Devious Kisses: A Bully Enemies -To-Lovers Romance (It's Just High School Book 1)

by Thandiwe Mpofu

  “Maybe because your eyes practically widen and your face pales when his name is mentioned around you,” Char says, then turns around whistling. “Let’s go, bitches!”

  “Can I ride with you?” Kristine rushes to ask as Avery and Roxy turn to go after Charlotte. At her question, both of them stop and stare at her, making the poor girl shrink right in front of them.

  “No thanks, Keisha,” Charlotte calls over her shoulder. “Our car’s full.”

  I feel so bad for Kristine. Before I can say anything, a metallic silver Range Rover Sport pulls up with a senior jock in front. He rolls down the window and shouts, “Ladies, your ride awaits!”

  “I thought you dumped Chad yesterday?” Roxy starts, glancing at Charlotte.

  “Uh, and have my Dad send his driver to chaperone me? No way.” Charlotte shoots me wink. “See you at the track, Ice Queen! Oh and, sit with us!”

  “You know, it’ll be beneficial for you to get your own license, Char,” Avery giggles, “But we all know how much you love to be driven around by your sexy bodyguard. Later, beautiful Mia. Good-bye, Kelly.”

  “It’s…” Kristine starts, her voice angry.

  “Love, just let that one go,” Roxy cuts her off, a protective, hard glint in her eyes. No one messes with Roxy’s friends. As soon as Kristine realizes that Roxy is talking to her directly, the anger melts back to awe.

  “I like your top, where did you get that from?” Roxy asks her.

  “Oh,” Kristine blinks, that panic back in her eyes. “This is Neiman Marcus.”

  “Wow,” Roxy frowns delicately, her voice still airy and soft. “I could’ve sworn I saw that on an ugly mannequin that looked just like you in Ross’s display window at the mall last week.”

  Kristine’s face grows redder than a tomato, but she doesn’t say anything. Tongue tied and all.

  “It’s cute though. I guess I won’t be shopping at Neiman’s anymore.” Roxy flips her hair over her shoulder as she turns to go, the backdoor of the Range Rover open and waiting for her. “Later, Ice Queen.”

  “Holy shit, you’re totally in with the R.A.C.K!” Kristine exclaims the moment the girls are gone.

  “Uh, I hardy think so, Kristine. They don’t like me,” I start, walking over to the driver’s side as Kristine gets in the passenger seat.

  “But they talked to you. They came over to you!”

  She drones on and on when I get in. Starting the car, I follow the parade of cars that will lead to the secret track.

  “We can finally attend all the big parties. And now that you’re back to your old, mean normal self, we can finally be on top next year! We’re going to rock as seniors.”

  I want to tell her not to get her hopes up, but the incessant buzzing of my phone reminds me that my life is hanging on by a thin thread at home, I don’t need to add her shit on top of that.

  11

  Soon, we get to the track. There are a lot of cars parked, all expensive cars that could so easily pay for the house we’re about to lose.

  There’s a large bonfire in the middle of a large clearing a little way from the actual track, with girls dancing provocatively to the music blasting from somewhere unknown.

  The track is an old strip of abandoned road that connects to the main road that sits at the very edge of the cliffs, perfectly designed for a Fast and Furious movie set. One wrong maneuver and you’ll find yourself plastered colorfully on the rocky cliffs below, with the ocean washing away your pathetic existence.

  “That’s dangerous,” I point out. “The streetlamps aren’t even working properly. They don’t show the danger below.”

  “Mia, that’s why they call it The Devil’s Track!” Kristine says. She’s excited as hell, her eyes lit up, though I think that’s because she’s high on something. “Oh, and I heard that Shane wants to talk to you before the race.”

  It’s the third time she’s said that, giving me an eye that makes shivers race down my spine.

  “Is he racing?” I question, just as my phone buzzes in my pocket again. I know I need to check it, just in case there’s an emergency, but for tonight I don’t want to do that.

  “Yeah! I heard tonight is a re-match or something like that. I’m not sure who he’s racing, but I heard he’s confident that he’s going to win.” She looks out the window and snorts. “But if Julian Fitz is racing well that’s another story all together. But then again, I heard Shane has a secret weapon he’s going to use tonight.”

  In hindsight, I should’ve questioned that.

  I should’ve paid attention to the way my stomach dipped and the queasy feeling that made my blood simmer for just a second just before the chilling started, freezing my bones. I should’ve noticed the way she was looking at me. Or the evil glint in her eyes.

  But I didn’t.

  I shrug it off and blamed it on nerves.

  It wasn’t.

  There’s more I should’ve done, but the thing about tipping points, they can only be recognized in retrospect.

  “Everyone’s here to see Shane go against one of the Fitz brothers,” Kristine says giddily.

  “Yeah, and I’m sure I won’t get any decent parking because of it.” I look around, trying to find a spot where I can be sure I won’t be boxed in, just in case I need to get the hell out of here.

  “Drop me off here. I’m sure you’ll find something at the back there.” She waves her wrist and I stop the car, needing a moment to myself. She gets out to meet her other friends and they all start screaming, waving enthusiastically at me. As always, I shoot them my best fake smile. Why Kristine plays with them, I have no clue.

  Shaking my head, I contemplate if I should just ditch and go home now as I drive around, looking for a spot to park.

  Or maybe if I drive my father’s favorite car over the cliff, then dive out at the last second, maybe he’ll get the message that he needs to spend money—that we don’t have anymore—carefully! Now, Mom’s getting worse by the day and we won’t have a home soon.

  And it’s all because of him.

  As I drive slowly, I notice a deserted dirt road that leads to a little stretch of forest, which I’m betting leads to some back roads of the unflattering outskirts of L.A.

  I think the road is an escape route and it seems not a lot of people here know about it or else they would’ve parked closer to it. Just in case.

  “Not so smart, are we?” I whisper, noticing the obvious divide between my school and St. Jude High.

  You can tell by the way the whole thing is set up. For Clintwood, there’s preppy, rich kids drinking wine coolers, and the occasional Jack Daniels for the hard hitters…well, I’ll give them that for now.

  As for the school I really wanted to attend, they’re passing blunts, girls passing each other a bottle of Hooch and guys being loud, causing a ruckus.

  That’s the thing about St. Jude, they have presence. Which can’t be said about Clintwood, though we try. Insert eye roll.

  I park my car at the very back, cutting off the engine. But I can’t make myself get out of the car. Or ignore the continuous buzzing of my phone for a second longer. I reach for it and find five missed calls and a text from my father.

  Daddy: Mia, please answer your phone. Don’t let your aunt poison you against me.

  I scoff, anger coursing through my veins. Clutching the phone in my hand, I quickly delete the text. I want to delete my father’s number but I don’t.

  “You did that all on your own, Dad,” I grit out, the urge to drink and forget taking over me with a vengeance again.

  There’s also a text from my aunt.

  Auntie N xoxo: Come home, Mia, my love. We need to talk.

  I suck in a deep breath, reading the single text over and over.

  My stomach twists and flips, the sense of dread washing over me. There are a thousand and one things that might be wrong, and I know whatever my aunt has to say, it has to do with my mother.

  Something’s wrong.

  My heart starts rac
ing. Chills race up and down my spine, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. My entire body starts shaking as images of my mother on the bathroom floor, in a fetal position that scared the shit out of me, flashes in my mind. That day, she was unable to move, unable to say a word, unable to breathe.

  I should go back home. I reach for the start button, but I can’t do it. I feel so tired. Like bone weary tired.

  I’m tired of waking up five times during the night to check on my mother, just to make sure she’s sleeping properly. I’m tired of feeling like I’ve got the weight of the world resting on my shoulders.

  I’m just tired.

  Maybe I don’t have to go home. Maybe no news is good news? After all, if something was really wrong, my aunt would call, not text. Maybe I should delay whatever demons are waiting for me back home.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach for my door handle, knowing that I’m about to make my first social appearance since I practically dropped off the face of the earth these past few months. It won’t hurt though, I might not see any of these assholes this entire summer so whatever happens tonight, won’t be so bad.

  But before I can open my door, a loud, piercing noise makes everything stop. The loud music that was playing is cut off. The girls that were dancing by the bonfire stop and look up, wide eyed, holding their breath. The guys stand up at attention.

  The piercing noise stops but only for a few seconds and then it rings again.

  And as people scramble to get a vantage point, I realize what it is.

  The St. Jude announcement call.

  Everything shifts as everyone realizes what’s happening. From my view in my car, I watch as a convoy of expensive, vintage cars mixed with even more expensive modern race cars roll in from the way we came from.

  The loud sound is coming from their cars, announcing their own arrival and I’ll be damned if that wasn’t cool as hell.

  The cars are all in formation, with beautiful girls hanging from the windows, giggling and waving their school flag with pride and that superior look only rich bitches can pull off. They know they’re rolling with the best crew in town.

  They roll in like they own the place, and if we’re being real, they do.

  There’s a neon green Lamborghini at the front and I almost chuckle. Who drives a neon green Lambo?

  All eyes are on them.

  Everyone watching them make their grand entrance. The St. Jude crew is unlike anything I’d ever seen. They have a strong sense of school pride, which makes other schools like mine feel strangely inadequate, even though our schools are almost the same, but still, Clintwood lacked something.

  We didn’t have the Fitz brothers.

  I watch as every other car pulls away from the racetrack, leaving only the neon green Lambo at the starting line, ready to race. Whoever’s in the car is definitely the top dog.

  My heart starts racing, my nerves feeling frazzled as I watch.

  At the same time, another car, a familiar matte black, Chevrolet Camaro pulls up from seemingly out of nowhere, and comes to a stop beside my car.

  It’s the same car from yesterday afternoon.

  Furious and ready to give whoever’s in there a piece of my mind as well as the bill from the cleaners, I stare at the car to my left, trying to make out who the driver might be, but the windows are tinted. Mine are not which means they can see but I don’t give a damn. I still stare.

  As I stare, the hairs at the back of my neck stand up on end, goosebumps grace my arms as I feel a pair of penetrating eyes on me.

  My stomach does an insane flip the longer I feel the pin-pricking sensation of a hard stare on me. I press a hand down there to quieten the rumbling, but it does another flip. All the while, I can’t look away. My blood starts a slow simmer, as a charge starts low in my body, reaching into my bones like I’m about to be electrocuted.

  I don’t know how, but without a doubt in my soul, I know whoever’s in that car is staring at me, and they hate me.

  My heart starts pounding in its cage, beating so hard against my ribcage that I suck in a harsh breath, still unable to look away. My fight-flight response should be kicking in any moment now, but for some reason, I can’t look away.

  Maybe like before the party two years ago, he forgot all about me. Maybe he won’t do anything.

  But the egging of my car, and the trash he left for me to find—all sent a clear message. He’s about to start ruining my life.

  This summer’s going to hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  “It’s about to be fucking lit out here tonight, ladies and fucking gentlemen!” A voice booms from somewhere, snapping me out of my trance as I hear the loudspeaker and the cheers that rise from the crowd.

  “Are you ready for the night of your fucking lives?!!”

  Drawn by morbid curiosity, I stare to my left at the tinted car as the St. Jude crew starts honking in synchronized rhythm and the neon green Lambo starts revving, it’s throaty engine alive, beastly, and ready. But I can’t look away from the Camaro.

  I frown, staring at the car, wondering where it came from. Then I remember the dirt road that I parked close to. He must have come from there, but why is he parked beside me? Why can I feel his palpable anger from here?

  In that moment, the passenger window from the Camaro starts rolling down so slowly, I hold my breath, waiting to see who’s in that car, yet I know. I fucking know who’s in there.

  Dread lodges itself as a ball in my throat. I try to swallow around it, but I can’t. I’ve had a bad feeling about this night since before I saw my dad. It’s even more intense now.

  When the window rolls down fully, I can only make out a male silhouette, a large frame from the driver’s seat but this time, I know he’s looking at me. Tilting to the left, like I’m craning my neck just to see him, our gazes connect and I reel back.

  Dark, cold hard eyes stare at me with an intensity that punches my gut.

  It’s him.

  I can’t look away. I can’t make out his face, as his face is cast in shadow, but the look in his eyes is penetrating, scorching, dark…and hateful.

  A kind of burning hate that I’ve only ever felt on me twice in my life, three years ago when I ran my mouth and messed up and two years ago when I kissed and almost fucked…his brother.

  Flashes of that night come back in my head, all with intense feelings of embarrassment that I suffered that night, walking through a stranger’s house in Malibu, topless, with faux confidence, on the verge of tears.

  I’ve never felt so small and demeaned in my life, until that night. Until him.

  He made me feel worthless. He made me feel dirty and he made sure everyone there would think that I’m nothing but a party animal even years later. No one thinks I’m book smart, they all think I’m a slut at times.

  That night, I remember making a vow to hate him for as long as I live, because as far as I’m concerned, what I did three years ago at the hospital didn’t warrant the way he tried to humiliate me in front of everyone at that party.

  With that in mind, I stare right back at him, with. My head held high like the queen I am.

  Hate me or fucking kill me, I’m not going to grow small in size because of you, asshole.

  I ignore the way my nipples harden, our gazes locked on each other. I ignore the way chills race up and down my spine, and for a moment, just a moment, I feel like there’s more happening here.

  We’re parked way back, a bit of a distance away from everyone else. Away from the headlights of several cars, or the sparks and flames of the bonfire. It’s almost like we’re in our own world, where I feel like I’m the prey and he’s the patient, angry, hungry, beast-like hunter who’s been waiting to hunt me down for so long and now he doesn’t have anything to hold him back from devouring me.

  I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. He just…stares.

  “Omg!”

  Someone screams, startling me out of my trance. Breaking gaze with Julian, I look up and no
tice that everyone’s attention is now focused on the neon Lambo, with excited, awed expressions on their faces. If I look closer, I swear I can detect lust in most of the girl’s eyes and that makes me roll my eyes.

  Who the hell is in that car?

  I get my answer in a few, well calculated steps after that.

  First, I notice a lean, well-built guy a wolfish smile on his face, insanely good looking, messy dark blond hair, as if a girl has just been running her fingers through it. He steps out of the neon green Lambo in his black Mickey Mouse hoodie, black jeans and the whitest pair of sneakers I’ve ever seen.

  Attention seeker much?

  Liam Fitzgerald looks around, knowing damn well that everyone is watching him, but he seems like he’s looking for something, then he finally locates whatever he was searching for.

  I swear his entire face lights up, his smirk widens, then he points…at me.

  I frown, as panic starts unfurling in my stomach. I’m not a stranger to attention but when all eyes swing to look at me, I almost duck and hide in my car. But I don’t.

  There’s nothing worse in high school than to make an already tricky situation worse by acting like a damn fool.

  From the crowd gathering to look at me, I can see Kristine’s messy head of hair break free, craning her neck, trying to see what everyone else is looking at. I notice the moment she notices my car, and then she frowns, looking unhappily at the attention I just got. That makes two of us.

  Through all of that, I can still feel a pair of intense eyes on me. I glance at Julian, and I don’t know what he sees on my face, but my palms are suddenly sweaty. I’m breathing hard.

  Breathe.

  I blink several times, thinking that maybe I imagined that. I stare at his eyes but then I notice his lips coming into the light. Perfect, kissable lips and they move again.

  Breathe.

  Is that what he’s saying?

  I shake my head and close my eyes, the need to flee kicking in with a vengeance. I’m no stranger to panic attacks. Right before performing for the best dancers in the world, I have them. Or when I’m checking how many pounds I dropped after a workout, I have mini-panic attacks. Or last week, when I found the tutu Mom was wearing the day she was crowned prima ballerina, the one she stares at all day, the one I hope she blesses me with when I get in with the Paris thing, I had a panic attack thinking that may never happen.