The Golden Boys: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Prep Book 1)

by Rachel Jonas

  “Five-hundred bucks says you end up walking your brooding ass over there to talk to her at some point.”

  Hearing his bet, I’m aware I’m still watching her like some sort of lost dog.

  “Easiest money I’ll ever win,” I answer.

  He turns to gawk at Southside again, grinning as he takes a drink from his cup. “Okay. Just remember you said that.”

  Chapter 27

  BLUE

  Jules and I wait out the long line to buy our tickets. Of course, the moment we step foot inside the dark gym, I spot the devil himself. Like usual, he’s posted between his brothers, but to my disgust, Parker’s glued to his chest. She doesn’t see me yet, but West does.

  Somehow, he always manages to find me first, like his default reaction is to be on the lookout for the moment I enter a room.

  Stalker.

  Even from this distance and with the lights low, I notice everything about him despite Parker partially blocking my view. The tight-fitting, white shirt that buttons down his chest and torso, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, showing his ink. The watch that catches the colorful lights swirling above. The thin, dark tie around his neck.

  Even that look in his eyes, challenging me to pretend I feel nothing.

  I see you, King Midas. But you don’t run me.

  “This puts South Cypress’s dances to shame,” Jules says, cutting into my thoughts.

  I smile, having to agree with that. The budget there for things like this may as well be zero.

  “Where’s your girl, Lexi?” she asks.

  “Home,” I answer with a laugh. “She doesn’t do the social scene thing.”

  Jules nods. “Too bad. She seems cool.”

  I smile, thinking of how Lexi had my back yesterday, helping me get some small measure of revenge on West.

  I scan the room, purposely not looking his way. The party is in full swing, seeing as how Jules and I missed half of it because I dragged my feet getting dressed. The dancefloor is flooded, jampacked with bodies moving and grinding to the beat. Bass vibrates my chest and I’m reminded of a time when I used to enjoy things like this.

  Back when life was considerably easier.

  “Let’s get out there!” she belts over the loud music. “It’ll be fun.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’m not in the mood, but as usual, I can’t tell her no. A deep sigh leaves me when I nod, agreeing to yet another measure of torture.

  Jules pulls me out to the middle, then her eyes fall closed as she moves in rhythm. I’m kind of stiff, but trying to have fun.

  Trying.

  Images of Hunter in that jumpsuit—with all those gashes and bruises—keep flashing in my head and I have to force them out. I’ve been pretending to be okay all my life, I can do that again tonight.

  I let go just a little. Loosening up, I start to get into it, feeling the B.S. I’ve carried with me all week begin to lift. But then, a second later, I’m no longer dancing alone. A massive body bumps into me from behind and, at first, it seems like an accident, but then large hands have my waist with a confident grip that can’t be ignored. And he smells like a dream.

  A wild, hot, sexy dream.

  His moves sync up with mine and he’s shamelessly grinding against my ass, taking my breath away. It’s only now that I glance back, and my heart skips a beat.

  A Golden boy is definitely behind me, just … not the one I might have expected.

  Dane casts a dark smile down on me and I immediately feel conflicted, like I’ve done something wrong. But … that doesn’t make sense. I’m completely single, not attached to anyone. Not obligated to anyone.

  Still, it feels strange.

  He must sense that I’m flustered when I freeze up a bit, because he leans toward my ear and slow, deeply spoken words go straight to my head.

  “If you want him to own his shit, just go with it.”

  My brow tenses with confusion, but I’m not given more of an explanation than that. And as soon as the statement is made, we’re dancing again—close, intimate, steaming hot.

  Taking Dane’s lead, I relax, leaning forward just a little, pushing my hips back against him, still very confused about what’s going on.

  Is he trying to provoke his brother? The King of Cypress Prep himself?

  Jules passes me a look and I already know what she’s thinking. That I’m dancing with the wrong brother, but that’s because she doesn’t know that any of the Golden boys are the wrong brother.

  Especially West.

  Only, now that Dane’s raised my curiosity, I can’t help but to glance over, not the least bit surprised to find West’s angry glare locked on us. In a blazing display of hypocrisy, Parker is all over him. He’s dancing with her, but he seems distracted.

  As if he’s aware of having his brother’s attention, Dane’s hands move down my hips, controlling them with his touch. Then I feel the smooth heat of his fingertips slipping to my thighs, where the dress I picked barely covers anything.

  My heart races on its own, completely against my will as I start to enjoy dancing with him for two very different reasons. One is super obvious—he’s hot—but mostly … I love what it’s doing to West.

  For a guy who rarely gives anything away with his eyes, I see everything in them now—confusion, anger.

  Jealousy.

  I turn away from him and lean deeper into Dane, slinking my arm behind his neck, then push my fingers up through the back of his hair. He feels just like West, which is a relatively high compliment, considering. Heat from Dane’s breath rushes over my collar bone when he leans into me, too. Then, his lips touch me there and my eyes fall closed. I’m completely immersed in him now, the way his hands feel on me, smoothing their way down the clingy fabric laid over my skin.

  I’ve all but forgotten anyone else is in the room when I’m jarred out of the fantasy he’s seduced me into.

  There’s a firm grip on my wrist and a sudden jerk pulls me from Dane’s grasp. When I glance back at him, he’s wearing a devious grin and hangs onto my hand a moment before I’m out of reach. West has, apparently, trekked across the gym for this, to yank me away from his brother, leaving Parker glaring from afar.

  All eyes are on us and I’m surprised he’s making such a scene. Typically, he’s all about being Mr. Cool Calm and Collected. But, from what I can tell, I’ve pissed him off, pushed him to the point that he doesn’t care who sees he’s coming unhinged.

  He hasn’t said a word as I’m dragged across the gym by my wrist, like a disobedient child. Meanwhile, I can’t stop smiling. Maybe it’s just knowing that ‘THE West Golden’ isn’t a god. He’s human, hiding flaws and scars just like the rest of us.

  It’s not until we turn two corners and stand face-to-face in a semi-lit hallway that he addresses me.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The smirk on my face only drives him crazier. “We’re at a dance,” I remind him. “I was dancing.”

  “Not with him,” he seethes. “Not like that.”

  A laugh bubbles in my throat and I can’t hold it in. “You sound like such a prude. Haven’t you ever seen two people—”

  “Not. With. Him,” he repeats. Only, this time, the tone he takes steals some of my boldness.

  A stormy gaze is locked on me, but it feels different this time. Yes, he’s angry, but not his usual brand of anger. There’s something more to it.

  My gaze is trained on his lips when they part, but words don’t escape them. There’s something he wants to say or do, but I think he’s fighting it.

  Or maybe he’s fighting himself.

  I’m no stranger to the heat that seeps from us both when we’re close, and it’s alive and well right this moment. I let my eyes drift lower, to his throat, down to his swollen pecs that stand out compared to the narrowness of his waist.

  I’m aware of how his breathing deepens. I hear it over the lull of bass throbbing from the gym. He steps closer, signaling me to peer up half a second be
fore his taste is in my mouth again.

  A deep surge of air fills my lungs and my fingers hook through the beltloops at his hips, pulling him in closer. We’ve given in to each other like this before, but both those times were about proving a point, manipulating one another as a means of strategy, but … this isn’t the same.

  This is all about want.

  Need.

  Warmth moves up my thigh and I’m so into him it takes a moment to realize he’s pushing his hands beneath my dress, squeezing my ass hard. Dizzy from whatever this effect is he has on me, my tongue wanders inside his mouth, kissing him deeper than I’ve ever done in the past.

  His teeth drag across my bottom lip, tugging it, leaving me to want more.

  We breathe one another’s air and his face is still touching mine. He lifts his hand to push the edge of his thumb across my tender lips, and I feel myself slipping, freefalling down a dangerous slope when it comes to this beast.

  My eyes open when he backs off a few inches. At first, he’s focused only on me, but then he casts his attention toward the dark, empty classroom beside us. When he stares me down again, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  What gives him away is that suggestive grin set on his lips. I bite my own, hardly able to contain myself, thinking of how soft and hot his are.

  “You should follow me,” he groans, looking like he’ll pass out from lust overload.

  “Why on Earth would I do a thing like that?” I ask with a smirk.

  He passes a sweeping look down to my breasts, and then flashes back to my eyes. “Because I want you.” He admits that so freely it knocks the wind out of me.

  For several seconds, I consider his offer, but then I come to my senses. His gaze flickers to my lips when a faint smile breaks through.

  “Absolutely not. Never in a million years, actually.” I sound confident, but I’m only half-thinking I have the will to resist.

  Whereas most guys would feel defeated by being rejected, not West. I swear it seems he’s even more turned on than before.

  “Come on, Southside,” he croons in my ear.

  Something about his tone makes me think I’ll be missing out if I don’t take him up on what he’s offering.

  “Imagine how good it’ll feel to stop pretending; how good it’ll feel to just … fuck and get it out our damn systems.” His breath moves strands of my hair and I swear I can’t feel my legs.

  I smile and am now thoroughly convinced I’m equally as psychotic as him, because I don’t disagree with anything he just said.

  “West, we don’t even like each other,” I remind him. “Hell, most days, I kind of want you dead.”

  He leans away to catch my eyes. “And if any of that shit really mattered, you wouldn’t be thinking about giving in right now.”

  I hate that he reads me so well, calling my bluff more often than I care to admit.

  He invades my space even more, pressing into me so I feel him completely, ending all doubt as to whether he intends to go through with this.

  “You know why this works?” His tone drags as his lips move against my ear. “Because we’re both fucked up.”

  I’m hazy all over again, feeling my eyes flutter closed.

  “You’ve put me through hell this past month,” I remind him, which draws the sexiest laugh out of this bastard. And what does my sadistic ass do? I melt against him.

  “And you ruined my shit before the game, making us even. So, why don’t we just call all that what it is.”

  Breathless when he grinds into me, a question falls from my lips. “What’s that?”

  The tip of his tongue slowly passes over the tendon on the side of my neck, bringing his mouth back to my ear to utter one word.

  “Foreplay.”

  I didn’t realize it was possible to want something more than air, but on this night, West taught me that this feeling does, indeed, exist.

  “Just give in, Southside.”

  If he has any idea how close I am to letting him have his way, he’ll tip me over that edge for sure, which is why I have to be smart. Which is why I must find it within me to push him away.

  I feel actual pain when my hands land on his chest, forcing space between us. He doesn’t resist, giving me a few inches to breathe.

  “West, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Who said anything about sleep?”

  When I peer up, I find him hard to read. “Despite what you think about girls from my side of town, I don’t just open my legs for every guy who asks politely.”

  After weeks of struggling, I feel a small measure of my power return, but his darkening stare undoes that smidgen of confidence immediately, then obliterates it when he asks a bold question.

  “So, who do you open your legs for then?”

  There’s bitterness in his tone that I don’t really know how to place. Maybe the sting of having been turned down has finally set in? Whatever the case, something about the way he asked has me defensive.

  “All you need to know is they’re closed to you,” I assure him, folding both arms across my chest.

  He glances down, reading my body language and, just like that, anger flashes across his face again.

  The monster never strays too far. I see him emerge from the shadows right before my eyes—when West’s brow tenses, when he stares down on me like I’m nothing.

  He’s always so hot and cold.

  “What the hell do you see in him?”

  My brow tenses when he asks, unsure what he means by that. “What do I see in who?”

  Hearing my question, he seems uncomfortable. Like he’s suddenly aware of having said too much. He shoves both hands inside his pockets, seeming to mull over how he should respond to my question.

  “I’m talking about the shady guy. The one who’s sniffing behind you every time I turn around,” he finally says.

  The words burn with envy and I ease up a bit, fighting a smile. “Wait a second. Are you jealous of Ricky?”

  “I’m jealous of no one.”

  I don’t buy that for even a second, and with how he just dragged me away from Dane in front of everyone, I’m guessing he knows that already. So, seeing a golden opportunity to get under West’s skin, I take it.

  When I reach for his tie, he glances down at it, and then his gaze flashes to mine as I speak. “Since you asked so nicely, Ricky was the first.”

  Thinking that’s pretty self-explanatory, I don’t elaborate, but I’m surprised when another question flies from West’s mouth.

  “And who was the last?”

  His tone is still so sharp, reeking of authority he doesn’t actually have when it comes to me. He isn’t owed an explanation about my sex life, nor is it clear why he seems to need this question answered. However, the harsh stare locked on me says as much, and for reasons I don’t quite understand myself, I offer up the info he’s nowhere near entitled to.

  “Ricky wasn’t just the first. He was the only.”

  Not only is it super awkward that I’ve just shared this detail about myself, but I’m frustrated that I complied. Maybe because I’m certain he won’t believe a single word of it, with his opinions about girls from my hood. But I’m not ashamed of who I am, and if he doesn’t buy that, then it’s on him. Not me.

  “Swear to me,” he presses, and I feel my brow twitch with confusion.

  My mouth falls open before I’m able to respond, but I’m keenly aware of there being so much more going on here, something he’s not saying despite saying so much.

  “I don’t have a reason to lie,” I state boldly.

  There’s an uncomfortable pause where he should’ve spoken, and I feel pressured to fill the void myself.

  “Were you seriously ready to judge me if there were more?” I ask. “Seeing as how I’d have to block off my schedule for an entire week to hear your list?”

  He doesn’t laugh when I do, instead choosing to study my expression. Like a red sign that reads “LIAR” is going to start flashing on my forehea
d. I imagine this to be how criminals must feel while under investigation, but I don’t let it get to me. I’m not crazy, though. Dude got super intense on me out of nowhere.

  Redness pools beneath his skin and I imagine his face to be hot to the touch. The crimson color only deepens when I smirk again, and his stare stays trained on me when I slip from between his body and the locker I rested against. I feel his eyes chasing after me as I leave him behind.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going? We’re not done here, Southside,” his voice thunders.

  But I don’t owe him more of this conversation. Which is why I keep moving and wiggle my fingers teasingly to wave goodbye.

  “Oh, we’re definitely done here,” I say. “I’ve already told you more about me than you deserve to know.”

  His stare darkens, but not in a threatening way. All I see there is lust, him wishing he had the power to control me like he does everyone else.

  “Later, King Midas. I have a dance to get back to,” I add dismissively, which I’m certain is driving him crazy.

  He called this game we engage in “foreplay”, and I’m starting to think his theory might not be too far off base.

  Biting my lips, a smirk breaks free as the distance between us grows.

  We’re twisted enough apart, but damn if we aren’t even worse together.

  However, in the spirit of honesty, I have to admit … I’m starting to like it.

  Oh, yeah. Note to self: Thank Dane. Dude’s a freakin’ genius.

  @QweenPandora: Careful flirting with not one, but two Golden boys, NewGirl. After all, let us not forget that Cain slew Abel. Despite all the drama already, the dance isn’t over yet. Stick around to see who’s crowned king and queen. Then, don’t you dare miss the afterparty in Bellvue, hosted by KingMidas, PrettyBoyD, and MrSilver. That is, if PrettyBoyD isn’t banned after that sexy little stunt he pulled.

  Later, Peeps!

  —P

  Chapter 28

  BLUE

  King Midas in a crown? Seems fitting.