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“I overheard some guys talking about it. Managed to get them to tell me about it by convincing them that I was totally into them.” She rolls her eyes. “Morons. Then I found the website and saw what this was. I wanted to make sure you knew. God, it’s such fucking bullshit.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” She turns off the tablet’s screen and tucks it into the crook of her arm. Then her face lights up. “Oh, I heard about a school in SoCal where some girl slept with a guy and filmed it or something, then posted it all over the campus. Clearwater U, I think it was.” She grimaces. “But then you’d have to sleep with Gray again.”
I don’t mention that sleeping with Gray wouldn’t be a hardship. Whatever other bad blood might exist between us, sexual chemistry has never been our problem. But it would be a dangerous road to go down, feeding an addiction I shouldn’t have in the first place.
Besides, he already announced to the entire student body that he fucked me. So getting it on tape would probably only feed his over-inflated ego and play right into my reputation as a trashy slut.
“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “Not gonna happen.” My gaze drifts back to the now-dark screen of the tablet, memories of the images I saw on the screen flashing through my head.
Ten thousand dollars cash prize.
A monetary value, a prize, attached to every inch of my skin. Paid for by the man who’s done nothing but fuck with my emotions since the very first day I got here.
“I’m done,” I say shortly, looking back up at Max. Her eyes flicker with fierce excitement as she takes in the expression on my face. “You’re right. This is fucking bullshit. And I’m gonna shut it down.”
Gray Eastwood wants to play? Fine, we’ll play.
13
My opportunity comes sooner than I even hoped for.
On Saturday, there’s a massive party off-campus. It’s supposedly the highlight of the early school year, according to what I’ve learned from eavesdropping in on other peoples’ conversations. Someone from one of the most influential families is always meant to host it, and this year, the gracious host is none other than Gray ‘Motherfucking’ Eastwood.
Max comes over to my dorm on Saturday evening and we get ready together. I don’t own any expensive or super fancy outfits, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. What I’m wearing won’t be the point.
I pick out a hip-hugging short skirt and a tank top, layering them over a lacy black bra and panty set before slipping on a pair of heels. My blue-streaked blonde hair gets pulled up into a ponytail, with a few loose tendrils framing my face, and I take a little extra time with my makeup, applying eyeshadow and mascara like armor.
“You know, this could backfire on you,” Max warns as we climb into her beat-up Toyota. “I still don’t know what the fuck Gray’s problem is with you, but as bad as things are now, he and his friends could probably make them worse. You sure you want to poke that bear with a stick?”
I shoot her a reckless grin. The numbness in my chest has been replaced by a buzzing sort of energy, my heart beating a little faster as my fingers drum lightly over my thighs. “Fuck yes. Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire. Or a bear with a stick.”
She laughs, shaking her head at me before cranking the key in the ignition. The car sputters to life with a reluctant rumble before she pulls out of the school lot.
The ride over is actually nice. Max cranks up the music on the radio, singing along to Halsey’s “Bad at Love” as I lean my head against the window and watch the world slide by outside.
It’s not too long of a drive; we pull up to Gray’s family estate after about thirty minutes.
Max managed to get Gray’s address from one of his football buddies. With all the focus on bullying me, she’s actually escaped most of the hazing scholarship students usually get—something I know she feels guilty about. But it’s not her fucking fault; neither of us asked for the hands we were dealt. And it actually comes in handy for things like this. She’s got her finger a lot closer to the social pulse of the school than I do.
Staring out the window, I have to—begrudgingly—admit that Gray’s place is impressive, a sprawling bungalow nestled up in the hills and overlooking the city. The driveway is already lined with fancy cars, the street packed to the point that we have to pull up several blocks bey
ond the house to park.
“I hope none of these assholes are planning on driving home tonight,” Max mutters as we walk back toward the house. “My car is trash, but if one of them rams into it or something, my dad’s gonna pop a blood vessel.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they all have fucking butlers on call who’ll come pick them up and pull over to let them barf on the way home.”
“Is that what butlers do?” She scrunches up her nose.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
The music was audible even from where we parked up the block, and it gets louder and louder as we walk up the perfectly paved drive.
It’s not even ten, but the party looks like it’s been in full swing for a while. Either that or it doesn’t take Hawthorne students long to completely lose their minds and get wasted.
Not like I can judge—I went to a few ragers with Jared before he left the McAlister’s place. But it kind of amuses me how much these drunk rich kids look like any other group of broke-ass, drunk-ass degenerates they ridicule and mock on a daily basis.
