Tricked Steel: A Friends To Lovers Standalone Romance

by Fields, MJ

  One of the females gasps, “Oh my God.”

  Another woman laughs. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years. And I can’t say it bothers me that your dad gets hotter as he ages.”

  One of the men looks at her and winks. “Back at ya, baby.”

  The commentator chuckles. “Someone wants to know who the, and I quote, ‘blond twink with Big Daddy’ is.”

  “Twink?” one of the guys, who was high at The Bean that first night, huffs, pulling his shirt up and flashing his abs at the camera. “Baby, don’t kid yourself.”

  “Max!” a woman yells, but you can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

  “Well, I guess that did it. Team Big Daddy and Hot”—the commentator chuckles—“Blond just got all sorts of love.”

  Someone clears their throat, and the recording swings toward him.

  Patrick.

  “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” He reaches behind himself and pulls his tee-shirt completely off.

  Of course he has a beautiful body, too.

  When a chair screeches beside me, everyone looks back and gasps. Then I watch as all the devices turn off, including the teacher’s.

  A bag drops to the floor, and then a smooth, whispered, raspy voice says, or sings, “Almost makes you wanna change teams, huh?”

  “Pig,” I whisper back, and he laughs as he sits right next to me.

  The chair on the other side of my normally empty row, in the back, away from all the testosterone, bitches, and backbiters, is pulled out, and I look over.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Savannah,” JT Steel says as he sits down.

  I roll my eyes. He does the same thing in return. Then he leans forward, like right in front of me, and whispers to Patrick, “This is bullshit. She shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’m right fucking here.” I push on his chest to move him out of my fucking face, and his eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, brute. I actually like it back here alone, so move.”

  When his paw covers my face, but not touching me, I want to bite him. Instead, I try to push it away, unsuccessfully.

  “One of us needs to switch homerooms. And I’m thinking that should be you. And yeah, I’m cock blocking for a purpose.”

  “How about move seats, asshole?” I sneer, and he moves his hand.

  Patrick looks at his phone, a smirk in place, his eyes dancing in shades of green, outsparkling the brown. “Looks like we all have class together next. Let’s talk to her before we do that. But I’m telling you, JT, Truth’s more bad ass than you give her credit for.”

  “Shouldn’t have to be,” he huffs, sits back and, like a big … very big old baby, he pouts.

  “Don’t forget; she’s the one who got herself kicked out of our last school. Straight up, Justice, she’ll tell us what she wants.”

  “Wait, Truth and Justice?” I can’t help but ask.

  Justice gives me the side-eye, and Patrick chuckles.

  “What are you laughing at? You got screwed.”

  “I love my name, Savannah. Happens to be my mom’s surname. I’m carrying all the family love in my name.”

  “Savvy,” I snap.

  “You still give me Savannah feels.”

  “Why the hell—”

  “Don’t ask, Savannah. You’ll just be opening up a big ass can of crocodiles.”

  “It’s worms,” I correct the misuse of the term.

  “Sure it is.” JT smirks … but only for a second.

  * * *

  Walking into Women’s Studies class, I am sure this is one freaking class that Patrick Steel won’t be walking into, as he has every one of my classes so far today. The only place I didn’t see him was lunch, which I spent in the library to avoid anymore of Chloe’s whispered I’m sorrys. I mean, whatever, get over it, and stop making me feel like I should be embarrassed. I didn’t try to make out with my roommate, for fuck’s sake, I think as I sit in my seat.

  Of course, Chloe sits next to me, and then … fresh rain in the forest, mixed with soap, he sits on the other side of me.

  Opening his notebook, he says, “Fancy seeing you here,” as Chloe says, “Savvy, I’m sorry. I misread my feelings and thought maybe you liked me.”

  “God, we’ve had this chat a million times, but again, if You’re real and are done torturing me, take me now. It’s me Savvy Sutton,” I groan, looking straight ahead, avoiding both of them.

  “I’m thinking she’s not wanting to hear you. Straight up can’t blame her for the shit you and that other chick said the other night.”

  Chloe leans forward and snaps, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I already said I was sorry for that.”

  “Savannah’s my friend, so it is my business.”

  “I’m not your friend,” I hiss at him.

  “Well, at least you’re talking to him.”

  Patrick’s voice takes a harsher tone. “I didn’t shit on her.”

  “I didn’t intend to. And then, when I kissed her—”

  “That’s it.” I stand then turn to walk toward the door when the bell rings.

  “Ms. Sutton, class is about to begin,” Professor Andrews says.

  “I have my period,” I say, knowing it will shut her up and she’ll let me leave.

  “That was last week’s excuse, Ms. Sutton.”

  “Maybe she has an irregular period,” Chloe defends me … or so she thinks.

  Bitch.

  “Jesus Christ,” Patrick says.

  I turn and look at him as he’s running his hand through his hair. “What?”

  “Sit down, Savvy.”

  The way he said it, the tone isn’t playful or pissed like when he yelled at me when I was tearing out of Crystal Lake, but … with an authority that would normally have me baring fangs, yet has me sitting and sitting perfectly still.

  He then leans forward and looks at Chloe. “You have a problem, and it’s not her. She’s the one who’s been wronged by you, so until I have time to help you two sort your shit, leave her alone.”

  I look at her and nod obnoxiously.

  “And you,” he whispers sternly, drawing my attention back to him, “you are my friend, like it or not. So, stow the badass, with me at least.”

  “Mr. Steel,” Professor Andrews snaps.

  He looks forward and smiles. “Professor Andrews, I’m so excited to be a part of your class.”

  She tilts her head to the side, eyeing him skeptically, and then she nods once before addressing the entire class. “Today, we’re starting the unit on women’s suffrage. Please take out your tablets, and I’ll airdrop you your first required reading.”

  What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?

  * * *

  Every damn class.

  Every one so far today, even gym.

  I mean, if he walks into pottery, then I guess I have no choice but to be Patrick Steel’s new BFF. It would be like the universe has spoken. And the universe, God, whatever, doesn’t look all that fondly upon me, so this should be a shitshow.

  Sitting at the table, I open my sketch pad and look down at the blank paper.

  The chair across from me pulls out, and I know before even looking up who it is.

  “Damn, Savannah, it’s like fate or something,” he says before sitting down.

  I look up, lean back, and cross my arms. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Fate?”

  “Fate’s not my friend.”

  He leans forward, elbows on the table, and rests his chin on his hands as he contemplates me. His stare is intense. Then he swallows hard, sits back, scrubs his hand over his face, and smiles.

  “You smile a lot.”

  “Only when I have a reason to.”

  “So, you’re happy that fate’s not my friend?”

  “I’m happy that you don’t have to worry about that now that I’m here.” He shrugs off his navy, school required blazer, leans b
ack, and clasps his hands behind his head.

  “Is that so?” I ask, trying desperately not to look down at his statue-like body.

  “You don’t need to worry about friends or fate when I’m around.”

  “I don’t give either much thought.” I shrug.

  “I think that’s one of the reason I’m drawn”—he points to my empty sketch pad—“to you. You’re raw.”

  “Raw, as in, I’ve been dragged from my normal life, down a gravel road, to a place like this, behind a Volkswagen Bus kind of raw?”

  He pouts out his bottom lip, and not in a mocking way; in a way that is also … raw, in a sense.

  He sits there, our eyes locked, as we stare at one another when the bell rings and everyone rushes through the door. He doesn’t look away, his eyes still gazing into mine.

  “Class is going to start.”

  “Start?” He smiles in a very soft way, a way in which I’ve never really been looked at by a member of the opposite sex.

  I nod.

  “Savannah, school started the night before Thanksgiving; wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Hey, Savvy,” Ziggy says, plopping down next to me.

  “ ’Sup, Zigs.”

  He reaches across the table and says, “Ziggy Walton.”

  Patrick unclasps his hands from behind his head and reaches across the table. “Patrick Steel.”

  “I know who you are. Hell, everyone here does. Your dad owns—”

  “My parents,” Patrick corrects him with a smile. “They built the business together.”

  Ziggy looks at me then back at Patrick. “Don’t let her fool you. She may look all cute and shit, but she’s a savage.”

  Patrick smirks. “Cute and savage, perfect combination.”

  I close my pad and start to stand.

  “Savvy, girl, stay here.” Ziggy laughs.

  “I can’t be a part of this budding bromance bullshit.”

  “Roach isn’t coming to class; I think you’ll be just fine.”

  I nod.

  Patrick asks, “So, Ziggy and Roach? I’m guessing you have a fondness for—”

  “We’re gonna be the first to leave Seashore and start a pot farm, and make damn sure every fucking thing we put out, as far as PR goes, has that tidbit of information, just to fucking give Whitaker a heart attack.” Ziggy looks at me. “Fuck the man, right, Savvy?”

  I settle back in my seat and raise a fist, while uncommittedly repeating his phrase, “Fuck the man.”

  * * *

  Walking out of class, Patrick stays by my side, like, so close my shoulder rubs his arm.

  As I’m about to school him on personal space, he starts firing off questions.

  “So, Ziggy and Roach are your friends?”

  “I mean, I don’t hate them, but we don’t share intimate details about our lives.” I shrug, trying to walk faster, and not just because his closeness is bothersome, but if he keeps this shit up, he won’t fit in.

  “Jesus, Savannah.” He laughs, keeping in step with me. “You in a hurry to get to Statistics?”

  “We can hang out in class. Hell, you can bring the last remaining members of your family to get coffee when I work there, but you walk with me down the hall, you’re going to have issues.”

  When he grabs my elbow and stops me from continuing, I look up at him. “What?”

  “I’m a big boy; I can handle any issues any of these people want to throw at me.”

  “You need to feel out the school before—”

  “I got shit figured out. I may not be a genius like you, but I’m not stupid either.”

  “You think you have this figured out?” I laugh as I pull my elbow from his firm but gentle grip.

  “Your buddy from the other night, and his three boys, run the show with all the rich kids.”

  “Like you. Rich kids like you.”

  “Don’t judge me before you know me.”

  “Are you telling me you’re not rich?” I all but laugh.

  “The truth? No, I’m not. My parents have money. I have, like, two grand in my account from working over the summer.”

  “I suppose that’s fair, but—”

  “No buts, Savannah. That’s not how you and I roll. I don’t judge anyone until they’ve fucked me, my family, or my friends. You’re my friend, so don’t do that to me.”

  When we walk into Statistics, later than my usual, I see Justice and a girl I’m assuming is his sister, in my seat, in the back row.

  I slide into the first seat by the door, and Patrick walks to the back and sits with them.

  Chapter 10

  “The more I have spoken about feminism the more I have realized that fighting for women's rights has too often become synonymous with man-hating. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that this has to stop.”

  ~Emma Watson

  Patrick

  “She has what?” I ask Ziggy for clarification of Savvy’s whereabouts after three days of her not showing up to class and the fact that she hasn’t opened one message from me asking where she’s at.

  I’ve sent a few. A few too many.

  “Yeah, I mean”—he scratches his head—“I know she’s not fucking around with anyone here, but I’m really not sure what she did over break.”

  Savvy and fucking around don’t even belong in the same damn sentence, but fuck if I can say that shit, then I’d be the idiot crushing on a lesbian.

  I mean, seriously, what in the actual fuck is that even? If any of my crew was being that damn stupid, I’d slap the shit out of them. But more importantly, she has fucking mono.

  “Guess Chloe could have been the one spreading shit around, but I don’t think they’ve been swapping toothbrushes; they just aren’t that close after that shit over break.”

  Holy shit, I think and almost want to laugh, but it’s not all that fucking funny considering she’s sick.

  “So, yeah, Chloe’s home for at least two weeks, so she won’t be back until after the holiday break. I’m guessing Savvy’s cool with that. Well, except the whole work thing. Marcy’s probably going to have to replace her. She—”

  “Replace her?” I gasp.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I mean, she needs the help.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think to myself as I try to come up with a solution to this problem. And then it hits me …

  “Why don’t you take over her shifts?”

  “Me?” He looks at me like I just asked him to jump off a fucking bridge.

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m sure the extra money at the holidays would be put to good use, and if Savannah’s better—”

  He holds his hand up. “Whoa, man, slow your roll. Just because I live here doesn’t mean I’m on scholarship and need the extra cash. My last name is Walton, and her name’s Savvy.”

  “Fine. I wasn’t implying that you were hard up for cash, just that you’re friends with—”

  “Savvy doesn’t have friends. She’s a blender.”

  “Ziggy, how fucked up are you right now?” I ask, trying to keep my chill.

  “Not bad, just the usual morning blend.”

  “Great. So, if you can’t do it, then help me figure out who can.”

  “Do what, man?” he asks.

  “You fucking serious right now?” I sneer.

  “Chill, dude.” He smiles. “Everything will work out.”

  Then the bell rings, and I’m late for homeroom.

  By noon, I have talked myself into and out of working at The Bean about every fifteen minutes. Logically, I know I can’t. Not that I work a lot during school, and not that you could call what I do work, but if Dad and Mom need a hand dealing with one of the artists, I normally help. And, although Brandon has been the one who’s been the biggest pain in the ass lately, and I know now that he and Kiki are jelling, there’s still a chance. Besides that, who would deal with Max and Amias while they’re out fucking shit up? Hell, I can’t blame them, and I know if I asked them to lay low because the girl that I’m hot
for is sick, they would, but then everyone would know what a fucking idiot I’m being right now, and then they wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I say.

  There is also a chance that her boss sees her like I do, and Savvy won’t lose her job, but the what-ifs are fucking me hard right now.

  All I know is that I need to deal with it, because we’re unpacking this weekend, and I need to remember how stoked I was for this move and let my parents see that appreciation; be in the moment with them.

  I pull out my phone and shoot Savvy a text.

  12:04 p.m - Savvy

  12:04 p.m - What can I do for you?

  12:04 p.m - XOXO

  12:04 p.m - Patrick

  12:05 p.m - Please note: I’m not using Savannah out of courtesy for my friend who apparently has the X virus.

  Twenty minutes later, she’s still left me on delivered.

  * * *

  By Friday, everyone has pretty much had it with the change, and every one of us is going through our own shit with the move. Max and Amias haven’t complained; Tris is in her own head, which is not unusual; Brisa is coming into her own, doing what girls her age do—trying to figure out where they fit—and Kiki and Truth are dealing with the mean girls. What I wouldn’t give to trade places, for a day, to be a girl and give them a taste of their own shit. Kiki would have already done so, if she wasn’t pregnant, but she’s protecting that little bump like it’s her job, and it is.

  Truth apparently had a run-in with the Queen B, and Justice intervened. Honestly, I wish he would let her handle it. I think that’s about half the reason her self-esteem has taken a hit. Justice should let her deal, let her build the confidence that she can. She’s capable. He’s just not capable of letting her. I’d like to think that’s what I would do if I were her.

  Being the only child in this family never feels like I am, until it’s between siblings. Then I know I have to step back. I do call JT on his shit occasionally, but their bond is even tighter than Crew, or even the rest of the sibling sets—they’re twins.