by Alley Ciz
“What’s the deal with the new chick?” I jerk a chin in her direction, keeping my eyes locked on Arabella to prevent her from picking up on how interested I am. “Saw Woodbridge tapped you to play tour guide.” I slide a palm over the thigh exposed by the hem of her short uniform skirt.
“Ugh, not much.” She pouts her collagen-injected lips. “Her name is Samantha St. James.”
“Like Mitchell St. James?” Duke asks, referring to the hotel magnate who also happens to be his father’s longtime friend and campaign donor.
“Yup.” Arabella twists around to face him, intentionally grinding over my dick as she does. “His marriage a few weeks ago wasn’t the only surprise. Seems he’s also inherited a stepdaughter with his new trophy wife.”
“What’s her real last name?”
“No idea.” This time I get a shoulder shrug, one that rubs her breasts against my chest, in addition to another one of those pouts.
I need to cancel this bitch before she becomes a stage-five clinger.
I finally allow myself another glance and see her hugging Tinsley Warren. Interesting. If they know each other, Samantha must be relatively local since Tinsley is one of the few students who are residents of New Jersey that BA has awarded a scholarship.
With a pat on the ass, I send Arabella on her way, waiting until she takes her place with her minions at the girls’ table.
I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest. A perk of being in charge is knowing Tinsley and her new friend will be passing by our table as soon as they have their lunch. I also know Banks will stop them when they do. He has a fascination that borders on obsession with Little Miss Scholarship.
On cue, the harsh sound of wood scraping against marble hits my ear as he backs his chair into their path, a frown forming on Tinsley’s pretty face when she has to pull up short or risk falling over Banks with her ass in the air. Not that my boy would complain. I would put money on him flipping her skirt up to spank her for the whole school to see if that happened—exhibitionist bastard.
“What do you want, Banks?” Tinsley asks with a heavy sigh.
Banks blatantly checks her out, his gaze lazily running over her body, stopping to linger on the exposed cleavage in the deep V of her uniform shirt and vest, then the expanse of leg between her uniform shorts and knee-high socks.
I can’t blame my buddy for his interest in her; Tinsley is a smokeshow. She has smooth light brown skin and these eyes that are brown but aren’t. She reminds me of that chick who played the witch on that vampire show people were obsessed with years ago.
Unfortunately for her and Banks’s dick, the Unholy Trinity (Arabella and her posse) have deemed her unworthy of our circle due to her lack of net worth.
Like now, though, it hasn’t stopped Banks from looking his fill. Tinsley bristles more the longer he does, the speed of her breathing increasing at the same time she drops her gaze to watch him run a thumb along his bottom lip.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Tinsley?” Banks skims his fingertips up the back of one of her thighs, and she gasps.
With eyes narrowed on where Banks is touching Tinsley, Samantha steps in close. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest you remove it from my friend immediately.”
The cafeteria goes deathly silent. Not even the sound of cutlery moving against plates is heard as everything and everyone comes to a screeching halt. It’s not like she shouted. In fact, the volume of her voice was relatively low and eerily calm. The shift in the atmosphere comes from her challenging the rulers. That doesn’t happen—ever.
Oh, I’m going to have fun breaking this one in. It’s always more enjoyable when there’s a little fight in them.
Banks flips his gaze to me as if to ask How should I handle this? and I give him an I got this nod.
“Listen, sweetheart…” Her shoulders hit her ears at the endearment. Ooo, someone doesn’t like that. “You’re new here, so we’ll forgive the indiscretion, but you”—I bounce my gaze over her body quickly, forcing myself not to get distracted by all the things the guys were pointing out—“don’t tell us what to do.”
I don’t care how tight your pussy might be, baby. I’ll be damned if you think you can undermine my control.
One of her blonde brows rises, and her lips purse as she does her own slower inspection of me. Up close, I can see her eyes are this crazy shade of purple.
I level her with a glare that gets defensemen on the ice shaking in their skates, but not her. Those DSLs of hers tilt up at the corners as if she sees it as a challenge.
I rule this school with an iron fist. No one dares to even pull a prank on BP without running it past me first. This…girl thinks she can step to me? I don’t think so.
“Sa—” Tinsley coughs. “Sam, just forget about it.”
Samantha keeps her body facing mine, angling her chin to glance over her shoulder at Tinsley, some of her silver hair falling forward and obscuring her face from my view. I’m hit with another one of those waves of familiarity. “Tins”—there’s a hint of warning none of the females in this place have ever pulled off quite like her—“tell me this isn’t a common occurrence.”
Tinsley looks down and to the left, her throat working to swallow down the lie anyone can see she wishes she could tell but can’t.
“Fucking hell,” Samantha mutters under her breath. It’s then that she notices Banks still hasn’t removed his hand, and she whirls on him. Lifting a leg, she braces a foot on the chair in the space between Banks’s spread knees and shoves with enough force to have the chair plus two-hundred pounds of jockhole skittering across the floor.
“From now on”—Samantha looks to Banks then to me—“Tinsley is off-limits.”
Outwardly, my only reaction is an arch of a brow followed by the slightest curl to my lips. Inwardly? My muscles seize and prepare themselves for battle. Disrespect, especially from someone in possession of a pussy, will not be tolerated.
It’s been a while since we really needed to exercise our control.
Somebody needs to be taught a lesson. What better place for her to learn from than on her knees?
This should be fun.
CHAPTER 4
Surprisingly, the rest of the day passes by uneventfully, with the added bonus of Tinsley being in a handful of my classes. Yay for small class sizes. *waves one of Tessa’s nonexistent pom-poms*
Being the new girl, I expected to hear whispers and catch the occasional side glance, but after that little scene in the lunchroom, those seem to have multiplied since this morning.
“So…” Tinsley leans a shoulder on the locker next to mine as I switch out the textbooks for the ones I need to take home. Homework on the first day—who the hell does that? “You survived your first day at BA.” The tiny quirk of amusement on her lips tells me all I need to know about how she became friends with Tessa.
“Yup.” I use a little more force than necessary when closing my locker. “Only one hundred and seventy-nine to go.”
Tinsley snorts. “But who’s counting.”
“Me.” I spin on my heel, and we fall into step as we make our way to the exit. “I’m most definitely counting.”
I’m not saying I loved school when I attended BP, but I had my friends, my crew, plans for how this year would go. Now? Not so much.
I was supposed to carpool in every day with Tessa, not be driven in by a driver. We were going to joke as we walked the halls, pass notes old-school style throughout the day during the classes we weren’t in together, and bullshit at lunch.
Our Fridays were supposed to be spent attending BP’s football games—yes, I know I can still do that, but it’s not the same. I’ll miss out on the antics of the players wearing their jerseys to school and hyping themselves up.
The large entrance doors are propped open thanks to the steady stream of students pushing through them. However, the temperature change from the air conditioning to the lingering summer heat of early September is still j
arring. Instantly I feel sweat bead on the back of my neck.
Movement flashes in my peripheral vision, and as I dip my chin to look back over my shoulder, I see the assmonkey and his boys loitering at the top of the stone stairs.
My breath hitches in my lungs, and it has nothing to do with my asthma and everything to do with the way those pearlescent eyes bore into me.
Arabella and her minions are also there, but he pays them no mind as he watches me, one hand hanging from the pocket of his pants by a thumb, the other wrapped around the strap of the book bag slung over one shoulder.
I stop, my foot hovering in the air for a second before I spin to face his glare head-on.
If they think I’m going to fall in line and do what they say just because they run this school, they have another thing coming. They may not know my real last name is King, but they’ll learn soon enough this Royal doesn’t bend the knee.
I bring my hands up to my own bag’s strap where it bisects my boobs, curling my fingers in a strangling hold until my blunt nails dig into the pads of my palms.
Others have started to notice our stare down, and one of his dark brows arches higher the longer it goes on.
His lips are way more shapely than should be fair on a guy; the perfect teardrop in the upper one’s center only emphasizes the square cut of his jaw and the small dimple in his chin.
His body is fit, his broad shoulders stretching the limits of his uniform blazer, the cut of his tailored shirt showing off the way his torso tapers in that sexy inverted V-shape way.
He shifts his weight, the strength in his thighs unable to be disguised by the fine wool covering them as they ripple with the movement. Tinsley mentioned he was a jock, and it shows. It’s a shame he’s such a jerk because he’s fuck-hot.
The blare of a car horn cuts in sharply. When I look toward the offending sound, the flash of light purple has my frown instantly morphing into a grin.
“Bitchy!” Tessa stands in the driver’s seat, draping her upper body over the windshield, high ponytail falling over her left shoulder, a happy-go-lucky smile on her pretty face.
“T!” I squeal and hotfoot it as much as my body physically allows me to. When it comes to my best friend, there are times I feel like I have a personality disorder with the way she pulls a different side out of me that no one else can.
As I run my hand over the eyelashes surrounding the headlights, I pause, my fingers spreading, the purple color of the hood peeking through as I take note of the music blasting from the Jeep’s speakers.
“You are such a smartass, Tessa Taylor.”
“What can I say?” She pushes back, hitting the button on the steering wheel to increase the song’s volume, and starts to swing her arms across her body before snapping them down to her side, imitating the choreography that goes along with the chorus of “…Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears. “My sister taught me well.”
“For not actually being blood-related, you two are scarily alike.” Like their fathers, the next generation of Taylors (Tessa and JT) and Dennings (Eric and Kay, or PF to Tessa) have also formed that ultimate level of friendship.
To most, it’s complicated as fuck, but after years of knowing them, you kind of get used to it.
“Thanks.” Tessa curtsies with a flourish then tosses a drawstring bag, which I barely manage to catch. “Tinsley? Oh my god, I forgot you go here.” She jumps down from the Jeep, places a passing but still smacking kiss on my cheek, and rushes to her teammate in a jumping-around hug.
There are many ways Tessa and I are different, but we both have an I-don’t-give-a-fuck side. T not caring that she is causing a scene with her over-the-top-I’m-so-excited-and-I-can’t-hide-it greetings is one way she shows hers.
Knowing it’s best to let Tessa be Tessa and ignoring the hairs standing on end on the back of my neck, I work my fingers into the cinched top of the bag and pull the sides apart until it opens. Inside I find a pair of cutoff shorts and an If karma doesn’t smack you, I will slouchy off-the-shoulder tee. Guess smartassery wasn’t the only thing Tessa was channeling when it came to her sister today. Looks like we are letting Kay influence our wardrobe, too—though I am a fan of her affinity for funny shirts.
“You brought me clothes?” I ask, already slipping the denim up my legs and under my skirt.
“Didn’t think you wanted to walk around looking like Britney’s music video extra longer than you had to.” It is scary how much we can think alike.
Catcalls and whistles sound from the steps as I lower the zipper of my skirt. I crane my neck and narrow my eyes as I shimmy my hips and let it fall to the ground. There wasn’t anything for them to see, and if they think I’ll be embarrassed by them whooping and shouting “Take it off” and “Give us a show, baby,” they will be disappointed. Instead, I give them my back and shrug out of my jacket.
“Umm…” Tessa’s questioning voice has me glancing her way again and catching sight of Jasper’s narrow-eyed glare boring into my back. As if I had any doubt that was the case. “Did you remember the thing about the bathrooms today?” I more or less have to read her lips since she cautiously drops her voice to a whisper.
Again I flick my gaze up the steps, rolling my lips between my teeth to restrain a smile at the simple yet brilliant prank BP pulled off.
“I feel like I should be surprised you were involved, but I’m not,” Tinsley admits. I give her a simple shrug, neither confirming nor denying participating in the addition of vinyl decals so all the men’s restrooms looked like they were ladies’. It was a minor prank, one that would only confuse freshmen…but I dare you to try to tell me that’s not funny. Keeping a straight face any time I passed one while Arabella gave her tour was a challenge for sure.
Instead, I pull the tee over my uniform shirt, my head popping through at the same time I hear Daniel say, “Miss St. James.” I finish maneuvering my arms through the short sleeves and snake my hands underneath to start working on my uniform’s buttons.
“Oh no, Daniel”—Tessa jumps to greet him before I get a chance—“I completely forgot to tell Natalie I was picking our girl up today.” Lies. T would never clear anything with the Momster. “I feel terrible.” She places a hand on Daniel’s arm and the other over her heart, playing up her nonexistent guilt.
Daniel blinks down at her, eyes wide, expression slack, disarmed and caught off guard by the full force of the Tessa Taylor charm. I have to work to restrain another smile at the spectacle. Tess could charm an Eskimo out of their snow gear and have them smiling through their hypothermia and frostbite. This poor man never stood a chance.
“Now you went and wasted your time that I’m sure is valuable, all because my excitement to see my bestie had me forgetting common courtesy.” Her hand goes to her forehead, ponytail swinging to and fro as she shakes her head. The girl is good at laying it on thick.
“It’s okay, Miss Taylor.” Daniel pats her hand, and I swear to Christ there’s a tear in Tessa’s eye.
“No, no, it’s not.” Yup, there she goes wiping under her lash line. “You know what?” Tessa perks up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “There’s a good chance I’ll be picking her up a lot. Why don’t the two of us exchange digits, and I’ll text you on those days, so you don’t waste a trip?” She holds a hand out to the side, pops a hip out, and tilts her head with the suggestion.
“Umm…” There’s more blinking from Daniel, and now I’m swallowing down a laugh.
“Aww, don’t be shy, Danny Boy.” She pats his arm. “You don’t mind if I call you Danny Boy, do you?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before she barrels on. “I do come from a firefighter family, and there are a lot of Irishmen at the house, and that was kinda my lullaby when I was a baby. Plus, nicknames are sort of a big deal in my family, and I figure since you and I will be becoming good friends with our mutual connection”—an arm flops out in my direction, but her words never slow—“we should probably have them with each other.”
Daniel’s mou
th opens and closes, his impression of a fish spot on as he falls victim to the Tessa Taylor effect.
“T.” This time, I do give in to both my laugh and my grin as I step toward them to save Daniel. “Take a breath and give the man a break.” Grateful eyes blink at me as I tug on my friend’s arm. “I think maybe you need to get decaf when we get to Espresso Patronum.”
The tinkling sound of her musical laughter fills my ears and warms my soul. We head for her Jeep, but not before she successfully exchanges numbers with Daniel (no surprise there).
Espresso Patronum is the most unique coffee house I have ever frequented. The sign out front is done in old-school Broadway marquee bulb lights, with a lighted cartoon to-go cup brandishing a wizard’s wand and adorned with the trademark Harry Potter glasses and lightning bolt scar.
The bright sign is only the start of the shop’s awesomeness. The full glass front makes it easy to see inside the establishment, but that isn’t enough to prepare you for the explosion of color that greets you once you step through the glass door.
I think the best way to describe EP would be if Harry Potter and the Mad Hatter had a baby and that baby’s godparent was a unicorn.
The lights are all different colored upside-down coffee mugs, and the black chalkboard behind the counter is filled in with a rainbow array of chalks.
Tessa skips across the floor’s diamond pattern, only stepping in the black squares and avoiding the whites on her way to the counter.
I let her do her thing, knowing she and Lyle, the owner, will spend a few minutes catching up before we’ll be able to order.
“If we could bottle her energy to sell, we’d be rich,” Tinsley whispers, causing me to laugh.
“You’re preaching to the choir on that one.” I step aside and hold the door for a pretty redhead carrying two coffee carriers before entering, watching her cross the street to enter The Steele Maker, a local MMA gym. There’s a decent-sized crowd thanks to the after-school rush, and I scan for a space with enough available seating for us.
