by McKayla Box
Fall: A High School Bully Romance
Sunset Beach High, Book 1
By
McKayla Box
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FALL: A High School Bully Romance
Sunset Beach High, Book 1
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019
Cover design by McKayla Box
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
INTRODUCTION
It's not happening again.
It's the first day of my senior year.
Which should be awesome.
Except I'm in a new town.
At a new school.
And that makes me the new girl.
Which is not awesome at all.
And the guy everyone is telling me to stay away from? The one who rules the school, the one who has mountains of money, the one who is drop dead gorgeous, and the one who does whatever he wants?
He's already made me a target, thinking he can pull the new girl into his world by sheer force.
And that's going to be a problem for him.
Because I've been a target before.
And it's not happening again.
WARNING: Fall is the first book in The Sunset Beach High series. It contains mature themes, sexual content, and profanity. If you're not a fan of those things, this isn't the book for you. But if you like serious stuff mixed with lots of bad words and some sweaty sex, THIS IS THE BOOK FOR YOU.
FALL is the first in a four book series...so there's more to come!
ONE
The Asshole is blocking the sun.
I'm lying on the beach on the last day before the first day of my senior year, trying to darken my skin for one more day before school starts. Given that my father moved me to Sunset Beach at the end of my junior year, all the way across the country from my old home in Virginia, I didn't have much else to do. I don't know a single person in town and I'm already anxious about the first day tomorrow, wondering if anyone will even talk to me or if I'll be forced stare at my phone all day in an attempt to not acknowledge the fact that I'm the new girl in school.
But now The Asshole is blocking my sun.
I call him that because he walks like that guy. Chest out, like he owns the beach. He's phenomenal looking and he knows it and he knows the rest of us know it. Everything is easy for him, even walking in the sand.
So I already know he's gonna be The Asshole.
“You're new,” he says.
“To the planet?” I say. “No. I'm not.”
He smiles and his teeth are snow white against his bronze skin and his sun kissed blonde hair. His jaw could cut stone and his eyes are bluer than the ocean behind him. The surfboard under his arms looks nearly as hard as the ripples in his abs.
The Asshole is smoking hot.
“New and funny,” he says. “What a combo.” He turns over his bare shoulder. “Brett, we've got a funny one.”
Brett trudges up sand and plants his board in the sand next to The Asshole. Brett is almost as good looking. An inch shorter, dark hair, green eyes, a chest like a cutting board. Barbed wire tattooed around each of his biceps.
He didn't smile. “Funny chicks are usually pains in my ass.”
“I like funny chicks,” another guy says, coming up on The Asshole's left. “They usually don't think twice about giving it up.”
Third Guy is in a tie for second with Brett for best looking. Shoulder length brown hair, broad shoulders, eyes that matched his hair.
All three of them are wet, having just come from the ocean and their waves. I'd seen them out on the water, envious of how they moved on their boards. I can surf, the result of summer trips to Florida when I was younger, but I'm not that good.
“Where you from, New Girl?” The Asshole asks.
“Not sure it's any of your business,” I say.
His smile darkens just a fraction. “You're kind of rude.”
“And you're blocking my sun.”
He jams his board into the sand, standing it on end. “Just trying to be friendly.”
“I think you're doing it wrong.”
Brett leans in. “And I think you're kind of a bitch.”
Third Guy chuckles.
The Asshole just stares at me.
I look around. There are other people on the beach, but not near us. It becomes super clear to me that I'm on my own with the three of them.
And I realize I'm uncomfortable.
But I can't help myself.
“And I think you're a dick,” I say to Brett.
He laughs, like he's heard that a million times. “I'll show you a dick if you wanna see one, honey.”
“Not interested,” I say.
“You will be,” he says.
“You still haven't answered the question,” The Asshole says.
I stare back at him. Jesus, is he good looking. Stop-what-you're-doing-and-fantasize good looking. “I'm aware.”
“It's not a hard question,” he says.
“Maybe she wants something hard, though,” Third Guy says.
I look at him. “Not sure you're up for the job, Champ.”
Third Guy doesn't like that and shuffles closer in the sand. “How about if we see?”
Now, I'm for real uncomfortable. I sit up. I throw my keys and sandals in my bag and stand up.
None of them move, eyeing me like I'm dinner.
“This has been fun, boys,” I say. “But I think I'm going home.”
The Asshole finally takes notice of my beat up surfboard next to my towel. He pushes the edge of it with his sand covered toe. “This yours?”
“What gave it away?” I ask.
He picks it up by the nose, gives it the once over, then lets it fall back to the sand. “It's a piece of shit.”
“Takes one to know one,” I say, picking up my towel and shaking it out.
Third Guy and Brett back up, The Asshole holds his ground.
The Asshole smiles.
My stomach flips, then flops, then flips some more.
Why the hell does he have to be so damn good looking?
“Happy to teach you how to ride,” he says.
His pals snicker.
“I'm good,” I say, picking up my board.
“I think I'll have to be the judge of that,” The Asshole says.
“Good luck with that.”
“I don't need luck, honey,” he says and tilts his head to the side. Drops of water from the ocean glisten on his perfect chest. “I take what I want when I want it.”
I pull my shorts on over my bikini bottoms.
“No need to cover up the show,” Brett says.
“You don't have tickets,” I say, grabbing my bag and picking up my board.
“What a mouth,” Third Guy says. “I wonder if it can do other things besides talk.”
Brett laughs, but The Asshole just keeps staring at me, trying to melt me with those blue eyes.
It's almost working.
“It can,” I say. “But unfortunately for you, it doesn't go anywhere near shitheads.”
Third Guy glowers at me.
The corner of The Asshole's perfect mouth turns upward into something that almost looks like a smile.
But there's something about it that feels m
ore threatening than friendly.
It's ninety something degrees out but suddenly I'm chilled.
I sling the bag over my shoulder. “I wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but I don't like to lie. See you around.”
I turn to go.
“I'm not sure,” The Asshole says.
Against my better judgement, I stop and turn around. “About what?”
“Which view of you I like better,” he says. “The front was outstanding. But turns out the rear is up to the challenge.” He looks me up and down, the corner of that mouth still turned upward. “I'm just not sure.”
His pals laugh, clearly amused by the fact that I'm at a loss for words.
Brett holds out a fist to The Asshole. “Well done, Trevor.”
Trevor bumps fists with him, but keeps his eyes on me.
The Asshole's name is Trevor.
TWO
“Presley! Are you about ready?”
Fuck no, I'm not ready.
It's the next morning and I'm standing in front of the mirror, trying to convince myself that I'm ready for the first day of my senior year at a new high school. I've braided my long brown hair and pulled on the yellow linen tank top and my favorite denim skirt. I spent an extra twenty minutes on my makeup, trying to make sure it looked like I didn't spend an extra twenty minutes on my makeup. Silver sandals on my feet.
I look good and if it had been the first day back at my old school, I would've at least felt like I knew what I was doing. I would've been driving to school on my own, stopping at the coffee shop on the way to school, getting my drink, and praying that my last year wouldn't suck as bad as my first three years did.
Instead, I am hiding in my room, avoiding my dad's pleas to come out so he can drop me off at his paralegal's house so that woman's daughter can drive me to school.
Have I mentioned I've never met this girl?
“Presley!” he yells. “We gotta go!”
“I'm coming,” I say.
I sigh, check the mirror one last time, and grab my backpack. I throw it over my shoulder and look at the mirror again.
“Please don't let today suck,” I say.
My father is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He's wearing a dark navy suit, light blue shirt, and a red tie. His dark hair is flecked with gray and he's good looking for a dad, according to my friends. My mother, however, thought that the lawyer she worked for was better looking, so she left him and moved to Washington.
So it's me and my dad and that's okay most of the time. He tries, but he's also busy trying to get his new law practice off the ground. The reason we moved to Sunset Beach from Virginia was because he was able to snag one giant client and it would mean steady work for the next two years. The client lives in Sunset Beach and he wants to be near him for meetings and stuff like that. He pitched it to me as living near the beach and all the fun we'd be able to have, but I knew that any fun that I found would be most likely on my own.
But it's still way better than living with my mom.
And I'm hoping it'll be different for me here.
He looks up at me. “We're going to be late, Pres. Come on.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Did you eat?” he asks.
“No, I'm fine,” I say.
“You can grab a granola bar or something.”
I shake my head. “I'm fine.”
He smiled. “Senior year. Are you ready?”
“Nope.”
“Come on, it'll be good.”
“Sure,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
He sighs and we head to the garage to climb into his green Audi Q5. My dad has money. He just wants more of it. He lost some of it in the divorce, but he's determined to make it all back and then some. We live in a great house six blocks from the ocean now and I don't have to worry about much.
Other than having friends my senior of high school.
“Claire's daughter said she was happy to take you,” he explains as we drive. “I just thought that might be better than showing up alone on the first day.”
“Okay.”
We stop at the red light and he looks at me. “You look great.”
“Thanks.”
There's an awkward pause.
“I know this is all hard, but it'll be okay,” he says. “You just have to give it a chance. I know you miss your friends. But did it suck to spend the last two weeks at the beach?”
Well, I didn't really have friends to miss, Dad, because I was loner there.
“No,” I say. “It was good.”
“Your tan looks good anyway.”
I don't say anything and the light changes to green.
The car lurches forward.
“I appreciate you doing all of this, Pres,” he says. “You could've made it harder on me, but you didn't. I know it's not the plan you had, but thank you for giving it a chance.”
I'm not sure I had another choice.
Claire's house is five minutes from ours, a cut yellow bungalow with a perfectly cut yard out frond and roses of nearly color beneath the front window. A gleaming white Mini Cooper is idling in the driveway and I can see a shadowed head inside of it.
“That's Bridget there,” my dad says, pointing at the car. “Claire texted me and said she'd be in her car, waiting.”
My stomach ties into one gigantic knot. “Okay.”
My dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “It's gonna be great. It'll feel like you've been here for forever before you know it. I promise.”
I pick my bag up off the floor. “I know. You're right. I'll see you tonight.”
“I'll probably be late,” he says. “So don't worry about dinner for me.”
I get out of the car and stare at the Mini idling in the driveway.
All kinds of awkward.
I close the door, give my dad a half wave, and make the death march over to my ride.
THREE
I'm not sure what I'm expecting, but Bridget isn't it.
I peer in the window of the car and she's looking over at me, smiling. She reaches over and pushes the door open.
“Presley?” she says. “I'm Bridget.”
“Hey,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“If you get in now, we've still got time to get coffee on our way,” she says. “If you like coffee?”
It's like I've been given a lifeline.
I slide into the seat. “I would love coffee.”
She laughs. “I can barely function without it.”
Bridget is knock out gorgeous. Jet black hair to the middle of her back, a tight red v-necked T-shirt with perfect curves underneath. Denim shorts that show off her long legs. She smells like the roses in her front yard.
“I appreciate the ride,” I say as we back out. “I know this is weird.”
“Please,” she says, eyeing the mirror. “Can't imagine having to do the first day at Sunset Beach on your own, particularly senior year.” She smiles again. “This way I can point you in the right directions so you don't waste your time going in the wrong ones.”
“That would be awesome.”
“Don't be offended by this,” she says. “Are you a cheerleader?”
“Um, no.”
“Thank fucking Jesus,” she says, slapping her palm against the steering wheel. “I mean, you're kinda hot and all put together, so it can be hard to tell.” She glances at me. “Rule number one at Sunset is that the cheerleaders suck ass.”
I laugh. “Isn't that the way it is everywhere?”
“Pretty much,” she says, nodding. “And I'm just warning you now. You are gonna be fresh meat. Asshole football players are gonna flock as soon as we hit the lot.”
“Asshole football players,” I says. “So two things are the same everywhere.”
She holds up a fist. “Word, girlfriend.”
I bump her fist with mine and my stomach starts to unclench.
As she drives, she fills me in on teachers and classes and other kids and what to expect. She doesn't ha
ve to tell me all of this, but I'm relaxing by the second as we go. We pull into the drive thru of a place called Seaside Coffee and she orders two large iced coffees.
She might be my soulmate.
By the time we get to the school, I'm almost nerve free.
She whips the Mini through the parking lot and jerks it to a stop right in front of a painted parking stall. She points to it. “See that? They auction parking spots to seniors at the end of junior year and then you get to paint your spot. This is mine.”
“That is awesome,” I say, looking at the pink and yellow sunset painted over a very blue ocean. “You did that?”
“I did that,” she says, proudly. “And no one else can put their ass in this spot all year.”
She pulls into the lot and we get out. The lot is nearly full and clusters of other kids are walking toward the concrete and glass building.
“What are you doing tonight?” Bridget asks.
“Tonight? Nothing. My dad has to work late.”
She grips my elbow. “Perfect. There's a back to school night down at The Hump.”
“The Hump?”
“Place down by the beach,” she says. “You're coming and I can show you.”
“I don't know if--”
She squeezes my elbow. “You're coming, Presley.” She stops walking and looks me right in the eye. “Look, when my mom asked if I could give her boss's daughter a ride because she was new, I thought you might end up being some little troll that didn't speak or, even worse, a cheerleader.” She smiled. “But you're not. I know this has to suck, but I can make it suck a little less. So you're coming tonight.” She pauses. “Where's your phone?”
I pull it from my hip.
“Give me your number,” she says, whipping hers out. “So I can find you during the day and see how you're doing. And meet me here at twelve for lunch. It's open campus and we'll go get burgers. Cool?”
She was taking care of every first day worry I had. I mean, I never went to a single party back in Virginia and now she's invited me to the first one of the year and making sure I'm not solo for lunch.
