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Jaime didn’t follow me.
We’d both fucked up and had nothing to say to each other.
That day, I cried for all the years I hadn’t cried. Buckets of tears. They were salty and sad and desperate.
They all tasted weird.
They all tasted like him.
JAIME DIDN’T COME TO OUR apartment that day. He didn’t call. Not surprising, considering I’d reduced him to a short fling. After continuously pushing him away. After telling him he should move to Texas. After bitching about his best friend.
I wasn’t a good girlfriend.
Nurturing wasn’t my nature. I was sewn together with tattered patches of consuming ambition and shattered dreams. Up until now, I had been stupidly proud of that. Proud that I didn’t let mundane things like love or a man consume me.
But now, when my heart hurt like it was butchered into miniscule pieces, I realized what I was missing out on. Even the pain felt sweeter under the haze of love.
The next day, I showed up to teach Lit, and I was considering suicide by halfway into my third class of the day. The warning had been lifted by Jaime, and my students no longer played nice with me. They laughed, screamed, and talked back. Even more than before, it seemed. My last hour was the worst. Dean and Millie were silent, but Trent Rexroth went the extra mile and fingered Keeley, who sat next to him, under his desk, all while keeping a straight face and talking about the future of the Raiders with Vicious extra-loudly.
Asking Trent to put his hands where I could see them only drew more attention to him and the chick he was making out with, and I heard snickers when I turned my back to produce a book from my bag, probably because he shoved his tongue into her throat the minute he left my line of sight.
It was hell, and it was exactly where I deserved to be.
Jaime wasn’t in class, even though it was the last time I would have taught him. It only confirmed what I already knew: Trent did what he did on purpose, and on Jaime’s behalf.
They all hated me.
My heart sank in disappointment. I tried to concentrate on teaching, but my mind kept drifting to him.
I’d fucked up.
I didn’t even give him the chance to explain after the meeting with his mom. Just naturally assumed he’d betrayed me. But it was Jaime. Jaime never betrayed anyone. He stood by those he cared about. Even by Vicious…
Vicious.
When the bell rang, I rose from my seat, piercing Jaime’s BFF with my eyes.
“Baron.” I signaled him to come closer.
He snorted but did as I asked. The classroom had already emptied, leaving just the two of us sizing each other up suspiciously.
“Where’s Jaime?” I asked, rubbing my tired eyes. I didn’t sleep much last night.
“The fuck do you care?” He tucked a cigarette between his lips, lighting it in class casually. “You keep tabs on all your flings?” he mumbled, the cigarette between his lips.
Someone was bitter.
“I need to talk to him,” I said, ignoring the jab.
“Am I stopping you?”
“Tell me where he is.”
He shrugged. “I’m not his goddamned secretary. Call him.”
“He won’t pick up,” I cried in annoyance.
Vicious slid his thumb across his cheek with the hand that held his cigarette, deep in thought. “Yeah, he won’t.” His voice was chillingly flat. “He’s at my house. Sulking like a little bitch. I’d invite you over to cheer him up, but I’m not sure if you wanna give him a lippy rant for saving your ass or a blow job for fucking up.”
“I need to talk to him.” The urgency in my voice scared me. The need to make this right was overwhelming. I just wanted us to work this out.
“I’m not him.” Vicious’s lifeless eyes held mine, sucking me in. “I don’t do forgiveness, so if you hurt him again, the outcome will be devastating. To you.”
Gulp. “I just want to fix this, Baron.”
“My name is Vicious,” he growled.
Goddammit. This kid.
“Let me see him. I promise, my intentions are good.”
The HotHoles’ brotherhood was almost touching, if it weren’t for the fact that these boys had way too much power. Over me. Over this town. Over everyone.
Vicious tilted his head to the door, and I followed him to his brooding stone and brick mansion, my Ford stalking his Mercedes.
It was the longest journey I ever had to take, other than my flight back home from New York and Julliard.
But it was the shortest trip to insanity. My love was madness.
And I was ready to fight for it.
HE WAS IN THE POOL. In the goddamn fucking pool. Doing laps. His long, lean sculpted body shooting like an arrow from one end to the other. I stood over the edge, not sure if I wanted to jump his bones, apologize, or yell at him. When he raised his head from the azure waterline, dark blond locks raining water drops over his perfect face, my thighs clenched.
