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“After school, Reynolds. Practice, at our usual spot.” He points at me, spins on his heel, and takes off, leaving me stuck with a clingy Lucy.
Useless fucking twat of a mate he is!
Lucy flips her long brown hair and sticks out her lower lip, pouting and trying for sexy. As hot as she is, it’s not working, it never works.
“Adam, I was hoping we could meet after school.” She trails her nails up my arm and grips my bicep tightly, going for a display of ownership that only manages to make me angry.
I reach up to carefully pry her fingers off of me, resisting the urge to grimace. Gotta keep that happy, smiling façade for everyone so no one realizes what a fucking disaster my life is.
“Can’t, you heard Dax. I’ve got plans.” Dismissing her, I duck into the classroom and leave her standing alone and infuriated.
Lucy knows I don’t do girlfriends. Most of the girls I’ve been with know that and seem to be okay with it. You get me once, that’s it. I don’t do attachments, that way there’s no disappointment when they inevitably let you down. The problem is that I always stay friends with them afterwards. It’s my nature, I think, to be overly nice. Probably because I’m afraid of becoming my dad. A cold, violent, unfeeling bastard.
With a sigh, I shove my hand through my hair and make my way to the last row of desks. First period always seats us alphabetically for attendance, so you don’t get to choose your seat. I drop into the chair behind Jeffrey Owens, a weird kid that I’ve sat behind for the last two years, and throw my bag on the miniscule desk.
Not yet five minutes into the term and I’m already bored and twitchy. I yank out my notebook and begin sketching. It’s just a random design, sort of like tribal artwork, all black swirls and jagged edges. Ever since I saw some massive Samoan guy on the street covered in similar tattoos, I haven’t been able to get the design out of my head.
“That’s lovely. Are you an artist?”
Jesus! I jerk back at the voice, slam the book closed, and shove it in my bag. I don’t show anyone certain drawings, not even Dax. They’re too personal. Scowling and annoyed, I look up to see a gorgeous, pale girl with wavy blonde hair staring at me expectantly with her wide blue eyes. She’s literally breathtaking.
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And I turn into the world’s biggest tosser.
“No,” I bark rudely, embarrassed to have been caught doing something so private.
The beautiful girl’s cheeks redden from my outburst, deep crimson slashes hiding the small freckles that dot her tiny nose.
“Sorry. I just… I think you’re sitting in my seat.” Her soft voice wavers, as if she’s about to cry. She starts chewing on her thumbnail nervously, staring at her shoes so she doesn’t have to look at me.
What a knob head I am, shouting at some random girl. I don’t say anything as I grab my backpack and stand up. Hesitant, I look around the room, unsure where I’m supposed to go. I always sit behind Owens and his manky brown hair.
“Mr. Reynolds, you’re behind Miss Palmer now.” Mr. Graham, the first period teacher, walks over with his clipboard and gestures to the seat behind the new girl. “Sharma, move back one,” he says to Prescott, an Indian kid who sits behind me.
Great. I trade nods with Prescott and slump into the newly vacated chair, stuck staring at the back of the new girl’s head. Her long golden hair brushes against the edge of my desk whenever she fidgets, which is often.
“Hello gorgeous.”
Ugh! I cringe at the sound of Callum Murray’s obnoxious voice. Sliding my eyes over to him, I watch as he leans out of his chair and across the aisle towards the new girl, a disgusting leer on his face. “I’m Callum, and you’re not from around here.”
It takes a lot to keep my expression neutral and not show how furious his words make me, even though I’m an expert at controlling my features to hide my emotions.
No shit she’s not from around here stupid, besides looking high class and polished, her accent is all public school proper and zero East End cockney.
“No, I’m not. I’m Ellie. Ellie Palmer.” She turns to face Callum and her hair swishes over my desk again, sending a wave of vanilla shampoo my way. The scent hits me hard, luscious and sweet, which makes my dick twitch in my jeans.
Jesus, I’m such a bastard. Getting a stiffy for the new girl right after almost making her cry.
Despite my best intentions to not be an arsehole, I’m dreaming up the many different ways to charm my way into Ellie’s knickers when I hear Callum speak again. “Well, I’d love to show you around. What’s your next subject? I can walk you there.”
He gives her a lecherous smile that makes me want to bash his teeth in with my history book. I’ve heard about his ‘walks’ and I know damn well that his idea of showing her around is to corner her somewhere alone and force her into things she might not be willing to do. Unfortunately, Ellie doesn’t. The girls are always too afraid to call the authorities, so he gets away with it time and time again.
Studying her profile, I watch as her face reddens again and she gives that bastard Murray a smile. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
Ellie turns back to the front of the room and focuses on our teacher, bringing another soft gust of vanilla my way. She’s so focused in fact, that she doesn’t notice when Callum’s prick of a best mate, Ryan Mason, gives him a knowing look and smirks. It’s the kind of look that lets me know Ellie Palmer is in way over her head.
Purchase Incite — Adam
