“Liam’s here!” she squeals again, gripping my wrists, trying to shake me. “And here I was thinking this was going to be a disaster, but things seem to be looking up for me.”
Oh, I have one thing looking up for sure.
Donovan
THE HALLS ARE QUIET AS we enter the school. Grey wasn’t lying; classes have already begun. Damn. I hate being late, but seeing Grey again has made it all worth it. I feel like I’m high on a mixture of nostalgia and pheromones. I don’t know if I’m smiling because it’s him or because of what he’s grown into.
Because, damn.
I follow next to him, smiling like a loon, bumping my shoulder into his ribs as we walk. “I swear this feels like a dream. I never expected to see you.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, first off, I thought I was going to Madison, so I wasn’t expecting to see any guys.”
He smirks as I glance sideways at him. “I guess it’s lucky you had a change of plans. But I always knew I’d see you again.”
“Shut up. No you didn’t.”
Grey smirks as he lifts my wrist and inspects my bracelets, his head shaking in amusement. “Still the same.” I wonder if he still has his—no, that’s dumb. “Of course I knew I’d see you. You made me promise to. And a man is only as good as his word.”
The memory of our pact comes to mind, and I throw out a laugh, following him through the tiled halls lined with lockers and fancy banners saying, “Welcome back.”
“A man of his word,” I muse, as if it’s a foreign concept, because it is. “You might be the last decent guy left on the planet.”
His head turns toward me, those dark brown eyes fixed on me, scrutinizing my joke, but I wink to spin my truth into humor until his hand on my waist halts me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sees right through me, but I know he doesn’t. He can’t. The Donovan I am today is a far cry from the prepubescent kid he knew.
Grey opens his mouth to speak, brows drawing together, when giggling draws my attention to a couple of girls walking down the hall and breaks the moment. They’re looking at him and back to me as if something illicit is happening, and I can’t help but wonder if Grey has a reputation with women as bad as mine with men.
“Someone has fans.”
“More like volunteers. Decent isn’t a word used to describe me.”
Well, there’s my answer. I roll my eyes dramatically as he releases me and gives me a scoot forward, making me laugh again. I turn and look back at him, but he walks past me, clearly expecting me to follow. He’s reaching inside his blazer, pulling out a white piece of paper that resembles a schedule, when I catch back up to him.
“I see. So, you’re a slut now,” I jokingly accuse, nosing in closer, pressing my arm to his to see it’s my schedule.
“Would you like me to be?”
“You wish.”
My words come out so quiet. I can’t help it. Grey’s eyes are on me, and I don’t even have to see them to tell. My whole body can recognize it. I know what male attention feels like, and I know what it feels like from mature men. Especially ones who know exactly what they’re doing.
But this. Grey. Holy hell.
“You got me. I do wish.”
I can’t look at him. He’s managed something I didn’t know I could still do. I’m blushing. My hand darts out to steal the paper in his hand, but he doesn’t let it go, holding it between his fingers and forcing me to tug. My eyes tip up to his. “Let. Go.”
“Say please, Cherry.”
He points toward a door, and I nod, tugging again, but he raises a brow, waiting for me to be polite.
“Please,” I barely concede.
“I like the way that sounds.”
He hums before letting the paper go and making my cheeks feel hot again. And they’re getting hotter by the second, so I turn away and try for a subject change.
“It’s weird. You’re like the most familiar stranger. Except you look exactly how I thought you would.”
“How’s that?”
“Devastatingly handsome. Broody and dangerous.” Jesus, shut up, Donovan. I’ve turned into a complete idiot. Thankfully, I manage to keep sexy and fuckable inside my mind.
“And you expect me to stop trying to fuck you when you say things like that.”
I push at his shoulder as he gives a silent laugh and shake my head. “Shut up. We can be friends without benefits. It’s all the rage.”
He opens the door, ushering me in and staring down at me arrogantly, before whispering his words into my ear. “My dick is the benefit. Otherwise, I have nothing to offer.”
I would laugh, loudly, but—library.
“I should’ve guessed. Boys like you only have one thing going for them. It’s fitting, really, because you never were very bright.”
His shoulders shake as a wide smile exposes his amusement.
“Always with the comebacks. I still can’t beat you.”
“Maybe when you grow up.”
My faux nonchalance is exposed by my voice; it’s way too suggestive. I’m flirting. I shouldn’t be, but I am. He started it. Grey’s bottom lip deposits itself between his teeth, pulling out slowly as our eyes stay locked, rooting us in place. Still, after all these years, I can see the wheels turning in his head, searching for a comeback.
He’s unreadable but still predictable.
He pulls my schedule from my hands and puts it on the counter for the attendant, not breaking our stare. I’m not breaking first. No. Damn. Way. The boy behind the counter, maybe a freshman, clears his throat and says my name quietly, pulling my attention and forcing my loss.
“Do you want them all?” he says, pointing to the schedule.
When I don’t answer fast enough, he walks to a stack of books and brings them back for me to take. Shit. That’s quite the stack.
“The books…do you want all of them now?” he repeats.
Grey grabs one from the middle. “Put them in her locker. Leave the lock open.”
Without any other sentiments, like a thank you, he turns and takes me with him, back out of the door.
“Nice concierge service.”
“Freshmen’re handy.”
I reach for my book, but he scowls at me, so instead, I link my arm with his as we walk. It’s crazy how easily I find comfort with him, even amidst the flirtation. It’s as if no time has passed between us. We’re just Donovan and Grey again.
Leaving him is still the saddest memory I have, and I have some shitty memories. Truthfully, it was harder than anything I’ve ever done since because it was before I knew the world as the bitch it is. He and Liam were my favorite people when I was little—my best friends growing up. The boys who protected me when I stubbornly insisted on playing the games they played, and the gangly pranksters who made me laugh harder than anyone else I knew.
They were my boys, the ones who loved me.
And I loved them.
Mentally shaking off the memories, I walk down the deserted hall, glancing up at Grey’s beautiful profile. He’s still him but even more. It’s an aura, a vibe. He’s the king of his domain, and he knows it. He always was, though. Liam and I were in awe of him. Grey was smarter than kids our age and more skilled at everything. He was destined to rule. The role suits him, as does the chiseled jaw and filled-out blazer.
Grey must be at least six two. He looks like a grown man, with broad shoulders and hard, lean muscle everywhere—I’m guessing (or fantasizing, whichever) by how his ass teases in those chinos. His strong hand runs through his bedhead hair, brushing it back from his face, exposing long black eyelashes that serve as the perfect frame for his dark bedroom eyes. I glance again, watching his tongue dart out to glide across his perfect mouth that stands out against his olive-colored skin. He’s the embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome.
My tongue does the same, and I mirror him again, swallowing as I watch his Adam’s apple bob on his stubbled throat.
This grown-up version of Grey is lethal. Kil
l me now. I feel like I’m in heat.
“Don’t do that, or I’ll be tempted not to be decent to you.”
God, I wonder what indecent Grey is like?
Even as he chastises me, his voice is level and his eyes stay straight ahead while we walk. He didn’t have to see me watching him; he knew. It’s like my attention was expected. Oh man, Grey is a slut, and I bet he’s good at it.
“Do what?” I answer innocently, averting my eyes.
Now his head turns.
“Cherry, I bet you break hearts.”
I want to give him a snarky remark to keep this banter going, but my reality creeps in. Shit. It’s go time. My smile fades as we slow in front of a wide oak door. It has a window in the middle that gives a sneak peek of the classroom.
Grey reaches out and grips the handle, twisting it, and pulls it open. The teacher’s voice grows louder against the creak of the door as the class comes into view. She turns with a stern manner at the interruption, and I instinctively look to Grey, whose face remains impassive.
He takes a few steps inside, but as I follow, the teacher holds up a hand to stop my progress, and I internally cringe.
“Hold there. We have assigned seating. Something you would know if you were punctual.”
Keeping my eyes to hers, I hear the door click behind me, and I stand uncomfortably in the center, fidgeting with the strap on my bag. Grey turns around to take a step toward me, but she directs him to take his seat. When he doesn’t move, I look at him wide-eyed and mouth, “Go sit,” but he shakes his head, seeming amused. He takes a few steps backward before turning and rounds a desk to walk down the aisle to lower into his seat.
I watch as he leans to his right, saying something to a boy I don’t recognize. My curiosity is piqued until the frumpy AP English Lit. teacher says my name without a glimmer of kindness. “Donovan Kennedy. I expected you twenty minutes ago. I’m sure Mr. McCallister is charming, but first impressions are important.”
Calm down.
“I apologize. I had to meet with the dean first and get my books,” I answer politely, wanting this moment to end. Hoping she takes pity on me, I add an apologetic smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Grey lean back and over again, but this time to someone behind the boy he was previously talking to. Before I can focus on who he is speaking with, whispers begin, and the teacher snaps her fingers to the class.
She taps her pencil against the desk while she stares at her chart, but when she opens her mouth to speak, a deep but familiar voice dominates the room, sending shivers up my shoulders. The teacher clasps her hands together in mild irritation, her face shooting in the direction the sound is coming from.
“Deborah. Are you saying Miss Kennedy chose to be late? You know, in the hopes you would embarrass her in front of twenty strangers on her first day?”
Liam.
I search him out, landing on his gorgeous, smug face. A flash of us as kids passes through my thoughts, and I can’t help but beam as he does the same. God, he’s beautiful. His hands curl over the top of his desk, causing his forearms to flex and highlight the veins running along his muscle.
The universe is against me. My boys have become gorgeous men.
The teacher begins lecturing him about his obstinance, but I don’t hear her. I’m too busy enjoying the sweet, happy hazel eyes staring back at me. A crooked grin appears on his face as he glances back to her, probably from something she’s said, and it makes me want to laugh.
Same old irreverent Liam.
“Excuse me, where would you like me to sit?” I interrupt, attempting to get him out of trouble.
She goes back to her desk again, glancing down, and my eyes find Liam again. His head tilts my way, giving me a silly expression, and I scrunch my nose, still grinning back. This was always my job—to keep Liam out of trouble. The only problem is that he seemed to have it on speed dial. Still does, apparently.
Liam runs his hand over his dirty-blond, short, almost shaved head, working a toothpick he has between his teeth. His tan skin is the right amount of bronze, highlighting a tiny dark beauty mark by his lip. He’s clean-cut, a golden boy with a hint of an edge. Just like I remember.
I break from his appraisal, looking at my schedule again and back to Mrs. Wright, so says my paper, realizing she’s staring in my direction.
“There’s a seat in the back. You can take that one, so long as you’re done flirting,” she says curtly, pointing a long bony finger in the direction of the vacant seat. “Next time be on time, Miss Kennedy.”
Bitch.
“Absolutely,” I answer, walking quickly toward where she directs.
“I would appreciate your punctuality as well, Mr. McCallister,” she adds, switching her attention to Grey.
Unfazed, Grey laughs softly, “I’m sure you would,” as I begin to pass his seat.
Before I can make it by, he halts my movement by placing his hand on my thigh, just above my knee, almost indecently rested just under the hem of my skirt. My eyes shoot to where his hand touches my skin, feeling goose bumps spread over my leg.
“Hand. Off,” I mouth, raising my eyebrows to punctuate my insistence. But Grey looks at Liam and then back to me, grinning devilishly. Oh no, here we go.
Grey’s fingertips knead softly before running down the inside of my leg, over my boot, until they drift away, caressing my ankle as he does. Keeping his eyes on mine, he speaks to the teacher. “Deborah, the seat you’ve assigned is taken.”
“Grey. Please do not call me by my first name. That seat is available. Thank you for your input, but it’s unneeded.” Her irritation is accentuated by her sharp voice. “Please take your seat now, Miss Kennedy.”
Grey stays trained on me, and he shakes his head minutely, but I take a step forward anyway, only to stop the moment his brow furrows and Liam’s hand reaches for my hip. His fingers warm through the fabric of my skirt as he grips me hard enough to get my attention but gentle enough to make me want his other hand on me, too.
My head swings between them, surprised and ready to kill them. They’re holding me in place—one by force, the other by silent coercion.
Liam gives a whispered tsk-tsk and removes his hand to pull my backpack off my shoulder as my eyes grow insanely wide. My mind says, Walk to your seat. This isn’t the impression you want to make, but I don’t.
Instead, I let Liam slide my bag off my shoulder, biting my lip and squeezing my eyes closed in silent submission. Who am I kidding? There was never a time when I didn’t go along with all their terrible ideas. It seems things haven’t changed much.
Liam chimes in authoritatively, “Deborah. You’re argumentative. The seat’s taken. That’s where Mr. Grantham sits.”
With that, my eyes shoot open, and I’m rewarded for my loyalty with a wink from Grey.
The scene unfolding will go down as the worst first-day experience. My gaze breaks from Grey’s, caused by the commotion in the seat in front of Liam. The deliciously caramel-skinned boy who Grey first spoke with turns his killer smile on me as he stands up and grabs his books.
“It’s all yours, lovely,” he croons in the sexiest deep bass.
Dear ground, open up and swallow me, please.
The handsome stranger walks to the back of the room, taking my assigned seat. I guess that’s Mr. Grantham. I don’t know whether to walk out or crawl under a desk, but since I can’t do either, I turn halfway around and look at Mrs. Wright, who’s tapping that pencil against her hand now. She motions to the newly open seat. Her anger’s apparent, as is her inability to stop whatever is in motion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whisper to Liam, slinking down into the chair in front of him, ridiculously embarrassed.
But it’s Grey that motions for me to come closer, so I do, shivering as he whispers into my ear.
“Ensuring I get to watch you apply that lip gloss, Cherry.”
His voice is far too seductive for his age, which means he knows what kind
of effect it has on girls. And it’s affecting me in all the right places.
“Let’s refocus. Mr. McCallister, Mr. Brooks, Miss Kennedy. I’d like to get back to teaching now. With your permission, of course.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course. I’m so sorry,” I answer quickly, but Grey and Liam don’t utter a word. It seems I’m the only one overly aware of the irritation dripping from her expression.
It’s not just from her either. I feel the staring—the curiosity. Eyes are on me, burning into me, and it’s something I try desperately to ignore as I pull out my notebook and pencil. The minute the lecture restarts, the attention dissipates from the class, except for two sets of eyes.
My boys.
I came here to escape trouble, and I’m already knee-deep in it. These two are making my head swim. My pen scribbles tiny circles on the paper, as I try not to smile because moments like this are the ones I remember fondly. It’s the bar all men are measured by. Every girl has one—the crush who set the standard.
I just have two.
A quiet “Ahem” comes from behind, but I keep my eyes straight ahead. Don’t look at him. Don’t turn around.
Despite my thoughts, I steal a glance at Liam, turning back over my shoulder, and find he’s staring back at me as he winds a lock of my hair around his finger. I shake my head slightly, chewing the end of my pen, urging him to stop, not really wanting him to. Instead of listening, he blows me a kiss, so I stick my tongue out at him.
I’m flirting again. Dammit.
But, Jesus, if it’s not one, it’s the other. These two are going to be a handful. No matter how amazing they are, they can look, but there won’t be any touching. It’s the friendzone for them. They might think they know me, but I’ve lived more life in the last five years than most people do in a lifetime. If they knew the “me” I am now, it wouldn’t be love they’d feel—it’d be fear.
My head turns to take in Grey, my thoughts rumbling in my mind, and his expression stills me. Because it’s not love, and it’s not fear.
It’s patient expectation.
He gives me a jut of his chin, from where he’s leaned back in his chair, staring at my mouth. Despite all my internal grandstanding, I give him exactly what he wants, without hesitation, because that’s what I’ve always done for him, even if the stakes feel higher and more dangerous for us now.
Filthy Little Pretties Page 5
