by Callie James
“Where did you learn to fight?”
I looked over my shoulder to see Greene already dressed, his wet, spiky hair a mess as he held the bloody towel to his face.
“Here and there.” I yanked on my socks.
“Where?”
“Look kid,” I said, getting tired of small talk. I shoved my feet into my shoes. “Certain people have what it takes to fight. I don’t think you’re one of them.”
A long silence followed until I turned to see if he was still there.
He stared unblinking and looking confused. “How do you know?”
I couldn’t stop a smirk from forming. “I can just tell.” I finished lacing my shoes, wishing I’d had a different life. That I hadn’t messed up so badly. That I’d graduated last year with my class. If I had, I wouldn’t be explaining reality to a punk kid, who should probably be a science major, or chess champion or something. He didn’t need to waste his time learning to fight when it wouldn’t help him anyway.
“Why?” he said, sounding defensive. “Because I’m … different?”
God, the kid couldn’t even say it aloud. I looked at him. “You mean gay?” I may not give a shit about the other students at this school, but that didn’t mean I wandered the halls asleep. I’d passed Greene’s locker enough times to notice his sidelong glances at Eric Morgan, whose locker was across the hall. The glimpses had lasted only seconds, but anyone who’d ever experienced longing would recognize it for what it was. A crush.
He met my stare, his tightened lower lip daring me to say more. “No,” I said, turning back around. “That has nothing to do with it. It’s just … you.”
“Well that’s helpful.” He heaved a sigh, sounding exasperated. “Anyway … thanks.”
I barely nodded before shutting my locker and pulling my bag over my shoulder.
“Oh, and don’t forget your book,” he added.
I pivoted to see him looking over my head. I followed his gaze to see the corner of the book sticking out above my locker, exactly where I’d placed it before class in my rush to dress down before everyone else arrived for class.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed it and took off for class, mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of extra homework.
CHAPTER THREE
Sam
I slipped into my seat, trying to look bored—my usual whenever I came in late. The slightest pause in Campbell’s lecture told me she’d noticed, even though she hadn’t looked my way.
I could only hope she’d let it go this once.
When she didn’t say anything, my gaze shifted to Sunshine who sat next to the open window. I settled in to watch the breeze blow her shiny, copper hair across her face. She pushed it behind her ear, only to repeat the movement seconds later. I watched this little ritual daily, mainly because this class sucked the life out of me if I didn’t distract myself, and Peyton Greene was a huge distraction. Not because she was pretty, or built, or friendly, which she was. All of those things.
It was her smile. She had the most spectacular smile I’d ever seen. That mouth. Perfect, white teeth. And great dimples. It sounded stupid, but my life got a little better the second she smiled.
She’d worn a pink denim miniskirt today and a white, cotton shirt. Her pale skin nearly matched the sleeveless shirt. I loved sleeveless on her, which showed the little indents in her triceps. I had no idea why that slight curve of muscle flipped my switch the way it did, especially given all her other assets.
I let my gaze drop to drift down her thighs, all the way to those small ankles and white tennis shoes. Her foot bounced a tight rhythm, increasing speed when she raised her hand.
“I’d like to hear from someone else,” Campbell murmured. “Mr. Guerra, what did you think of the book?”
I looked up at the same time Peyton turned. Our gazes connected, sharp and intense. I couldn’t pretend she hadn’t caught me staring at her legs, so I held her gaze a second longer to let her know I didn’t give a shit. She uncrossed her thighs and pulled down her skirt half an inch.
My focus pivoted to Campbell as everyone watched me—I hate being the center of anything, even when winning a fight—and I slouched, stretching my legs in front of me. “Which book?”
Half the class laughed as though I’d meant to be funny. I frowned and glanced at the book in front of me. Mansfield Park. Our weekend assignment.
“Mansfield Park,” she said, leveling a glare at me over her glasses.
I guess the stupid routine I’d given her sophomore year was out. The Jane Austen assignment in that class had been Pride and Prejudice, and I hadn’t finished reading half the book before seriously considering setting it on fire. “I haven’t read it,” I replied.
“Obviously,” she said, her glare unwavering. Campbell kept her silver hair shorter than mine and military-like, maybe an inch long. Whenever she stared at someone with that unblinking challenge, I couldn’t help thinking she would have made a great boot camp instructor. “Read it tonight. You can lead the discussion tomorrow by giving us a summary, which I’m already guessing will be brief. Try to remember when you read the book that I want more detail than this guy and that girl did this thing.” The class laughed at her husky impression of a guy’s voice—I assumed mine. “And don’t forget from your last experience with me … I ask for your thoughtful insight and personal opinion. Something Cliffs or SparksNotes won’t provide, should you find either online. I’m giving you a second chance here, Mr. Guerra. You know I don’t often do that. Please don’t let me down this time. Meanwhile, we’ll start on the next author.”
So, no CliffsNotes. Crap. Campbell had to be psychic. She managed to stay a step ahead of me in every class I’d had with her. Maybe she got her kicks out of failing me.
Campbell continued talking and I glanced at Sunshine, expecting a glare. Instead, she stared at me wide-eyed, looking sweet with that full mouth slightly open. Her lips twisted up in sympathy.
Sympathy. Go figure. Considering what happened yesterday, I had to assume she hated Mansfield Park more than she hated me.
I glanced at the book, trying to care about this shit. God, even the cover was boring. When I felt Peyton’s gaze on me, I looked over, expecting her to turn away like other girls did. But her blue eyes sparkled back at me playfully, as if she’d been waiting for me to notice her. I nearly smiled back, too, when I noticed several girls watching us. One snickered and whispered to the other.
Right. They were right. Peyton could have anyone, which meant I had to put this little game down to just that. A game.
Well, brace yourself, Sunshine.
With tunnel vision, I leaned forward, elbow to desk and chin in palm, staring back at her as though I were interested in a hell of a lot more than her legs, because I was. When she licked her lips nervously, I narrowed my eyes, wishing she’d do it again but slower.
Instead, a shy, genuine smile curled her mouth.
I slid back in my seat. Holy shit, was she into me? Not that it mattered, but what if she was? The thought of hooking up with Peyton Greene even for five minutes was easily more entertaining than listening to Campbell drone on about another dead person. Thinking longer about it, I leaned forward, blatantly looking at Peyton’s mouth as I let my imagination fly off the rails.
Her cheeks flushed dark pink.
I couldn’t stop a smile as I held her gaze, until she finally glanced away and shifted in her seat to face front. But her peripheral vision remained on me. I felt it, even before that grin formed and those dimples poked deep holes in her cheeks. I couldn’t stop grinning as I watched her pretend to listen to Campbell’s lecture while knowing through that smile that she was still back here with me.
Was she thinking the same thing as me? I shifted in my seat. Glanced at Campbell. Stalled the few seconds it took me to get my bearings. I had no idea what just happened between Miss Perfect Life and me, but now I was curious to…
Campbell said my name and I glanced around long enough to hear her list three poin
ts expected on tomorrow’s review when certain people—a.k.a. Mr. Guerra—came to class prepared.
Damn. That was no joke. I needed to get serious and quit screwing around with Peyton as though it might go somewhere. If I failed British Authors again, I failed this year, and I wouldn’t return for a sixth. I’d also kill myself if I had to get a GED after five years of high school.
Frowning, I opened Mansfield Park to the middle, staring at the print that went on endlessly. Early nineteenth century fiction made me feel dyslexic. How anyone could possibly consider this a great literary work baffled me. Most subjects I got. Eventually. But this mind-numbing drivel? I’d already read the first twenty pages twice and still couldn’t explain what I’d read.
Jane Austen produced some real crap if you asked me. If I gave a damn about birthright, money, and marriage, I could probably get through these stories without needing half a bottle of aspirin. And God, her characters. They talked forever, never coming up for air and never finding a goddamn point. Someone should have slapped Jane Austen off her writing chair and introduced her to the concept of white space. But no one had the balls to do that, apparently, which meant the rest of us wanting to graduate had to sit around playing guessing games as to what any of this meandering mess meant.
Because it sure as hell wasn’t obvious.
After class, I grabbed my bag from my locker and passed Peyton, her brother, and Cooper, in the hall, who all stood engaged in a loud conversation. Ryan’s stare followed me as he pulled his sister’s hands from his face. My gaze pivoted to the bruising above his eye. The fresh cut on his cheek. She repeated the name Delaney.
I whipped around and beelined it for the outer doors.
“Sam!”
Ignoring her shout, I kept going as if I hadn’t heard her.
“Sam!”
Pushing open the outer door, I headed for freedom.
“Samuel!”
I’d just made it to the parking lot when she’d shouted my given name. I halted, closing my eyes and loving the sound of her voice when she’d said it. Knowing I could get monumentally stupid over those great legs if she gave me the chance, I stopped smiling and forced a scowl instead, turning to her. She looked beautiful and perky with those dimples and bright smile as she bounced to a cheerful stop in front of me. “You did it!” she said. “You said you wouldn’t, but you did!”
I had years of practice playing stupid for anyone who would buy it. “Sorry?”
She reached out and playfully yanked my flannel sleeve while several gawking students passed us. No one at school touched me. Ever. “Don’t play dumb,” she said as those dimples deepened and blue eyes sparkled. “Will you please let me thank you without being a jerk? Come on. Play nice. Just this once.”
Play nice? I’d given her my don’t-fuck-with-me look countless times yesterday, and I was giving it to her now.
Maybe she took medication, because whatever she’d heard about me hadn’t made a dent in her positive attitude.
Well, shit. I liked my scary rep. I liked that everyone left me alone because of it. “Delaney’s a douchebag,” I mumbled. “He was getting on my nerves.”
She pushed three fingers into her small, miniskirt pocket and produced a wad of money. “Please take it,” she said. “Two hundred. As promised.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we went over this already.”
She grinned and thrust it at me. “We did.”
“You happened to have two hundred on you?”
She lowered her hand and blushed. “What can I say? I had faith you’d come through.”
Why? Why would she think that? I’d purposely been a dick to her yesterday. I’d even tried freaking her out by hitting on her. But she’d blushed and smiled, and left me thinking all sorts of crap I had no business thinking. Then today in class … I doubted I’d ever know what that was about.
“You … you paid him?” Ryan walked up, his face turning blotchy red. “What the hell, Peyton. Why?”
She turned to her brother, eyes darting. She obviously hadn’t thought about what she’d say if her brother caught her getting into his business.
“I didn’t.” Her voice trembled as her eyes watered. “Well, I—”
“She didn’t pay me for anything,” I finally said, bailing her out of her own mess. “And she’s not going to.”
I’d been engrossed watching Peyton’s reaction, when out of nowhere Vanna appeared like a photo bomb, startling all of us when she snatched the two hundred from Peyton’s fingers. “Merci beaucoup,” she said, kissing the bills loudly and heading to my car.
I stared after her, embarrassed and kind of proud. Vanna often had that effect on me.
“But you tried to pay him,” Ryan said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Peyton’s stern expression couldn’t frighten a rabbit. She grabbed her brother’s hand and shoved her car keys into it. “Take the keys and wait for me. We can talk later.”
They were interesting to watch. Nothing like Vanna and me. Vanna and I shouted and cursed—me more than her—and on a few occasions, my sister liked to throw things. These two mimed an entire conversation. He gripped the keys tighter and narrowed his eyes. She glared, blinking several times in sibling Morse code. Finally, he shook his head, pivoted and stalked away.
She turned to me, smiling again. “How can I thank you then?”
I caught a whiff of her subtle perfume and resisted telling her what I really wanted. “Parting with two hundred wasn’t enough?”
She looked around me where Vanna stood next to the Impala sorting through the bills. “I get the feeling you won’t see it.” She pivoted and bounced once. “Come on, we’re not even and you know it,” she said, her infectious smile broadening. “I hate owing someone. Don’t make me beg.”
I imagined her begging and not the way she meant. Naked. Breathless. Saying my name. The image struck me vividly and I couldn’t answer her right away. “Forget it,” I said, quickly turning and heading for the Impala before I embarrassed myself.
“Mansfield Park,” she said, the two dreaded words halting me after three steps. “I could help you.”
I hated admitting I needed the help, especially to her. But I turned anyway, desperate to pass the class. “Help me how?”
Her face lit up. “You have to read it by tomorrow, right?”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
She grinned. “I have the movie. Well, it’s an adaptation.”
Chick flicks. Oh, hell no. “So?”
“It follows the major turning points of the book. You could stop by tonight and watch it. Then I’ll give you a rundown on the differences between the movie and the book. I’ve done it for others. It really works. It’ll at least give you the details Campbell might ask tomorrow.”
I couldn’t imagine the father who would allow a cholo from the gangbanger side of town to study half the night with his daughter, especially a daughter who looked like that. “I work until eleven.”
“You plan to fail the review?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you could knock off work early. I have a job, too, but I could probably get home by nine-fifteen. My house sound okay?”
I doubted I’d heard her correctly. Something about having a job. “Don’t you have parents?”
She grinned. “They trust me.”
I shrugged. “Well I don’t know where you live.” As if that should nix the whole thing.
“An easy fix. Do you have paper?”
I had a notebook full of it. “No.”
She dropped her book bag and rummaged through it until she found a pen. “Give me your hand,” she said, stepping so close I could smell her perfume again. She smelled sweet. Nothing familiar I could put my finger on, like flowers or cookies. Just sweet.
When I didn’t move, she pulled my free hand from my side, wrapped those soft fingers around my knuckles and flattened my palm to position the pen over it. I held my breath, waiting to feel the pen’s sm
ooth tip against my skin. The second Peyton began scrawling her address on my palm—something that should only be erotic by a fourth grader’s standards—I couldn’t recall a time, even during sex, when I’d been so aware of another person’s touch. The feel of her soft fingers curled around mine. Each time they flexed to keep my hand flat when the pen dipped into the lines of my palm. By the time she finished doing her little thing, I’d broken into a sweat.
She blew softly at the ink and lowered our hands to hook her fingers with mine. “So I’ll see you around nine?”
If I relaxed my hand even a little, the contact would break. But I kept my fingers barely curled, connected at the fingertips with hers. Studying those large blue eyes, I was tempted to take her up on her offer. I’d heard guys talk about Peyton Greene. If I were to believe the rumors, she was a complete nympho and had already been with most of the guys here. I also wouldn’t have to worry about bullshit like feelings and commitment because she never screwed the same guy twice. I’d even heard that she liked it rough. That sometimes she left marks.
Not that I wanted more marks than I already had.
I could easily picture the first part, but the aftermath would blow. I’d become the center of talk. Not that I cared, but I couldn’t picture putting Vanna through that again.
Her dimples deepened. “Aw, c’mon. I don’t bite.”
That’s not what I’d heard. But the Ridgeview High rumor mill had done a serious number on me countless times—most of it inaccurate. They might have done the same to Peyton. When a smartass retort to the I-don’t-bite comment hovered on my tongue, I remembered that. Besides, looking at those big blue eyes, she didn’t cross me as the type. She seemed … sweet.
Not the kind of girl I’d hooked up with in the past.
Besides, I didn’t need to mess with my reputation as a loner this late in the game. No one at this school knew me and that was how I wanted to keep it. I’d have to figure out how to pass Campbell’s class on my own.
Relaxing my hand, I pulled it away and took a step back. “I’ll stop by if I can.”
