Based on Principal: Fanboys Book 3

by Johnston, Marie

  “Yes,” she grumbled. As she slowly skated the perimeter of the gym, the crowd cheered. She grinned and waved, but she couldn’t hide the tension in her face from him. She was hurting.

  Thriller Killer faced him, her bright blue eyes serious. “Can you pull up to the door? I’ll walk her out after we get her things. And try to talk some sense into her.”

  “Good luck. Is there a door by the locker rooms that’s closer?” He got directions and jogged out to his vehicle.

  The night wasn’t ending how he’d planned, but if he hadn’t come, who would she have had to help?

  * * *

  Natalia leaned her head against the headrest of Chris’s car and suppressed her groan.

  It wasn’t the dull throb of her brain getting rattled, but the rest of her. Too bad Thriller Killer had only given her an ice pack for her head.

  “I wasn’t knocked out.” She sounded whiny. But she was allowed to. She was sweaty and her paint was streaking. Her tights hadn’t had a long life expectancy, but they were toast after that fall. A huge rip went from her knee to under her shorts.

  “You’ve mentioned that a time or three.” Chris’s deep voice was a verbal massage her entire body felt. It’d been a month since they’d seen each other and three weeks since she’d last talked to him on the phone. She’d counted every day.

  What was he doing at the game?

  Oh. Jaycee was with her grandparents.

  She snuck a peek at him out of the corner of her eye. It was worth the twinge in her temples to see his profile. Borderline shaggy hair spilled over his forehead and his lips were in a stern line. The concentration he aimed at the road sent her nerves stumbling over each other. The face he gave the rest of the world was congenial, aloof at times. Always easygoing. But he could be intense and focused at the best of times.

  This wasn’t the best of times and he was still hot.

  He glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”

  “No different than the last time you asked.” She shifted the ice pack off her head and set it on her shoulder.

  “That player had it out for you.”

  “Yep. I’d swear she was bought off by one of the students, but no one knows I play.”

  He flashed a smile at her joke. “Is her thing to go after the noobs?”

  Natalia nodded, pleased that her head didn’t start pounding.

  “What would you have done if I wasn’t there?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the day? As if she hadn’t been panicking about facing the medical gauntlet on her own until she realized she could refuse treatment.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Why are you so secretive, Natalia? I don’t get it. I mean, I get your job. But with your whole life?”

  “How do you know I’m secretive outside of work?”

  “Do your parents know about cosplay and derby? Ms. Branson?”

  “Ms. Branson’s an employee, so no. And no, my parents don’t know.” Her mom’s reaction would be ten times worse than when Natalia had joined the Star Trek club as a senior. Natalia had meant to stick it out, but when the car had gotten taken away and her bank account suspended, she’d submitted.

  Clubs based on fiction are useless in our nonfictional world.

  Thanks, Dad. It was one of her first lessons in keeping her private life top secret. She needed to be taken seriously for the stellar work she did, not the hobbies she enjoyed.

  Chris’s house came into view. A welcome sight. She’d prepped for a long night of ice and acetaminophen in her empty townhouse, but Chris’s home was so much more…homey.

  She’d rather not talk about her nonexistent social life. “Have you lived here long?”

  “I cashed in a savings account when Jaycee started living with me full time. The place I had before…” He shook his head. “Pretentious condo in the heart of yuppie city. I don’t think one other child lived on the whole block.”

  Well, didn’t that describe her place?

  “My parents moved to Arizona ten years ago,” he said. “Cierra’s apartment at the time was as big as a phone booth. Cierra’s parents live in a mansion that Jaycee can’t paint, color, or get rowdy in, so I thought a traditional home would be better for her.”

  “It’s nice.”

  He chuckled as he pulled into the garage. “Nice. I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

  “It’s more.” He parked and the garage door shut behind them, but she didn’t make a move to get out. “My place is…expensive. Trendy. Contemporary. The only reason I look forward to going home is because my king-sized, deluxe-pillow-top bed is there. And my TV. It takes up half a wall.”

  “Well, let’s get you inside before you remember my TV gets lost in the wall.” He got out and she did the same. “Do you need fresh ice?” he asked as he retrieved her gym bag from the back seat, leaving her bag of gear behind. Her tendency to overpack had worked in her favor for once. It was her first scrimmage and she hadn’t had many practices. Her Valaria costume might be fitted from neck to ankles, but her jam shorts were…short. And her tights managed to show more than they covered. If she hadn’t worn so much padding, she would’ve been blushing down to her knees, and cosplay assassins shouldn’t blush.

  “This baggie is still good, but I could use another pack.”

  Chris unlocked the door and held it for her. “Go on in and get comfortable. I’ll make us something to eat.”

  She slowly picked her away across the garage. Her muscles had stiffened on the ride but were loosening with each step. A bruise on her right side where Lauren PenaltyCall’s elbow had clipped her was aching. It probably felt worse than it looked, but that could be said about her overall appearance.

  “Thanks,” she muttered when she stepped into the house. She meant it. Between her headache and her body aches and feeling like an epic failure for getting taken down by an overbearing brute, her inner Valaria wasn’t even prepared to open an energy bar. “Mind if I use your shower?”

  “Knock yourself out.” He smiled when she quirked a brow at him. Her heart fluttered with that damn twinkle in his chestnut eyes. “Not literally. Why don’t you use mine? Jaycee’s is the first door on the right upstairs, but she’s not a regular cleaner and there’s no counter space left. But I have a small bath off the master bedroom at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks again.” She trudged for the stairs, not needing directions. They hadn’t made it off the couch last time she was here, but his house was compact.

  Rounding a corner, she stopped. The landing for the stairs was as ordinary as the rest of the house, but the artwork on the walls captivated her. Pain pushed aside, Natalia drifted around the perimeter of the small square, its area the size of a jail cell. Scratch art. Was that what it was called? The private schools and boarding schools she’d attended weren’t heavy in the arts. But it had to be. A solid black background overlaid a colorful palette of reds, whites, and oranges. On another, there were various shades of green, and a third was blues and purples. The hues were unveiled by delicate and deliberate scratches.

  The effect itself was stunning, but the panorama of the three smaller pictures together was the most impressive. Intricate leaf patterns were revealed in the greens. Flowers and petals in the blues and purples, and sunset in the oranges.

  They had to be Jaycee’s creations. The girl had talent.

  Natalia flipped the light on and ascended the stairs. Now that she’d been moving a good few minutes, she wasn’t as sore and welcomed a shower.

  But she stopped at the landing.

  “Holy artwork, Batman.” More scratch art, an obvious favorite of Jaycee’s, but on the second level the drawings were straight from graphic art. Across from Natalia was scratch art in shades of gray, with silver predominant. An artistic risk that worked beautifully because the girl had outlined Batman from the side. He was running and his cape billowed behind him.

  Another was in blues and reds, with a scratched outline of Captain America’s
shield.

  Natalia’s lips quirked at the third. Another orange palette—with Sonic the Hedgehog.

  What if she gave Jaycee a blank scratch art canvas with deep reds? Could she do a full-body profile of Valaria? One of her walking like a badass toward, or even away from, the camera?

  Shaking her head, she ripped her gaze away and scurried down the hall. She couldn’t slip up around Jaycee again. A kid who had served detention and been suspended wasn’t going to be keen on keeping Natalia’s secrets.

  Avoiding peeking into Jaycee’s room was a struggle. She wasn’t a snooper, but Jaycee’s bedroom probably rivaled an art gallery, only way more relatable than the ones Natalia had been to in the past. Her dates had been as boring as the artwork. Jaycee’s work was definitely up her alley.

  If Jaycee and Natalia had been teens together, she would’ve been the girl Natalia’s parents forbid her from ever talking to. Fan art equaled useless trash in their minds.

  Natalia slowed when she got to Chris’s room. It wasn’t because of his—oh my god, was that a Dark Knight pillowcase? She crossed to it. His bedding could put Fifty Shades of Gray to shame; it was contemporary with clean lines. The sheets, though, were an ode to Batman.

  That shouldn’t make him sexier, but it did. Who’d he date that would be turned off by a grown man with superhero bedding?

  She shook her head and scanned the rest of the room, her ponderings swerving to her concern for Jaycee. Natalia’s gaze touched on a full hamper, a matching walnut dresser set that must’ve been from his white-collar career-man days, and closed closet doors. Was Jaycee facing the same attitude from her peers that Natalia’s parents had? Not good enough for my kid.

  She’d have to keep an eye on Jaycee. Many high schoolers were outgrowing the overt bullying of younger kids, but they could be insidious, or worse, not realize how hurtful they were in their comments around others. Too self-absorbed, they’d had empathy trained right out of them. But some were mean just to be mean.

  Taking her bag into the bathroom, she dropped it on the tiled floor and rummaged through her protective pads, makeup bag, and spare pair of tights. She had the sweats she’d worn to the community center but no fresh underclothes.

  Her sweaty sports bra had dried. Uck. She didn’t want to put that back on after she showered. Same with her underwear.

  How obvious would it be to go without? She was a generous B cup but her sweatshirt was fluffy. Good enough.

  It’s not like she would cozy up to Chris close enough for him to find out she wore no underclothes.

  Chapter 8

  Refreshed after her shower and lady free balling it, she went downstairs. The savory smell of grilled bread and butter hit her nose. Her mouth watered. She’d been living off grilled chicken and salad greens all week. They were fast and easy; all she had to do was buy each separate and dump them together with the right seasoning. But that didn’t stop her from occasionally wishing there was something deep fried to accompany her meal.

  “Is that grilled cheese I smell?” she called, making her way to the kitchen. Two plates were on the bar. Each held a couple sandwiches cut in diagonals, just like a restaurant would do—or her nanny. Next to the sandwich were strawberries half the size of her fist and sugar snap peas.

  “Holy carbs, Batman, this looks delicious.” She slid onto a stool. A can of sparkling lime water was waiting by her spot, along with a bottle of acetaminophen. He was either that sweet, or his dad-ness was showing, or both.

  “I figured if you were open to grilled cheese last time, it must be a safe option. And I don’t often find good strawberries this time of year.”

  He sat next to her and they both carved through their meal. By the time she was done, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. It was almost eleven and she’d had a long day.

  Chris must’ve noticed her heavy sigh and long blinks. “Go ahead and take my bed for the night. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Part of her was disappointed that she was at Chris’s and she was going to eat and go to bed. Okay, all of her was disappointed. But she had to be responsible above all.

  She was standing when he said, “Don’t be creeped out if I come up to make sure you’re still breathing.”

  “I don’t have a concussion.” She didn’t think she did. Wouldn’t she feel worse?

  “Medic’s orders.” His gaze dipped to her chest and tore away.

  No bra. Right.

  Her cheeks warmed as she put her dishes by the sink. “Good night, Chris.”

  “Night. Holler if you need anything.”

  She went back upstairs, pausing only briefly this time to admire Jaycee’s work. In his room, she crawled between his sheets and was encompassed by his scent. Fabric softener and shea-butter Suave shampoo. His aftershave was one of her favorite smells, but he must shower before bed. Was he going to use Jaycee’s bathroom?

  She drifted to sleep. Hours later she woke. What time was it? The hallway light was left on and the bedroom door open. She peered at the clock on the nightstand. Two thirty in the morning. Enough time for her ibuprofen to wear off, and the acetaminophen she’d taken with supper was flagging.

  Swinging her feet down, she waited for the pounding in her head to swell, but it stayed at a dull throb. The pain was only a four on a scale of ten, but it was enough to keep her achy body from falling back asleep.

  She made her way downstairs, wincing each time a stair creaked. The old house’s groans weren’t as noticeable when people were up and moving around. In the middle of the night, she might as well shout “I’m awake and coming down.”

  A groggy and blinking Chris rounded the corner by the landing. His hair was disheveled. Her hand twitched to run through the silky strands. He wore the same lightning bolt T-shirt but had changed into black basketball shorts. She half expected a Bat-Signal on the ass, but he wasn’t as overtly fanboy as she could be. She liked the subtlety of his interests.

  “Hey, what can I get you?” His sleep-roughened voice was deeper. Instead of being tired and wanting to go back to bed, she wanted to hear him talk more.

  “I just wanted some acetaminophen and maybe a glass of OJ if you have it. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He started for the kitchen. “I’ll grab it and bring it up.”

  She watched his broad back as he puttered through the kitchen. Giving herself a mental shake, she turned and went back upstairs. The bed was still warm, almost too warm with her sweats. She stayed sitting up but left the covers off.

  He appeared down the hall and headed her way, a glass in each hand. The flutter in her stomach was undeniable. Her own superhero in basketball shorts. He had nice legs. The muscles in his quads and calves bunched and flexed with each step. Basketball does a body good.

  Did he still play, or had he traded the ball and hoop for comics and capes?

  Playing probably didn’t hold a place in his life while running a business and raising a kid. Yet he’d gotten a full ride at Preston. What good did that do him? Had he gone to the same college he would’ve gone to without his Preston Academy pedigree? Had he gotten a full ride for all four years because of his time at Preston?

  He approached the bed and held out the glass of juice. “How was the sleep?” He dropped a pill bottle on her lap that he’d been holding with his glass and drained his drink.

  She downed half of hers before getting two capsules out. “Good. Thanks.” A word she’d been saying around him a lot. She swallowed her pills and polished off her cold drink.

  He lifted her glass out of her hand and set it on the nightstand with his. She froze when he reached over to her to grab the covers. “What are you doing?” With him over her, memories from their evening together bombarded her and her body said to hell with the aches and pains. The pleasure he could bring her was much more desirable.

  He frowned. “Just tucking you back in. Don’t you want the covers over you?” Drawing away like he’d finally noticed his proximity, he released his handful of comforter, but she curl
ed her hands into his shirt.

  “I don’t know if I can go back to sleep.” Really? That was the best she could say when she was preventing him from backing away? Not that he was putting up any resistance.

  “Doesn’t your head hurt?” His voice had dropped low, and even with his face shadowed from the hallway light behind him, his gaze simmered with barely restrained heat.

  Pulling him closer, she whispered, “Not if I’m properly distracted.” When had she sounded so wanton?

  His lips landed on hers and she continued tugging him toward her as she lay back. He kept his weight on his hands and knees as he captured her mouth.

  They both groaned into the kiss. It’d been too long since the last time they’d been together. His weight was a welcome burden and she wore the anti-Valaria equivalent of clothing—baggy sweats.

  He kissed her slowly, as if he was waiting for her to shove him off at any moment. But she wasn’t. Unless he objected, she had no plans to back out. It had been a shitty workweek of arguing with righteous parents and their entitled children, followed by slogging home to an empty house, topped off by getting strong-armed off the track during what was supposed to be an entertaining, lighthearted scrimmage.

  No, the real topping was staring at the asbestos-filled ceiling of the community center, squinting at the low-hanging lights, and wondering how the hell she was going to manage if she had a concussion, an injury that required someone looking out for her.

  Enter Chris. He’d come to her game. It was his weekend without Jaycee and he’d been thinking about Natalia, too.

  She broke from his scorching lips to whisper, “Take my shirt off.”

  He rocked his hips forward, the hard length of him barely restrained by the flimsy shorts. His gaze drilled into her like he was assessing her ability to make such a decision. The blow to her head hadn’t knocked the desire out of her. But resolve must’ve been obvious in her eyes, because he sat back on his knees and rolled the hem of her sweatshirt up.