Page 18 of Outcast

My breaths became shallow, and I glanced down at his empty hands. He’d come unarmed, but a jug of water sat in the middle of my table, something he could upend over my head. And I hadn’t finished my carbonara, which he could use as a weapon of humiliation.

Rita made a pained noise in her throat and curled her shoulders, trying to make herself look small. As much as I wanted to tell her to sit up and stop giving the bullies the reactions they craved, I couldn’t. Doing so would only draw more attention to Rita and make her return to eating sandwiches in her room. Instead, I rolled my eyes and faked a yawn.

After what felt like an eternity, Blake reached our table, pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it. He turned to my friend. “Hello, Rita,” he said in that deep, smoky voice. “It’s nice to see you dining with us.”

She dipped her head and wrapped her arms around her chest.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“I couldn’t help but notice you looking at us. At me, in particular.”

“Can’t a girl admire the paintings on the wall without being accused of lechery?” I drawled.

Blake leaned close, filling my nostrils with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood. “If there is anything you need,” he said in a low voice. “Anything, I’m at your service.”

The rumble in his voice started a tremor between my legs, and I imagined what kind of services a guy like Blake might be able to provide. On my first day, he’d placed his hand on the small of my back and set my libido on fire, then when he’d pulled me into his side, I had become so giddy with desire I might have let him do anything to me in my room. I inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a long whoosh.

Blake’s eyes flashed, and his gaze dropped to my lips. “Is there anything you want?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice breathy.

He leaned close. “Tell me.”

I squeezed my legs together, blanked my mind, and put on my best irritated voice. “How about you go back to your table and stop interrupting my meal? My pasta’s getting cold, and there’s apple pie for dessert. I’d like to finish up so I can do my prep.”

He had the nerve to flinch at my words. I blinked hard at the reaction. Was he so insecure that a rejection could affect him so much? Or was the flinch a ploy to lull me into thinking he was vulnerable?

Charlotte sauntered over with her hands on her hips. “What are you doing with the trollop, Blake? Everyone knows she’s a gold-digging whore.”

Blake straightened. “Trying to ascertain why she keeps looking at us.”

“Actually,” I said in a voice loud enough to carry. “I was curious.”

“About what?” Charlotte snapped.

I tilted my head. “Does Charlotte have bad breath? She keeps wrinkling her nose.”

Her cheeks turned bright red, and she rushed to the next table and grabbed their water jug. Before she could twist around and enact her plan, I leaped out of my seat, snatched my water jug and flung its contents into her face. I miscalculated somewhat, and water splattered over the front of her shirt, revealing a thick, red bra that looked more like a harness.

Titillated laughter filled the room. I stood back and admired my work. It was good to see her humbled for once.

“You bitch!” she screeched.

I raised a shoulder. “Sorry, you looked like you needed cooling down.”

Charlotte threw the water in my direction, but I jumped out of the way, letting it hit my pasta.

“Give up on your stupid campaign.” I placed the jug back on the table. “You’re an annoying little mouse who can’t muster up the style or originality to become a mean girl.”

“Y-you trollop!”

“Says the girl looking like a contestant for a wet T-shirt contest,” I snapped. “Does the guild of hookers make red bras your size, or did you have to order it specially?”

The dining hall erupted into laughter, and the best part was that I knew multiple spectators had recorded Charlotte’s humiliation and would upload it on the Mercia-Net.

Chapter 7

Rita was right. The bullies escalated. Two mornings later, I was washing my hair in the shower, when my scalp felt like it had been doused with acid. Corrosive liquid seeped down my temple and into the seams of my eyelids. I screamed, “Rita!”