King of Denial : An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 3)

by Jacie Lennon

  “You are spilling my drink. Slow down,” Landry says, holding her arm out, trying to keep her cup steady.

  I continue walking until we can’t even feel the warmth of the bonfire on our skin. I’m aware of Phillip standing with us, and I don’t know how much I can even say around him. He’s employed by my family, I think, and he might report back to them about anything he finds of interest. I have to get Landry to stop forcing the issue.

  “It’s nothing, not what you are thinking.”

  It’s exactly what you are thinking.

  “What do you mean? If you two actually liked each other, he wouldn’t have been below with another girl. Or girls. Oh my God, was it multiple?”

  I don’t know. Probably.

  “You know it’s not a marriage for love,” I point out.

  “Yeah, but … fuck. He should still have some sort of moral code. Oh my God.” Landry slaps a hand over her mouth. “Have you been screwing other guys? And didn’t even tell me about it?”

  She stares me down, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t tell her about my birthday night. I can’t tell her about Bodhi. Not while Phillip is listening in. Not when it could potentially hurt Bodhi if anyone were to find out.

  “No,” I finally say, glancing off. When I look back, Peyton and Landry are both staring at me, eyes narrowed with a confused look on their faces. “No. Now, let’s drop it. It’s not something to discuss on girls’ night out.”

  “But we will discuss it at some point,” Landry says, holding one finger up and shaking it at me. “You don’t get to hold out on us, missy.”

  “Okay, fine,” I agree to get her off my back.

  “Whew, I need a drink,” Peyton says, grinning at both of us.

  “I’ll sneak a bottle of something into the hospital,” Landry says, turning to her.

  “Deal.”

  “Hey, sexy,” a deep voice says, and I watch arms appear over Landry’s shoulders, pulling her back against a guy.

  In the flickers of firelight, I make out Corbin’s face, and then I see Brock slip an arm around Peyton. I scan the darkness surrounding us, expecting Bodhi to pop up, and I feel equal parts relief and sadness when he doesn’t.

  “No, no, no,” Landry says, turning and pushing on Corbin’s chest. Not super hard though, as he barely moves, and I twist up my lips in an attempt not to laugh at her pathetic attempt to get him away. “It’s girls’ night. Last time I checked, neither of you was a girl.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you need to check again,” Corbin says, pushing his hips into her.

  “Gross. No.” Landry takes a sip of her drink.

  “That’s not what you were saying last night,” Corbin says, a smirk on his face.

  My cheeks turn red at his innuendo, but Landry takes it in stride.

  “I promised Trixie it would just be us for the night. No boys allowed.”

  “Okay,” Corbin says, leaning down and slowly kissing her.

  Exactly why I can’t be around this right now.

  I’m thrilled for my friends and that they found happiness, but jealousy is rearing its ugly head inside me, and I look away. I glance back toward the fire, watching the yellow, orange, and blue colors dance and twine around each other. It’s so beautiful, and it gives us pleasure but only from a distance. Try to contain it, and you burn up with pain. It’s like thinking about my and Bodhi’s short-lived relationship. We were something that was never going to last, but we were beautiful before we burned down to ashes.

  As the fire draws me in, I’m pulled to a pair of eyes fastened on me. On the other side of the pit, Bodhi watches me. A predator. He has a girl in his lap, and I feel the anger crawling up my throat. But I don’t have a right to be angry. He watched me say yes to someone else. I can’t say anything about him moving on.

  He lays a hand on her thigh. I can’t see who she is, but she has long, dark hair. The opposite of me. Is that intentional? His eyes stay on mine, and I continue to watch. His fingers creep up her thigh, and just when they get high enough, he brushes them back down. Back and forth. I watch, riveted. It’s almost like I can feel his fingers on my thigh, underneath this leather skirt. Goose bumps break out. His hand creeps higher with each sweep, and I alternate between watching and looking at his eyes that haven’t wavered from mine.

  The girl giggles, leaning in and whispering something in his ear. He smiles, slow and catlike. His nose piercing winks in the firelight. And I warm when I think about his other piercing. The way it felt inside me has me clenching my thighs together. I wonder how many of my classmates have felt it, experienced what it’s like to be with Bodhi.

  I glance away.

  But I’m pulled right back to him. His hand has drifted further, flirting with the crease of the girl’s leg, where it meets her lower body, teasing. I wonder if it’s making her wet. It’s making me wet to watch it.

  He leans down, his lips touching her bare shoulder, and she laughs, swatting his chest. My own clenches in agony.

  Why am I watching? Why am I doing this to myself?

  I take a sip of my drink, the alcohol making my head swirl since I haven’t eaten recently. His other hand circles the girl’s waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. I swallow.

  He stands suddenly, dumping the girl to her feet, and grabs her hand. With one last look at me, he curls his lips up, his teeth glaring in the firelight as he smiles. Then, he turns, pulling the girl along behind him. I watch until they disappear together, into the darkness.

  24

  Bodhi

  “Did you fuck Savannah at the bonfire the other night?” Brock asks my back as we sit in class, waiting on the teacher to arrive.

  It’s Monday morning, and I’m hungover, my brain pounding. The last thing I want is to answer questions. I don’t even know why I’m sitting in class right now; it’s not like I’m going to comprehend anything. I guess it’s the only place where it makes sense for me to be, something that will propel my future—or what’s left of it.

  “What if I did?” I mutter.

  Brock shifts, jumping to the row beside us and grabbing the desk right beside mine. He glares at the kid who usually sits there, who then shuffles down, moving to sit at Brock’s desk.

  “Don’t answer my question with a question.”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

  “It’s not. Peyton is all kinds of pissed off because Trixie cried all weekend over you leaving the bonfire with some dark-haired girl, and I saw Savannah hanging on you earlier that night.”

  “Trixie doesn’t have a right to cry over anything I do, not anymore.” I give a shrug and paste a bored look on my face. Inside, I’m seething at myself for making her cry, but I know it’s the right thing to do for now.

  “Look, I agree with you. What she did was shitty, and you have every right to move on and do your own thing. But you also don’t need to so blatantly throw it in her face. I still have to deal with it, and Corbin is hearing about it too. We need you to maybe dial it back a little.”

  “Are you asking or telling me?”

  “Did you hear that as a question? Because it was most definitely a demand. Dial your shit back until after graduation. Then, you can screw whoever you want.”

  I stare at him, worrying my lower lip for a second before raising my head a few inches. “Fine.”

  I click the end of the pen in my hand several times as I turn back toward the front of the room. I have no intentions of dialing anything back. In fact, I might amp it up now that I know it’s having the desired effect. I don’t want to make her cry or feel awful, but I have to.

  Brock doesn’t say anything else, and I’m relieved when class starts. I lay one arm across the desk and rest my forehead on it, only lifting to side-eye Brock when he punches me in the shoulder. Then, I fall asleep, not waking until the bell rings to change classes.

  “Fuck,” I moan, my head pounding. This isn’t healthy. I need to stop punishing myself like this.

  “Yo
u are a disaster,” Brock says, standing above me, looking apathetic.

  Thanks for the sympathy, bro.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” I push to stand, and he bumps me with his arm.

  “Want to skip out and do something fun?”

  “Does it involve sleeping?”

  “Sure. Let me grab Corbin,” he says, stepping out in the hallway with me right behind him.

  We find Corbin standing with Landry—no surprise there. But she’s also with Peyton and Trixie, so I hang back. I lean against a row of lockers, arms crossed, and stare at their little group. I’m so mad at how she messed everything up. I know it was weird before, but now, it’s on another level. I’m the outcast, the one who didn’t get any benefits from how everything ended.

  “Hey.” A feminine voice has me shutting my eyes briefly before I turn slightly, looking down at Savannah.

  She’s hot with long brown hair, big hazel eyes, and pretty lips. But I want the girl with short blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a plump and pouty bottom lip.

  “What are you doing later? Want to hang out?” she asks, and I know what she’s really asking.

  She’s been all over me, especially since the bonfire night. It was a mistake to let her sit in my lap, to touch her and let her think I had any interest. I think it only made her try harder after I walked off in the darkness with her and then split, leaving her hanging so I could come back to my dorm room and jerk off.

  “Nah, I’ve got plans,” I say even though I don’t know what Brock wants to do.

  “What about tomorrow?” She grabs my arm, holding on while her other hand draws lazy circles on my skin.

  I’m not sure if she’s trying to be seductive or not, but it’s making my flesh crawl. I glance up, looking back at the little group, and see Trixie’s eyes focused on Savannah and me. My first inclination is to step away and put distance between us.

  Can’t she see that my body doesn’t ache for Savannah? Can’t she tell that I don’t want to be talking to her?

  Fighting all my instincts, I force myself to grin down at Savannah. I make my arm reach up and cup her elbow, pulling her around to my front, to stand between my legs as my back rests on the lockers and my hands find her lower back. I bring my head down as she rises up on her tiptoes, and I let my mouth rest beside her ear.

  “Maybe,” I whisper, seeing the goose bumps break out on her skin. But they don’t do anything for me. I don’t want to caress them. My dick isn’t even a little bit interested.

  Savannah places her hands on my chest as she giggles, looking up at me.

  “Okay,” she says with a flirty wink before stepping back.

  I lightly tap her ass as she turns, and she squeaks, a huge smile on her face. Then, she runs to join her friends. I watch Trixie watch her, biting her lower lip before she turns back to the group, not looking at me again.

  Brock breaks away from everyone, Corbin following, and I’m glad his back was to me; otherwise, I know I’d be hearing about the scene I put on for Trixie.

  “Come on,” he says, slapping my shoulder as he passes, and we file out.

  I can feel Trixie’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back.

  “Did you contact Derek?” Corbin asks.

  He’s floating on an inflatable tube in our pool, the sun beaming down, warming all of our skin. Brock is currently raiding the kitchen for snacks and drinks, and I’m lying on a lounger, trying to nap.

  I crack open an eye and look at him. “Yeah. I don’t think he was happy.”

  “I wouldn’t be either if you asked me to look into the local crime organization.”

  “Don’t go into private investigative work then,” I say dryly. I can’t seem to help myself lately. I’m acting like a dick, and no one is off-limits. I know he’s only asking because he cares. “Either way, I’m looking into the Northcutts and their connection to the Hastings.”

  “Who are connected to the Soltorres. Do you think they aren’t involved? Trixie has a bodyguard, for fuck’s sake,” Corbin points out.

  “Doesn’t matter. Derek said no.”

  Corbin frowns at me. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” No amount of begging moved him.

  Brock steps through the glass doors at the back of our house, hands full of crap. He sets down the snacks beside me, tossing a beer through the air to Corbin, who grabs it, popping the top and taking a long drink.

  “Hope Dad doesn’t miss these,” I say.

  Brock raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you care?”

  “Not at the moment, no.” I pop the top on my own beer and set a chip bag between my legs.

  “What were you talking about?” Brock asks, stealing some chips.

  “Derek told him to fuck off,” Corbin says after drinking half of his beer.

  Brock stares at me. “For real? He won’t help you?”

  “Nah, he’s ‘not interested in dying,’ were his actual words to me,” I say with a shrug. “After trying to talk him into it, I determined that he wasn’t budging, and I gave up.”

  “You gave up?” Brock looks incredulous. “Just like that? Fuck, didn’t take you for a pussy.”

  “Fuck you,” I say with a scowl.

  “Did you even try to bribe him?” Brock shakes his head, as if he can’t believe me. “I usually give him a generous tip for any information he digs up for me.”

  I sigh and lean back in my chair. After a few long swallows of my beer, my brain is feeling a little buzzy, and I shrug.

  “I think he blocked my number.”

  Corbin starts laughing, and Brock mutters something.

  “What was that?” I ask, and Brock pops another chip in his mouth.

  “It’s like you aren’t even trying,” he says.

  I sit up, getting in his face. “What else can I do if he refuses? Drive to wherever he lives and put him in a choke hold until he agrees?”

  Brock laughs, and I feel my anger rising.

  What does he expect from me?

  “God, I wish I could see you put Derek in a choke hold.” He snorts.

  “Throw me another,” Corbin yells from the pool, and once I chuck him a beer, I turn back to Brock.

  “Look, it’s your relationship, your life. I won’t tell you what to do, but all I’m saying is, there are ways to get around blocked numbers. Like use my phone, for example. Do you want me to call him for you?”

  “Fuck no. You aren’t my parent. I can make my own phone calls.” I throw the chip bag on the table beside my lounger and take another drink. “I don’t want to anymore.”

  “Are you giving up?”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out where to go from here. She could have come to me and asked me for help, and she didn’t. I don’t think she wants me to interfere with this.”

  “You were so determined. What happened?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. I’m tired of being kept in the dark and trying to fix something that I know nothing about. I think it might be time to cut my losses and let her go for real.”

  “So, you are giving up,” Brock says.

  “No, there’s nothing to give up; she wasn’t mine in the first place.”

  “You’re giving up,” Corbin yells from his float.

  I need new friends.

  I growl and push my hand through my hair before launching myself out of the lounger and off the side of the pool, dropping onto Corbin’s float and pushing us both in the water.

  I don’t want to talk anymore because I am afraid, I am giving up, and I’m scared that it’s what is best for Trixie—for me to let her go forever. The thoughts settle like lead weights in my stomach, making it churn as I sink to the bottom of the pool.

  25

  Trixie

  The rest of the school week passes uneventfully, and now, I’m back home, a prisoner as my mother checks over my bags for our flight to Paris.

  “You have everything on the checklist? Did you pack the things I requested?” She lowers her voice, and my eyes dart to the b
oy standing right outside my open door.

  It’s too damn early in the morning for this. How like her to sell her daughter off but be too scared to say lingerie in the presence of others.

  “Yes, Mom, I packed my bra and panties I’m wearing under the dress,” I say, raising my voice a little to get under her skin.

  She shoots me a look, one that conveys all the things that moms can get across with their faces, but I can’t bring myself to care at this point.

  “And—”

  “Yes, I packed everything on your extremely detailed list. We are only going for the weekend, and we don’t need that much stuff.”

  “We are picking out your wedding dress. It is very important that we get it right.”

  “Why? Because I’m so in love with Seth? Because I can’t wait to see his piggish eyes undress me in that dress and then actually undress me later that night?”

  My mother’s face goes cold, unflinching and unfeeling. “You will not speak to me like that. I am your mother.”

  I snort.

  Some mother.

  “Fine. Either way, it’s a quick trip.”

  “And one that we are cramming a lot of shopping into. We must get you an entirely new wardrobe. One that will fit your new status as a married woman. You’ll start wearing the appropriate things, fixing your hair and makeup every day, and appearing more put together.” She eyes my current state of messy bedhead and sweats with disdain.

  I look down at my comfortable clothes and cringe. I’m eighteen. I shouldn’t be in fitted dresses and skirt suits every day. Like what my mother wears.

  “The plane departs in an hour, and we must leave soon. Put on the outfit I laid out for you and be downstairs, waiting. When is your friend arriving?” She pauses at the door as I check the time.

  “Should be here in the next ten minutes.”

  “Perfect.” With that, she leaves my room, barely a glance at the new kid as she takes off in her carefully controlled walk. A lady must not run or ever look in a hurry.