass back so my little brother wouldn’t be alone with my shithead dad. Hendrix rounded the corner, his arm around Betty, who still had her tits out.

  “Hell no, man.” I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him away. “I don’t have time for your dick to go on a conquest. I’ve gotta be home to watch Arlo.”

  Hendrix shot a smile to the girl waiting by the stairwell. “The way she blows on that tuba, I can be done in five minutes flat, Bell...Come on.”

  There was no arguing with him. He was like a dog with its dick out, which meant I was wasting time. If I had to leave him, I had to leave him. “I’m going to my car, and If you’re not out there by eleven thirty-three, I’m leaving your ass.”

  Hendrix glanced at his crotch. “Your time has come, my little warrior. We’re walking the plank and diving straight into a brown star tonight.” Then he made a beeline to topless Betty waiting by the stairs. Unbelievable.

  My phone buzzed.

  Baby Girl: You’ll see.

  Typing out a response, I wove my way through the party, past a kid puking in a potted plant.

  Me: Can’t wait. XX

  Drew was cute, like a kitten attempting to sharpen its claws on my jeans. My bet was she would try to spread a rumor that I had a small dick or try to turn the Barrington football team against me—which had been done years ago, but why would she know that?

  I made it halfway through the overgrown yard before a patrol car stopped at the drive. The kids loitering outside fled like cockroaches, dropping their beers and shouting Five-O before they hurtled themselves over chain-link fences. Amateurs.

  I shook my head and kept walking. I hadn’t drunk a drop, and having a dad who was an ex-cop, I knew the police couldn’t do anything without probable cause.

  The vehicle squealed to a stop, the flashing lights bouncing off my car as Officer Bivens climbed out. Followed by dickhead Jacobs who’d arrested Zepp.

  “‘Sup fuckwads,” I mumbled.

  Bivens frowned, slipping his thumbs through the belt loops on his uniform. “That silver Civic yours, West?” Bivens had been on the task force with my dad. He knew damn well the car in front of him was mine.

  “Why?”

  “We’re gonna need you to open it.” Jacobs grinned.

  I threw a smirk back at the arrogant bastard, flipping my keys in my hand. “Got a warrant?”

  “No.”

  “Then fuck off. I have to go home to watch my brother.”

  Another patrol car marked K-9 Unit pulled up and blocked the drive. A sinking feeling settled low in my stomach when a sniffer dog hopped out of the back, tugging on its leash as it headed straight for my car. Then lost its shit, pawing and barking.

  “And I’d call that probable cause.” Jacobs held out his hand.

  I had no choice but to drop the keys into his waiting palm. My pulse threatened to pick up. I watched the officers walk to my car and shove the key into the lock.

  Sure, the car probably reeked of weed, but I wasn’t stupid enough to leave shit in there. The adrenaline building in my veins subsided. Jacobs could knock himself out. There was no way anything would—

  “Got some dope here, Jacobs.” Bivens popped up from the open door and shined his flashlight at the plastic baggie dangling from his fingertips.

  Where in the actual hell...I tossed my head back on a groan. If Hendrix had dropped some of his shit in my car, I was going to kill him.

  Jacobs shoved me, face down, onto the cruiser’s hood, slapping cuffs on so tight that my fingers tingled by the time he forced me into the backseat.

  “Zippity-fucking-doo-dah,” he laughed, then slammed the car door.

  The lights flashed. Sirens sounded. And panic settled in. If I weren’t at home, no one would be there to watch Arlo. Mom couldn’t afford to miss a shift, plus she’d leave, thinking I would turn up late. Then my kid brother would be stuck with Dad. God, I’d fucked up. “Man, I gotta get someone to watch my brother, Jacobs.”

  “Then I guess you better use that one phone call wisely, huh, shithead?”

  I kicked at the back of his chair. “You fucking asshole.” Then I slumped against the seat, my heart banging against my ribs like a caged gorilla.

  The patrol car pulled away from the curb, picking up speed until it rolled to a stop at the end of the street. Where I caught sight of Drew’s hourglass shape casually leaned against the side of her shiny TT.
She threw up a pageant queen wave and that was enough to send me into full on rage. I had no doubt Drew had somehow planted that crap in my car. Then probably called the police. Then came to sit back and watch the entire thing unfold. And that was absolutely not the kind of retaliation I’d expected. It was her fucking fault my brother was about to be stuck with my drunk ass dad, and I wanted to literally wrap my hands around her throat until she choked. My hands were cuffed behind my back, which meant I couldn’t flip her off, so instead I headbutted the glass and shouted Fuck you, before the car drove off.

  A series of texts buzzed in my pocket while Drew’s threat: “I’m about to be the worst thing to happen to you, pretty boy,” played on a loop through my head.  This was unbelievable.

  Earlier in the week, I’d found her comment cute, but now, as Jacob’s ushered me through the slums of Dayton, in the backseat of a police cruiser, while I worried that my little brother might catch his first busted lip from my dad, I didn’t find it anything but infuriating. .

  Instead of the normal twenty-four hours that most people served for a dime-bag of weed—a rookie mistake on Drew’s part—the door to my cell opened after ten. Special treatment since everyone in the Dayton PD knew my father was a piece of shit. Plus, the guy doing the booking asked who had Arlo. Sometimes sympathy could get a guy places, even in Dayton.

  The clerk highlighted my court date, then passed the paperwork across the counter and buzzed me through the locked doors.

  On my way into the parking lot, I powered on my phone. A string of texts came through. Hendrix. Wolf. Then...

  Beep.

  Baby Girl: Abracadabra?

  Beep.

  Baby Girl: You know, you’d think breaking into a car would cost more than $20

  Beep.

  Baby Girl: Guess payback’s a bitch

  I froze halfway through the parking lot. My thumb hovered over the letters, itching to type out some smartass response while my jaw tensed. But instead, I texted Hendrix: Ready to burn some shit tonight?