Ruthless Rose: A High School Bad Boy Romance (Rosehaven Academy Book 3)

by Leila James

  The look he throws me on the way out the door seems … almost apologetic.

  Max tucks his head down next to mine. “You okay?”

  I nod. “She’s such a—”

  “Cunt.” Scarlett clamps her lips together for a second. “I hate that word, but that’s exactly what she is.”

  Max nods in agreement. “But you won that round.”

  “Did I?” She’s going with Micah to homecoming. Part of me wants to throw up. Another part wonders why it bothers me so much. And the final part knows exactly why.

  I wish he’d asked me.

  Chapter 22

  Surprisingly, Alora has kept to herself after our confrontation yesterday. I’m not sure if she’d finished unleashing all of her wrath on me or if she’s simply plotting her next round of torture. Either way, I’d be perfectly happy if she never spoke to me again, which is kind of funny since I have to attend the homecoming committee meeting on Saturday. Ugh. I can’t win.

  I know in the back of my mind there’s no way she’s going to let up. First, she doesn’t like the time Micah spends with me, regardless of whether he’s being forced by his coach to do it or not. Her need to make sure I knew they’re going to the homecoming dance together makes that obvious.

  Second—and I’m not imagining this—Micah’s gaze locks on me whenever we’re in the same space. I caught him staring at me in Spanish class earlier today, a hot look in his eyes. I’d been startled by the ugly look on Alora’s face when she noticed where his attention was. Her brows had drawn together, and I could almost sense the gears in her brain turning. I bet she’s trying to decide if I was telling her the truth when I’d said he’d had his hands on me already.

  Has what we’ve done even meant anything to him, though? He keeps calling it an experiment, so what am I supposed to think?

  According to Alora, I’m definitely not worthy of Micah’s attention. I feel it every time she pins her cruel eyes on me. She sees him as hers—or something like that. He’s like a toy to her, and now that she sees someone else playing with him, she wants him all to herself.

  I grit my teeth, realizing now that I’d stayed longer in the library than I’d intended today by helping Mrs. Traiger when she’d gotten locked out of the library’s computer. Swiftly surveying a bunch of athletes walking out to their cars, it hits me that if I don’t get moving, Micah will beat me to the coffee shop. And after that talk with Kendra, I really don’t want to think about what she might say to him without me there. Would she question him like she had me?

  As I get closer to where my car is parked at the far end of the lot, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. A whole bunch of kids have circled my Honda Civic and seem to be pointing at it and laughing. What the hell? As I get closer, I go up on my tiptoes trying to see past everyone. What is on my—

  Holy shit. There’s a huge DD sprayed on my windshield in … I don’t even know. Could be shaving cream or whipped cream, I can’t tell. Whatever it is, it’s thick. They must have used cans and cans to get that kind of coverage. It’s actually pretty impressive and would probably be kind of funny if I wasn’t the target.

  I inhale and hold my breath for a few seconds, surveying the mess. I swivel to look around, wondering if whoever did this is watching my reaction. I doubt any of the people ogling the mess are the culprits.

  I mean, could it really be anyone but Alora? She’s been calling me Double D—for Daphne Davis—for over a week now. Is she trying to push Aria to the side and earn the title of Queen Bitch for herself? Because she’s awfully close to succeeding.

  Mitchell Jones, a junior, hears me approaching and lets out a huge guffaw when he sees me behind everyone. “Dude, is this your car, Daphne?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “You must have pissed off someone really bad. Looks like whipped cream.” Another member of the football team, Jack Stone, laughs. “I bet I know who it was, too.”

  Griffin Danbrook—Beau’s brother—shakes his head. “Totally reeks of Alora, although she never gets her hands dirty. I bet she paid some schmuck to do it.” He steps forward to scoop up a handful and it smears, leaving behind a thick film. He grunts, flinging it to the ground. He looks up as Beau approaches. “Look at her car, bro.”

  Beau is one of the few football players I’ve never been nervous around, and I think it’s because he’s a funny guy—great sense of humor. I can’t imagine him hurting a fly. I shrug as he looks between me and my car, scowling. “Alora?”

  “I mean, I assume so.” I do have to be a little careful here. Alora is one of the girls he sleeps with on a fairly regular basis, if the rumors are true.

  He scrubs his hand through his hair. “She’s crazy. Sorry.”

  “It’s not like you did it. Apparently, she’s out for blood.” Ugh. There is no way I’m going to be able to drive with this on the windshield.

  “Or whipped cream. You know, one or the other.” Beau chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

  I give him a half-smile. It’s all I can manage.

  Though most of the onlookers are still laughing, they’re also backing away, heading to their cars to leave. Griffin shrugs his shoulders, gritting his teeth. “I think you should drive it to a car wash or take it home to get it clean.” He wipes his hand on his T-shirt. “Otherwise, if you try to scrape it off, you’re going to have a huge mess, and not be able to see through to drive. You’ll get into an accident or something.”

  Beau gives my poor car another look. “Agreed. Unless you can get another ride home?”

  I nod. “Thanks. But then I’d just have the same mess to deal with tomorrow.”

  He grimly smiles. “True dat, sweetness.” He winces for a second. “Do you want me to call Mic—”

  “No.”

  He holds both hands up. “Understood. Sorry.”

  Now that Mitchell and Jack have stopped laughing, they almost look sorry for me. Griffin claps his hand on Beau’s shoulder. “You guys ready to go?”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Beau fidgets, hesitating to leave.

  I wave them off. “Oh. Yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

  They nod, and the four of them depart, leaving me here with my nasty car.

  I whip out my phone and take a photo, texting it to Max and Scarlett along with a WTF?

  I wait for them to respond, my frustration rising with each second I stand here. I close my eyes and shake my head, willing this to just be a bad dream. I mean, come on. I didn’t do anything to deserve this, except be noticed by the wrong guy. And, okay, I’ve lashed back some in defense of the things Alora has said. I won’t stand there and take it just because she thinks she’s better than I am, as if her Rose shit doesn’t stink.

  Gritting my teeth, I glance down at my phone.

  Max: WTF is right.

  Scarlett: Who did that?

  Me: I’ll give you one guess.

  With a sigh, I shove my phone back into my pocket, assessing the car situation one more time. I guess Griffin is right. The only thing to do is drive with it like this so I can at least see through the holes in the Ds, and then wash it when I get home. Feeling like a complete loser, I open the driver’s side door, climb in, and sling my book bag onto the passenger seat. I shift in my seat until I can see through the windshield.

  Wait. Micah is probably already on his way to meet me at the coffee shop. Shit. I pull my phone back out and shoot him a quick text.

  Me: Long story. Can you meet me at my house?

  Me: Someone—um, my car is a mess. I don’t want to drive with it like this after dark.

  Daph’s Dream Dick: Seriously?

  Jeez, every time Daph’s Dream Dick shows up on my phone, I have a weird little surge of pleasure streak through me. But also, I don’t know how to take his text. Is it “Seriously?” as in, he’s put-out that I’m asking him to meet me somewhere different? Or maybe it’s more like “Seriously?” as in, he can’t believe something happened. Ugh. I am so bad at interpreting text speak.
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  Me: You’ll see when you get there. I live at 121 Clover Lane.

  Daph’s Dream Dick: I’ll be there in 15-20 minutes.

  Me: TY

  Me: I’ll try to be there before you, but I have to drive slowly.

  Daph’s Dream Dick: WTF?

  I don’t even bother to answer. It’ll be easier to show him. Shoving my key into the ignition, I start my car, then cautiously make my way out of the parking lot and down the school’s drive until I get to the main road.

  Every time I pass another car, or someone out on the street, I cringe. Everyone is staring. Shoot me now.

  Chapter 23

  When I pull into the driveway, my parents are outside, about to get into their car.

  I step out, giving them a small smile that I hope meets my eyes. “Hey. You guys going somewhere?”

  “Yeah. To a therapy session and then, hopefully, out to dinner. Do you think you can fend for yourself?” Mom doesn’t seem fazed by my car, or maybe she’s just too caught up in whatever they are seeking therapy for to notice.

  Dad jingles his keys in his hand as he checks out my windshield. “What’s this? Part of the whole spirit squad thing?”

  “Uh, yeah. Something like that.” I duck back into the car to grab my book bag. “I’m going to wash it off. It was hard to drive, and I was scared I’d get pulled over.”

  “Yeah. I’d get on that if I were you. And maybe tell the kids this was a bad idea. I don’t want you doing this again.”

  “Got it.” As if I would have done this to my car for shits and giggles.

  They get into their car and wave before backing down the driveway. I give them a half-hearted wave, watching as their car pulls away, then with a sigh, turn back to the mess.

  I’m around the side of the house, trying in vain to connect the hose to the spigot, when the low rumble of an engine catches my attention. I glance around the corner to find Micah has parked his SUV at the curb and is walking up the drive, hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers.

  “I’m over here.”

  He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows lifting as he finds me hunched over the demon hose. “Hey. I see someone left you a love note.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of my poor Civic.

  I’m pretty irked at the whole situation. “Very funny,” I murmur, blowing out a breath as he approaches. His jaw is tense as he watches me fumble some more. Anxiously, I blurt, “I’m really sorry. I was hoping I’d be done cleaning this up before you got here. I can finish later.” I wipe my hands on my skirt and am about to set down the hose when Micah squats next to me.

  He grimaces as he glances back at the car’s windshield. “Double D again, huh?”

  I nod grimly. “Yeah. She can’t seem to let that one go.” I guess he knows who is bitchy enough to make me miserable without having to ask.

  “She and I have had a casual agreement that suited both of us. She can tell I’m done with it.” He pauses looking into my eyes. “That’s why she’s doing this. And you made her pretty mad after lunch yesterday when you didn’t just roll over and take the shit she was dishing out. She doesn’t usually give a flying fuck who I’m with, so I don’t really understand why her panties are so twisted lately.”

  “I might have implied that you had touched me …”

  His mouth drops open and a surprised chuckle bursts out. “You didn’t.”

  “No comment. And I might have also implied that she’s just a fuck buddy.” I shrug, gritting my teeth together. “She makes me so mad. She told me the wrong time for the homecoming committee meeting, so I missed it and looked like a huge slacker. And I really need that—” I stop, my words catching in my throat. My eyes blink shut, and I breathe slowly. “Let’s just say she picked a tender spot to poke at, and I retaliated with what I knew would probably hurt her.”

  “At least what you were saying was the truth. She lied to you. About more than one thing, apparently.” He waits a beat before finishing. “I’m not going to homecoming with her.” He clears his throat and holds his hand out for the hose without waiting for any kind of a response. “You just need this connected?”

  I don’t know what to make of this turn of events. Giving myself a little shake, I gesture at the valve. “Yeah. I don’t know why I can’t get it attached to the spigot.”

  He nods, takes it in hand, and has it secured in no time flat. He twists the valve open before we both stand, him with the sprayer in hand.

  I reach for it, but he shifts out of my reach. I huff, “Micah, I need to rinse it off really quickly, and then we can get to your homework.”

  He grunts a little and moves toward my car, yanking the length of the hose behind him. “I’ll do it. We may need to soap it up to get rid of everything. Is it whipped cream on there?” At my shrug, he asks, “You have a bucket?”

  “Seriously. You don’t have to help me.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s partially my fault. Like I told you, things I’ve said to Alora have set her off.”

  “I don’t understand.” I press my lips together. Maybe I’m crazy, but I want him to tell me he’s into me. Because I feel like he is, even if he has a hard time admitting it.

  He gives me a slight smirk. “I think you understand just fine.”

  I do? My chest expands with a deep breath before I let it go. Wow.

  He proceeds to aim the sprayer at my windshield and pulls the trigger. The majority of whatever was used to decorate my car washes away in just a few seconds but leaves a smeared mess behind. “Yep, that’s not going to do it.” He gestures toward the garage. “Let’s do this right. Where’s that bucket? You have soap and sponges, too?”

  “Really?”

  He chuckles. “Stop questioning me wanting to help you, and let’s get it done.”

  I bite my lip, grinning. “Okay.” I hurry into the garage, grab what we need and come back out. Micah takes them from me, and before I know it, he has a bucketful of bubbles and is spraying the entire car down once more with the hose.

  “Are your parents home?”

  “No. They—” I blow out a quick breath. “They have a therapist they see sometimes. I guess they had an appointment today. They were getting in the car to leave when I pulled up.”

  He nods, picking up a sponge. His eyes land on me again, and I think he’s going to say something about my parents, but instead he glances over what I’m wearing and says, “You should go change. You don’t want your uniform getting messed up.”

  “Right.” What kind of girl does it make me that I really like it when he takes charge? I don’t question it for more than a few seconds before I dart into the house, change, and am back out in a flash in old holey jeans and my favorite Princess Leia T-shirt.

  Micah winks at me as he looks over his shoulder from where he’s running a soapy sponge over the car.

  I try so hard not to grin, but I can’t help it. I watch him as he cleans up the windshield, the muscles in his arms and back rippling as he moves. His joggers are slung low and every time he lifts his arm to swipe the sponge over the roof, his shirt drifts upward and a band of skin peeks out, showing off those cute little indentations above his ass cheeks.

  Phew. Get ahold of yourself, Daphne. Fighting back the urge to ogle him some more, I cross to the bucket of soapy water, grab a sponge, and get to work.

  It’s only a few minutes later that I’ve bent down to run the sponge over the front bumper when Micah slings water from his sponge at me. Gasping as the cold water hits me, I jerk to my feet. I have no idea whether it was an accident or not, but it splattered right across my chest, wetting my T-shirt.

  “Oops. Sorry about that.” There’s a cute, boyish quality to his expression that would have me forgiving him most anything.

  I hide my smile. “No problem.” I dip my sponge back into the bucket, count to five, and launch my sponge across the hood, nailing Micah right in the center of his broad back.

>   “Hey!” he roars, spinning around, surprise written all over his features.

  I scramble for the hose, barely beating him to it.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  My teeth rake over my lower lip as we engage in a faceoff, his hulking frame versus my lithe one. “I wouldn’t?” My brow goes up just as my finger squeezes the trigger. A spray of water shoots out, hitting Micah square in the chest and drenching him.

  My eyes widen when he stalks toward me despite the water still shooting at him. His shirt is soaking wet and plastered to all of the drool-worthy muscles of his torso, and my throat goes decidedly dry as I squeal and begin to back away.

  He overtakes me, pulling me into his arms, my back to his front. Stealing the hose from me, he tucks the spray nozzle against my ribs.

  “No, Micah!” I gasp out my laughter right before the cold water hits me. Shrieking, I try to wrestle out of his hold.

  He pauses for a second, tucking his head down next to mine. “I’m going to let you go,” he whispers, “but you might want to run.”

  He releases me and I jog around the car, putting it between us. I can’t keep the dumb grin from my face.

  “Hey, Daphne,”—his eyes twinkle, alight with naughtiness—“you have something on your shirt.” He aims right at me, spraying me down. If I wasn’t wet before, I’m now soaked. My eyes widen as he stalks around the car toward me. With a scream, I run, making laps around my poor car until he finally catches me. He pins me against the driver’s side door, his hard body pressed to mine, before his hands cradle either side of my neck, his fingers threading through the wet strands of my hair. His thumbs caress my jaw and his eyes, lashes spiky with water, are hooded. Desire flares low in my belly as his dick hardens against my stomach.

  Oh. Hell. Yes. With ragged breath, we stare at each other until he lowers his mouth to mine. He nips at my lower lip, then slides his tongue across it, heating my blood in a way I’m growing to like very much. Our lips rub together, hungry, and his hand slides down to my breast, firmly palming it through the wet material of my T-shirt. I moan, my lips parting, and that’s all the invitation Micah needs. The next thing I know, his tongue is in my mouth, sliding against mine in a wickedly wonderful dance. I clutch at his shoulders, wanting him closer. My heart pounds frantically in rhythm with his. I can’t believe this is happening and deep down inside, I ache for more.