I want that match. And I want it on the books. Because it makes the humiliation that much more visceral for them, so I’ll sit here and listen, pretending to give a fuck, if it ensures my interest.
The dean’s been dragging his feet, withholding approval, for too long now. He was made aware of this race over the summer, and I expected his acquiescence by now. I know the holdup is because he knows the competition isn’t friendly at all, and that’s not a good look for the school, so far as he’s concerned. I couldn’t care less about his opinion, but I’ll be sure to give it to him if he forces my hand.
This race is more than kids playing with boats, at least that’s what everyone above his pay grade understands. It’s tradition. I suppose I can’t fault him for misunderstanding a world where he plays the role of a bystander. But I will, anyway.
Hillcrest’s hatred for Red Oak is legendary. That animosity’s been nurtured, coddled, and coaxed over generations. It’s the kind of rivalry that rich and powerful kids indulge in as practice for our future boardrooms.
And my rivalry with Paul Hearst is almost just as legendary. I captain Hillcrest’s crew team, and he does the same at Red Oak. The difference between us is that I win. Always.
The monotone hum of the dean’s voice pulls my attention back into the present. I watch his portly body pace behind his cherrywood desk as he continues with his dull-ass speech, imagining this is the most exercise he’s seen in years. Pathetic.
What the fuck could this guy understand about legacy or power?
“As one of our most respected students, I’m certain I can count on you to make sure our new student has an easy transition. I’m positive you’ll be the perfect example as to the caliber of student here at Hillcrest.”
The dean’s assistant walks in, placing a file on his desk, giving me a sly smile as my eyes travel the length of her tight body. I’m curious if she wears lace or cotton underneath that little black skirt. I bet they’re cotton, and I bet she’s got a tiny little wet spot where she wishes my fingers were.
“Mr. McCallister, please pay attention,” he chastises, and little miss secretary straightens, quickly hurrying out.
I narrow my eyes at his tone, unhappy to be torn from my thoughts. “You have my attention. For how long, though, depends on what you’re willing to give me. Cut to your point.”
His chin tips up as a show of his embarrassment over being reminded of his place.
I relax back into my chair, amused, watching him swallow hard as he adjusts the items on his desk, seemingly searching for something.
Maybe he’s searching for his pride. It’s not by the stapler, Dean.
Fixing the lapels on his well-worn suit, he clears his throat. “I would like you to show this student—” He continues, opening the file that was previously placed, “—ah yes, Darren, around our school and get him acquainted with the lay of the land. And as a thank you, I will allow your little race.”
“I’m done with this inane conversation now that I’ve gotten what I came for. I’ll ignore the dig, but consider that favor done.”
I stand, and he does the same out of expectation, not authority, which makes me grin as I button my school blazer over my broad frame, taking in how small Dean Pritchett seems, literally and figuratively. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his muted suit jacket, still staring down at some paperwork, probably trying to regain some composure after just being slapped.
Jesus, you’d think they’d pay the dean of Hillcrest more money. The man looks like a functioning alcoholic—bloated and sallow. He’s definitely a guy who still lives with his mother…and the cats.
“I do have one more item, Mr. McCallister. The alumnae are recognizing your father at our booster event in October. I thought you’d like to prepare something to say.”
As I think about how to answer, my eyes drift around his office, spotting a framed picture of a much older gray-haired woman on the bookcase behind him. There’s Mommy. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s in a cat frame. I should leave him a loaded gun on his desk tomorrow.
I bring my eyes back to his worn face and shake my head. “Unnecessary. I won’t be attending. They’ll have to circle jerk alone.” Walking to the door, I glance back expectantly to his stunned face. “I assume we’re going to the front steps…? To meet our new friend? Or are you going to stand there all day?”
“Decorum, Mr. McCallister” is all he says, as he rounds his desk, walking toward the door.
“Right.” I half laugh. “After you, Dean Pritchett.” I smile wide, opening the door for him, and file out behind.
We walk past some secretarial desks and wind through the bland offices, taking a long hallway to a set of double doors that lead to the main entrance of the school.
Kids are milling about before classes, playing on their phones and socializing; the first day always starts with a late start. So the atmosphere is relaxed. Their eyes all dart to me as I walk past them, probably wondering what I’m doing and why I’m with the dean.
If this school had a royal court, I’d be the king. The reality is, this school is a snapshot of the world, and McCallister is my crown, even if it’s heavy on my head.
It’s not something I asked for or even worked for, just the natural order of things.
But to the victor go the spoils and all that shit. I pass one of those spoils and my eyes drift over her busty frame as she gives me a tiny wave. “Oh my God” is whispered by her friend as I exit the building, their giggles fading away.
The moment we exit, the sun makes my eyes squint, but the air is crisp, the way it always is at the beginning of September. I tip my face up, closing my eyes, wishing I was on the water, rowing. It’s the perfect weather for it. I should’ve blown off the Yale meeting yesterday and gone with Liam.
Dean Pritchett’s footsteps echo as he walks down the six or so steps to a circular drive to wait for the car that’s approaching, but I hang back. I haven’t any interest in making a good impression on his behalf. Anyone worth knowing already attends Hillcrest, so whoever this Darren is, is already unimpressive.
I rest my hip against the iron stair railing and bring my hand up to my forehead in an attempt to shield my eyes, watching the car getting closer. I can’t help but internally count the minutes. I want this little deed done and over.
The road that leads into the school is long and flanked by trees full of changing leaves. The crimsons, yellows, and burnt oranges that fill the backdrop heighten the beauty of the sky and add to the grandeur of the school.
It’s meant to set the tone for this institution, and it does.
I think back to my first ride in. It’s something we all remember—it feels as if the possibilities for your life are endless. Once you’re here, it’s only then that you realize all those “possibilities” are a lie. This institution breeds legacies, not dreamers.
“Hey,” Liam’s voice calls over my shoulder.
We clasp hands, bumping shoulders hello.
“Dean’s got you doing upkeep, huh? He needed a pretty face?” he jokes, poking at my cheek as I smack his hand, making him laugh.
I stare at the car, and Liam’s eyes follow my gaze.
“Don’t be jealous. I can’t help that I’m superior to you in every way. But now we get to demolish Red Oak. You’re welcome, dick.” Turning my head and raising my eyebrows, I’m waiting for the justifiable gratitude.
“No shit, boss. But we could’ve done it, anyway, go off-campus. Fuck the dean,” he counters, leaning against the opposite rail, looking arrogantly at me.
“Now we don’t have to. Instead of winning in secret, everyone gets to watch them lose.”
He might be my best friend, but he’s impulsive and a pain in the ass sometimes—just like a real brother would be. But that’s what we are, brothers, even if we’re opposites.
The sound of the gravel calls our attention before he can respond. We stand watching as the car slows to a stop, silent for a moment, before Liam pushes off the railing. The soun
d of the first-period bell rings as he speaks. “Have fun. Don’t be too much of a dick. You’re a role model, after all.”
He slaps my hand again before pushing the doors open, letting the voices drift out momentarily.
“No promises,” I answer to myself, as the black town car idles a moment before turning off.
I stand, crossing my arms, watching as a driver comes around and opens the door. I’m beginning to lose my patience with the dean and this favor when a long, tan, slim leg slinks out, followed by its match. Hell yes.
My eyes drag the length of them, hoping the rest of the package is as delectable. Either Darren has a set of legs on him that could turn me, or those luscious stems belong to the girl I’m about to make my new school project.
Praise the rich and their sexually ambiguous names.
Darren pushes out of the car, sweeping her long honey locks over her shoulder, an armful of bracelets catching the sun’s reflection.
Fuck me.
All the air leaves my body. She turns a blinding bright smile on Dean Pritchett’s surprised face, and my knees almost buckle.
This can’t be real. No way. Donovan Kennedy is standing twenty feet from me. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Her memory packs that much of a punch. I honestly can’t recall a day when I haven’t thought about this girl. And now she’s here in front of me.
Holy shit.
The last time I saw Donovan, we were twelve, saying our sad goodbyes in my bedroom. God, the girl was a dream. She loved me fiercely, held my hand everywhere, and let me chase her. Everything a twelve-year-old boy prayed to God for.
Thinking back, I realize that my utter devotion to her was mostly fueled by puberty, but at the time, I thought she was the coolest person I’d ever known and my good luck charm. Fuck, Donovan’s like the last known location of my innocence. When I believed in shit like Santa and that my future would be in my hands one day.
The thought makes me laugh. Five years change a lot.
I’m not as innocent anymore, and judging by how hot she’s turned out, there’s no way she is either. It may be unfair to judge her virtue by her appearance, but the girl grew into a proper fucking bombshell. Her kind of looks opens the gates of hell. It’s a good thing she moved away, or I have a feeling Liam and I would’ve viciously fought over her.
She smooths her skirt, and every part of me is paying attention, except my brain has one hundred percent stopped thinking.
Her head tilts back, exposing her long neck, as she laughs haughtily over the dean’s surprise that she isn’t a “Darren.” We’re all surprised, Donovan.
The act of just thinking her name makes a smirk grow on my face. Damn memories. My hand lowers from my forehead, just as her throaty, raspy laugh fills the sky again like a symphony. One that makes my dick jump, and I swear I almost take the steps two at a time so that I can shove her back in the car and fuck her senseless.
I look down at my crotch and whisper, “Down, boy,” before perusing her goods again. I’m so fixated on my next meal that I don’t pay any attention to the dean calling my name, but I know it happens because her eyes become full, and her head swings quickly in my direction.
Hi, Donovan. Long time, no see.
The minute our eyes lock, a thousand memories flood my body, and I see all of them play across her face too. The smile that unfolds on her face isn’t just genuine; it’s contagious.
“Mr. McCallister.” Dean Pritchett motions again, calling me down the stairs. “Please join us.”
My feet carry me down slowly, watching her fidget with those bracelets. She still wears them. Fuck, I’m both stunned and awed seeing her. It’s as if all the stitches I used to put my twelve-year-old broken heart back together are being sliced open and healed.
She’s back.
Dean Pritchett looks to Donovan, politely introducing us. “Donovan Kennedy, not Darren,” he chuckles, stopping when I don’t join in, “this is Grey McCallister. He’ll be your guide for the next few days to help you get acquainted.”
Donovan extends her delicate hand to shake mine, smirking conspiratorially as if to play a game of us being strangers. She’s fucking stunning. Everything I imagined her to be when we were young. Not many people live up to the imagination. None, really.
I glance down and ignore her hand, gently pushing her arm aside and stepping in closer. I can’t help myself. The twelve-year-old me wants to hug her and spin her around. The seventeen-year-old me wants to pick her up and wrap those luscious legs around my waist. I’d even let the dean watch. Maybe he’d learn a few things.
Her ocean-blue eyes sparkle as she tilts her head up to smile at me, following my lead.
“It’s nice to see you again, Donovan.” My voice is husky as I lean in to kiss each cheek. My hand rests on her hip as my lips brush past the soft hair framing her face.
The smell of her lip gloss infiltrates my senses and makes me want to run my tongue over her bottom lip before I bite it. I swear I can hear Donovan’s heart beat faster as I pull away. She peers up seductively through a forest of lashes that are so long they almost touch her shaggy bangs.
This girl is trouble. And I have a feeling she knows it. God, I hope she knows it—that’ll make everything even more fun.
“You’ve grown up nicely, Grey.” She smirks, running her hand down my jacketed arm. “Not quite the sweet boy I remember you being… Much more predator now, than prey.”
Oh, I’m going to hunt you the fuck down, because something tells me you like the chase.
“Boys turn into men; it’s nature’s way.”
“Clever.”
Donovan shifts her weight nervously, eyes playfully narrowed on me. Oh, come on, making you squirm is just the start of my fun. She’s pretending not to care, just as I did way back when I pretended not to care about her “in that way” and then jerked off to the memory of her in a bathing suit.
God, Donovan’s grown into the perfect male fantasy. Complete with a sprinkle of freckles spread across her nose that gives her a virtue lacking in her eyes. She’s the Madonna and the whore wrapped up in an incredibly expensive package. She’s perfection.
My face pulls back slightly to take her in again. Damn, those freckles are doing something to me and already making me think the dirtiest thoughts. Man, my libido is doing a number on me. I want to pull out my dick and piss on everything around her. This one’s mine, I’d growl.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, our eyes meeting again, as I let it slide out. “Your lip gloss…is that cherry?”
“It is,” she answers, rubbing her plump lips together slowly as I watch. That mouth is fucking napalm.
My eyes shift back to hers before I back away. “My new favorite flavor.” Allowing her a safe distance from me, as I ignore the scowl on the dean’s face. “Welcome back, Cherry.”
A small laugh escapes her lips before she pushes my immovable shoulder and looks to the dean, composing herself quickly.
“It’s nice to see you two know each other, but Mr. McCallister, please be mindful of the virtues and characteristics we extol here at Hillcrest. I trust you will show Miss Kennedy to her classes and help her assimilate to life here and no more.”
I hear his warning, but I’m not worried about him. Not in the least.
“We’re done here. I’ve got it.”
I put my attention back on Donovan, hearing the dean huff a little behind me. She seemingly enjoys my power play almost as much as I do, judging by the expression on her face. I’d make him beg if that made her smile like that again. Fuck, Grey. She’s been back for twenty seconds, and you’re already at her beck and call.
Dean Pritchett narrows his eyes at me when I glower back over my shoulder, surprised that he’s still standing there, but he covers his contempt quickly as he turns to Donovan.
“Miss Kennedy, please stop by the office if you need anything. And have a wonderful first day.”
“Thank you, Dean Pritchett. I’m sure I’m in capable hands,”
she offers, smiling wide, then narrows her eyes back at me suspiciously.
Troublemaker.
The dean gives a final nod before taking his leave. We stand, watching him walk up the steps and disappear back into the building, before turning to stare at each other. Seconds creep by before she lets out a tiny squeal and sweeps her arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug.
“I can’t believe it’s you!”
It’s strange. Her voice is comfortingly familiar but different at the same time. I run my hand up her back, squeezing her closer before she breaks away. Donovan lifts her hands to my face, and I bend forward, so she can reach me.
“So, are you going to keep trying to fuck me, or can we get straight to the part where I say ‘not a chance’ and then we decide to be best friends again?”
My laugh rumbles through my chest as I stare at her beautiful damn face. “I fucking missed you, twerp. When did you get back? Why? How? I want to hear it all.”
She gives me a dramatic look of terror before pushing my face away and laughing. “Easy, tiger. Maybe hold all questions until the end of the day? I’m already slightly overwhelmed by you, and I think we’re going to be late.”
“Not going to be. Are.”
A sparkle grabs my attention, and before I can stop myself—not that I would—I reach out between the opened buttons on her crisp white shirt, right above her breasts, and touch the penny Liam gave her when we were kids.
“You still have it.”
My finger brushes against her tanned skin, watching it pebble as I trace the edges of the oval coin. I lock eyes with her, disregarding the previous request. “Tell me this, are you back for good?”
“For long enough, Grey.”
My hand drops away as my brow furrows. I open my mouth to ask another question, but she deflects like a master, attempting to throw an arm over my much higher shoulder. “Now, you’re making me out to be a liar. Stop slacking on the job, McCallister.”
“Come on,” I direct, ducking backward under her arm as her head swings to follow me, but I stand behind her, my hands engulfing her narrow hips, and push forward. “Liam’s gonna shit himself.”
Filthy Little Pretties Page 4
