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“Do it now, or I’m calling the police,” my voice barely shook.
Vicious took a step forward, his face so close to mine I saw the crazy dancing in his irises. His eyes, black like an abyss, threatened to pull me to the dark side. I dug my heels deeper into the grass and balled my hands into fists. My body hummed with adrenaline. This was happening. I was standing up to him.
“I fucking dare you, sweetheart. Go ahead, test me. Actually, I’d love for you to do that. It’ll get you kicked out of your job, and I won’t have to see your sour-ass face every day.”
That was it. I was so pissed that I wasn’t above punching his smug face. I stepped back, fishing out my cell phone from my bag. So what if they fired me? They weren’t going to renew my contract anyway.
A warm, familiar hand stopped me before my fingers dialed 911. “Apologize,” Jaime’s voice commanded.
But the order wasn’t aimed at me.
Vicious tipped his head back and snorted, his straight teeth on full display. “Tanked again, Followhill? Jesus. It’s not even midnight yet.”
“You better do it,” Jaime sing-songed, ignoring the jab, stepping into his BFF’s face. Nose to nose now, their gazes dripped defiance. “Unless you want out of the HotHoles.”
I was baffled, to say the least. Two bullets in less than a month this guy had taken for me. Vicious and Jaime were locked in a stare-down. Vicious glowered under his devilish brows, begging Jaime to let it go—every muscle in his face quivering in anger—but Jaime wouldn’t back down. Finally, after a whole minute at least, it came. Sweet and orgasm-worthy.
“My bad, Greene.” Vicious’s words were sharp and insincere as his shoulder brushed past Jaime’s. He looked like it physically pained him to say them.
As much as his indifferent act sprinkled fear-dust on everyone’s heads at school, he was still mortal. Capable of feeling the loss of his best friend. And Vicious knew the truth. People didn’t like him, not really. They loved Jaime, Dean and Trent. The handsome, funny, wholesome jocks he hung out with.
He needed them.
But something told me that they needed him, too.
“Apology accepted. Now, break this thing up immediately.” I smoothed my blouse, arching one eyebrow and slanting my head to his captives.
“No,” Jaime said firmly, turning around to face me.
I allowed myself to drown in his face, even if for only a second. We were back to acting like a teacher and a student, playing our roles, but I knew those lips which he now rolled inward, probably to suppress words he should never say to his educator. Knew how they tasted and what they were capable of doing under my thin, worn blanket.
“Sorry, Ms. Greene, but you’ll have to sit this one out. This is a team matter. I give you my word, it won’t rub off on you. Someone screwed Trent over.” He shook his head, his lips pinching in annoyance. “We need answers.”
“Mr. Followhill—”
“No,” he said, cutting me off. “You lose.” The last sentence came out soft, and what came after was even softer. “Next time I catch you stalking me from across the road,” he whispered into my ear, close enough for it to look suspicious but not enough for people to talk about it afterwards, “you better come say hi. Better yet, you better show me how much you miss me with your lips, instead of stripping me with your eyes.”
There wasn’t anything I could do about Vicious and his dangerous tricks, and I knew it. The HotHoles always took care of their own. Trent was injured again, and someone had to pay. I had very little power over the students of All Saints, but I very much doubted anyone else, including Principal Followhill herself, would be able to stop them from seeking retaliation.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact with him, I backed down, until I finally turned around and walked back to my parents, who were still waiting on the other side of the road.
“Well?” My mother elbowed me, her eyes shimmering the same healthy curiosity she had about almost every subject matter in the world.
“I took care of it.” I avoided her gaze, pretending to look for something in my bag. Maybe it was my dignity I was looking for. Either way, Vicious had won.
And Jaime helped him.
But not at my expense. And that was something.
That was a lot.
I SPENT THE WEEKEND WONDERING what happened to the poor bastards the Four HotHoles had interrogated at Liberty Park and whether my face-off with Jaime and Vicious would change the pact between me and my fuck-buddy. My fingers tingled to text him and ask all those things, but I knew it was risky.
Was I angry at him? Was the incident a wake-up call, reminding me that we were so different? That he was still a teenager, taking tentative steps toward becoming a man? These were exactly the kind of questions I didn’t want to deal with. No. I was biding my days, clinging to the weekend in the hope distance and time would wash away the fog of lust between us, making room for logic and rationality.
