Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1)

by Kaydence Snow

  M: Me neither . . .

  I chewed my bottom lip and racked my brain. I wasn’t ready for him to see me, but I needed to speak to him. I craved his touch, even as I worried it might burn me.

  It would have to be somewhere dark.

  The gym would be empty during lunch. We’d have to finish our talk before the next class came in to use it.

  M: Meet me in the gym. There’s a storage room at the back next to the seating. We should have privacy there.

  I grabbed my bag, rushing in that direction as fast as I could. I should’ve waited until I was there before sending that text. Hopefully I could get there first.

  The gym was empty, and I ran across the polished floor to the back corner, praying the door to the storage room would be unlocked. Luck was on my side, and the heavy door opened.

  I dashed inside and took a deep breath.

  Sneakers squeaked on the polished gym floor. I’d only just beaten him. Had he been close by? Or had he rushed here like me?

  It was pitch black in the dank space, but light would flood it as soon as he opened the door. I hurried toward the other end of the room and around the corner, darting past the industrial shelving that held balls and mats and other torture devices high school gym teachers had used since time immemorial. The room was an L shape, with another door leading outside, providing access to the equipment from the football field.

  The door opened. Light streamed in. I held my breath. What if it wasn’t him?

  “Mena?” he whisper-shouted into the room.

  “Shut the door,” I said. “Quick.”

  He closed the door, then cursed. “Where’s the light?”

  “No!” I stepped in his direction. “Just leave it. Come toward me.”

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” His voice had lost some of that silky-smooth quality, frustration and weariness creating ripples. But he shuffled forward.

  “Follow my voice.” I reached a hand out. It was so dark I may as well have had my eyes closed. If I hadn’t been half-convinced we were about to break up (were we even together?) it would’ve been fun, seeking each other out in the dark.

  My hand bumped his chest . . . and stayed there.

  “There you are.” He lowered his voice, his hand landing on my ribs, then shifting up to my shoulder.

  I felt so distant from him, so uncertain of who he was, what we were. But I couldn’t stop myself from getting closer. My feet shuffled forward; my other hand settled on his hip. And then we were moving as one, stepping into each other’s space, hands tentative at first but incapable of holding back. My arms wrapped around his waist, and his banded around my back. We were chest to chest. With my cheek over his heart, I listened to the thud-thud as my breathing began to match his without my even realizing it.

  For a few moments, we just stood there, holding each other. I felt at home in his arms, even though I’d touched him only a handful of times through the bamboo and kissed him only once.

  His soft voice broke the silence. “Mena, what are we doing here?”

  “It’s called hugging.” He’d torn through my defenses without much more than his touch and solid presence. My mind had calmed, the churning in my stomach had settled, and I’d reverted to our usual banter. But there was nothing normal about this situation—about me.

  “I’d like to turn on the light.”

  “No. Please, Turner, don’t.” I tried to pull away, fully prepared to find an exit and run before he could see me. But he held on. His grip was firm but not insistent. I could’ve wrenched out of it if I’d really wanted to. I didn’t want to.

  His chest expanded against mine in a deep sigh, which turned into a soft growl at the end. “I don’t understand this. We’ve been getting to know each other for weeks. I’ve told you things . . . I don’t care what you look like, Mena. I like you—your mind, your sense of humor, how you feel in my arms. What is the big deal? Why won’t you tell me who you are?”

  I smiled sadly at how direct he was being. It was incredible to know he felt this connection between us just as strongly as I did.

  But he’d been hanging out with Jayden and his friends more and more. I’d seen Steph and Bonnie hovering around him, giving him flirty looks. He was falling into the worst possible group, and I wasn’t sure if it was too late.

  “I’m sorry, Turner. I know this is frustrating for you. But once you find out who I am . . . it’ll change everything.”

  “No.” He squeezed me. “It’ll change nothing. At least not for me. Are you really that insecure about your looks?”

  “Yes. No. Argh!” This time I did push out of his embrace. My hands dropped to his waist, my body unwilling to separate from him completely, but I needed some space to breathe. He smelled so damn good; I wanted to give him whatever he wanted so I could continue to bury my nose in his chest and breathe in that warm fresh-rain scent. “It’s not just about that. There are things you don’t know. About me. About this school. I . . .”

  “So tell me. Why can’t you just be honest? Haven’t I earned your trust?”

  And just like that, I remembered why I’d been questioning everything in the first place.

  “Don’t act like I’m the only one keeping secrets, Turner. You can’t demand honesty if you’re not willing to give it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice rose a little in pitch. He was getting frustrated. So was I.

  My heart rate quickened, and before I could chicken out, I blurted, “I saw you yesterday. Talking to Jayden’s little sister.”

  His muscles tensed under my fingers. He went very still, his thumbs no longer rubbing little absent-minded circles against my shoulders.

  “How much did you hear?” The ocean-smooth quality that made me want to sink into his voice was gone—this smoothness was like glass. Sharp and deadly.

  What the fuck had I been thinking locking myself in a dark place with a guy I suspected was . . . doing something to sweet, innocent little Jenny? I was a fucking moron.

  “Nothing. I hardly heard a word, and I only saw you guys talking for, like, two minutes.” I removed my hands from his sides and took a step back, mentally calculating if I was closer to the door that led to the gym or the one that led outside.

  “Shit.” He sighed, and his hands found my hips. “You sound fucking terrified. I’m sorry. Please . . . I didn’t mean to be so intense. I just . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  He sounded genuine, but he hadn’t answered my unasked question. What the fuck was he doing with Jenny? I put my hands on his arms, ready to push him off if I had to, fighting the urge to pull him closer.

  “What was that about then?” I asked. “I didn’t hear much, but that girl looked fucking terrified.”

  “I know. I didn’t put that look on her face. Trust me.”

  “Never trust someone who says trust me.”

  He chuckled, and it turned into a groan. “I can’t really tell you much more about that situation—the secrets are not . . . it’s not just my story to tell. But I’m trying to do something good. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?” My nails dug into his forearms. She’d defended him when I confronted her. Was it possible the fear in her eyes wasn’t of him but for him?

  “Maybe. I promise I’ll tell you the full story when it’s all over. And I hope that will be sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I have to ask you to trust me. Trust that I’m doing the right thing.”

  My gut was telling me I could. The idea of Turner doing something malicious was so discordant with the guy I’d gotten to know. It just didn’t fit.

  And Jenny had defended him.

  He hadn’t threatened me or even raised his voice. He hadn’t demanded I keep my mouth shut. He was just asking me to trust him.

  I decided to take a leap of faith and do just that.

  “OK, I’ll trust you, but I’ll be keeping an eye on Jenny.”

  He released a heavy breath. “That
would be amazing, actually. I can’t be around twenty-four seven, and knowing she has another person I trust in her corner actually makes me feel a lot better.”

  I dragged my hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “But you have to trust me too. I know it’s frustrating for you, but I need you to trust that my reasons for keeping my identity secret are not frivolous. I just need time. I’ve been my true self with you in every other way, I promise.”

  “I believe you. I’ll try to be patient.” He pulled me flush against his chest and kissed me on the forehead, his lips landing off-center, as he couldn’t see me.

  But I could feel him. Every hard muscle pressing against me. His strong arms holding me, making me feel safe, even after I’d felt scared just moments ago.

  “Did we just have our first fight?” His shoulders shook under my hands with quiet laughter.

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “Aren’t fights something couples have?”

  “Is that not what we are?”

  “Oh . . . uh . . . you’re not seeing anyone else?”

  “You are?” He suddenly sounded a little worried, a little unsure. “I mean, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

  “Good. Neither am I.” Not that I had any other options. He was it for me, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. But he had girls all over school hanging off him. There was no question he’d been asked out several times already. Had he said yes to any of them?

  “Good.” A smile warmed his voice, and his hands started rubbing small circles on my lower back.

  “Are you sure about this? You don’t know what I look like.” I couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure.

  “I’m not falling for your looks, Mena. I’m falling for your personality. And this fine body.” He gave me a squeeze on the hips, his strong fingers only just digging into the area above my ass.

  I laughed and dropped my forehead to his shoulder.

  “Now, since we’ve survived our first fight”—his low words reverberated through my chest—“we really should make up.”

  “Oh?” I smiled into his shirt, then tilted my head to speak just beneath his jaw. “And how do you propose we do that?”

  I punctuated my suggestive question with a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck.

  His voice was as breathy as mine when he answered. “I have a few ideas.”

  I kissed him again, a little higher, getting drunk on how his arms tightened around me every time my lips connected, how his breathing grew shallower. Emboldened by his reaction, I did something I’d been daydreaming about since I got a good look at him—I darted my tongue out and licked his jaw. Just a little lick right under his ear.

  He exhaled sharply and turned his head, his lips searching for mine in the dark. I tipped my face up and met him halfway.

  We kissed as if we were reuniting lovers, back together after being unsure we’d ever see the other again—tongues tangling, hands tugging at clothing. The bell rang as we started to back toward the rear wall of the room, neither of us willing to break the kiss. My back connected with the stack of gym mats, and Turner smacked one hand beside my head for balance as he leaned his body flush against mine.

  He pulled his delicious lips away and croaked against my burning cheek, “We should get to class.”

  “Fuck that.” I managed to get my hands between us and pulled the zipper of his hoodie down, stroking his chest and hard abs all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. He groaned as my hands slid under his T-shirt, my thumbs rubbing those hipbones I’d been at eye level with in the library.

  Just like that day, I had the urge to kneel down and lick them, but I settled for copping a good feel. I’d never given anyone a blow job—I wasn’t sure I was ready for that—and getting on my knees and licking that general area was sure to lead to a dick in my mouth.

  Instead, my hands ghosted up his back, drawing him against me. The discordant thud of basketballs on polished wood only just registered—a gym class was starting. I vaguely hoped they wouldn’t need any other equipment.

  Turner kissed me deeply, in smooth, rhythmic strokes of his tongue against mine. His hand went to the back of my head and, finding my hair up in a ponytail, gripped the hair tie firmly and tugged. It stung for a second, and then my hair tumbled down around us.

  He inhaled deeply and broke the kiss to whisper against my lips, “You smell so good. Like strawberries.”

  My response was an incoherent moan. I was beyond words, completely lost in the lust; the heavy, heady feeling low in my belly; the ache between my legs.

  I rolled my hips against his, and his body responded, his hips meeting mine in a steady rhythm.

  “You feel fucking good too,” he growled.

  I forcefully pushed my lips once more against his. I could drown in his voice, find bliss in the gritty quality I’d put there. But I needed his lips on mine.

  I widened my legs, bent my left knee. He took it in his big hand and hooked it over his hip.

  And then I could feel him, his hardness right there, giving me exactly the friction I was craving.

  I moaned loudly. Too loudly.

  The sound bounced off the walls, reminding me where we were. My sudden rush of adrenaline only added to the heady cocktail of pleasure already coursing through my veins.

  Turner started kissing and licking my jaw, his mouth moving down toward my neck as his hand traveled up my front. He caressed my breast over the fabric of my T-shirt, his hand almost completely covering it, while our hips kept up a steady rhythm.

  Then he was pushing up under my T-shirt, pushing my bra out of the way so he could fondle me skin-to-skin.

  He groaned into my mouth, the sound going straight to my core. Maybe I was ready for a blow job after all—I wanted to hear him make that sound over and over. I wanted to be the one to wrench it from his throat. I wanted all our clothing gone. I wanted a bed instead of the stinky old gym mats at my back.

  Something banged against the door, making us both jump.

  We stopped kissing and froze, only our hips still rocking slightly as we panted and listened, suddenly thrown back into reality.

  “I said no contact, Andrews! How in the hell did you two end up there?” The coach sounded mad but a little amused.

  The class’s chorus of laughter followed, along with a loud male guffaw right on the other side of the door. The door that stood between an entire class of sophomores and Turner and me.

  “Shit.” I pushed gently against his chest, and he removed his hand from my breast. I missed it already. I never wanted to wear a bra again—Turner could just walk behind me, holding my boobs in place with his big, warm hands, all day every day.

  “Since you’re there, grab the orange cones, would ya?” The coach shouted again.

  “Fuck.” This time it was Turner’s turn to curse.

  I adjusted my bra and ran a hand through my hair. Snatching up my bag, I rushed in the general direction of the football-field door and ended up walking right into it, bumping my knee with a grunt.

  “Mena?” Turner hissed into the dark. “Fuck, what are we gonna do?”

  “I’m sorry. I gotta go. Just hide or something.”

  “What?” He sounded panicked, but I was running on pure adrenaline now. I had to get out of there immediately.

  I found the door handle just as the other door creaked open. Thankfully, mine opened inward, blocking me from view as light flooded the room.

  I closed the door behind me and threw my hood up, thanking every deity imaginable that no one was on the football field as I powerwalked away. I’d go to the bathroom to get my shit together and kill more time before my next class started.

  No one—not even Turner—stopped me as I hurried off, and I smiled, my chest heaving. I couldn’t believe we’d gotten away with it. I just hoped Turner hadn’t been busted.

  “Not too dark on the eyes, Philly. I want to look sophisticated, not slutty,” my mom directed me as I started applying eyeshadow to her lids.


  “Eew! Why the hell would I make my mother look slutty?”

  We’d set up at the kitchen table, all my makeup spread out, Mom at my mercy. She’d come home in almost as good a mood as me—declared we’d get Chinese for dinner, but it would be just me and Dad, as she was going to a seminar thing, and could I please do her makeup?

  I took pretty much any excuse to do makeup, so there we were.

  She smiled. “I didn’t mean you’d do it on purpose, sweetheart.”

  “So, you just think I’m shit at makeup,” I deadpanned.

  “What?” She backed away from my brush and opened her eyes. “No, Philomena, I was just trying to crack a joke.”

  I snorted and let my grin burst through. “I know. I’m just messing with you, Mom.”

  She breathed a massive sigh of relief and closed her eyes again so I could get back to work. “I just don’t know these days. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but you get in your moods, and I . . . well, I worry about you sometimes.”

  I paused for a second and looked into my mom’s face, her eyes closed, her chin tipped up. We looked so similar, but her eyes were a little more tired, her lips marred with a few lines. She was still pretty. It didn’t make sense, because I wasn’t pretty. How the hell did that work?

  I got back to work, fighting the urge to tell her everything. The messages, the taunts, the way I was ignored at school, even the few incidents where I’d actually been attacked.

  But then I swallowed around the lump in my throat and shoved down that urge. There was literally nothing she could do. No point in adding further stress to my parents’ already frantic lives.

  “Anyway, you’re in a good mood today.” Mom broke the silence before I could. “It’s nice to see.”

  “Yeah I . . . had a good day.” I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my lips as I thought about what Turner and I had been doing in the storage room just hours earlier.

  Mom cracked one eye open and gave me a sly grin. “I know that smile.”

  “You know nothing, woman. Close your eyes.” I gave her a very serious look, but the smile broke out again as soon as her eye closed.