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PAST
DANTE
There were three of them to my one, but adrenaline had ignited in my bloodstream right along with my temper, so it felt like good odds to me.
Also, I was bigger, meaner, and angrier than all of them put together.
Jock #1 went down like a chump. I'd have bet a good percentage of my trust fund that he'd never even been in a real fight before. He came left, and I blocked him, jabbing under my own upheld arm for a vicious gut punch. Shock overtook his face as he doubled over, the breath whooshing out of him. He was out after that, more focused on his own pain than coming at me again.
Good. Onto the next. Jock #2 wasn't so easy to take down. He was bigger than the last and better at throwing a punch, but it just wasn't enough. He lasted about thirty seconds longer before I brought him low with a brutal fist to the chin.
Jock #3, fucking Reese McCoy, was the best fighter of the bunch, but he also happened to be the one I most wanted to beat the shit out of, so it didn't do him a whole lot of good.
His big mouth had started this.
He got in a few good clocks before I took him down, but I wasn't going to give him too much credit for it. I never was much good at ducking.
Luckily, he wasn't either. I cornered him and started whaling, the sound of each punch barely louder than the blood rushing through my ears.
I used to get into fights for her because they called her trash and tried to hurt her.
It got better for a time as kids started to understand that I wouldn't stand for that, but over one summer her body changed.
She went from being my best buddy—my partner in crime, then boom, she changed shape, she was a girl, and then, right on the tail of that, a woman.
She didn't just get boobs before any other girl in our school. She got fantastic boobs. They were out of this world. Big, perky, pointing right at you, mouth-watering breasts.
And her hips and ass drove me possibly more insane. She became shapely all over, but her waist stayed as tiny as ever.
And her face—it was much the same as the dear face I'd known for so long, but something happened to it, to her pouty lips, her dark, dark, drown-in-me eyes, even her voice changed, got lower, raspier.
She walked into school that year and it was comical to watch the way the boys couldn't take their eyes off her. Even the ones that had been the cruelest to her, the ones that hated her still, couldn't manage to hide their reactions.
Well, it would have been comical if it didn't make me want to kill someone.
A lot of someones.
I'd watched the entire shift, witnessed every minuscule change in her as it happened.
But for the rest of the boys it seemed to happen overnight. One day they all looked at my girl and saw what I saw.
It was not a good year for me. I got into fight after fight, same kids, just calling her different names now. And looking at her. And talking about her. And mentioning her name with the wrong fucking tone in their voice.
The only upside to fighting these days was that kids rarely told. Teenage boys had too much pride to tattle.
And meanwhile, Scarlett didn't even have a clue that she was the sexiest creature on the planet. She'd been a bona fide sexpot at fifteen and completely oblivious to it.
Well, not completely. She seemed to have at least some idea about what she did to me, and she'd had no problem practicing her wiles on me rather ruthlessly for the last few years.
I was a willing lamb to the slaughter. Anything she wanted to do to me I wanted done. I'd lie on my back and let her sharpen her claws on my underbelly as long as she let me look at her while she did it.
I was that far gone.
But she was mine, fucking mine, and only I had the right to think of her that way, let alone speak about her that way.
Which brought us to this fight, and the things I'd caught these punks saying about her in the locker room. They hadn't even been trying to hide it from me, the thickheaded idiots.
We'd just finished football practice. Scarlett had come to watch from the stands, but everyone knew she was there for me. Every single one of these guys knew what was up.
