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He raises a brow, a lazy smirk breaking over his face. “Is that so?” Ace leans closer, his big body shadowing mine. “Because I could’ve sworn I felt your tight little body hot and needy beneath me the other night after I taught your boyfriend a lesson not to touch what’s mine.”
People are watching. I feel their licks of curiosity brushing up against me.
“Ace.” It’s a growl on my lips. “Whatever game you’re hoping to pull me into, just stop.” Please. The word teeters on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.
“Mr Jagger, please give Miss Tann
er some room.”
“But she smells so fucking good,” he drawls, causing the room to break out in uneasy laughter.
Anger zips up my spine. The kids of Sterling Prep don’t need any more excuses to make my life difficult, and yet, whether he realizes it or not, Ace is handing them all the ammunition they need.
“Mr Jagger.” Triskin sounds pissed now, his face burning with indignation. “This is your last warning before I remove you from my class.” Silence falls over the room and Ace does nothing more than stand up and saunter toward the door.
“Change of plan,” he says to a wide-eyed Triskin. “I’m hungry,”—his eyes lock on mine, setting off a wildfire in my veins— “and this shit is boring.”
And just like that, he walks out.
Taking my final shred of dignity with him.
“Remi, wait up.” I turn to find Hadley walking toward me. She’s in her blue and white cheer outfit, her honey-blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and her face made up to perfection.
I don’t know whether I envy her or despise her.
Her expression falls flat, and I know I’ve done a crap job of hiding my disdain. “Sorry, I know...”
“It’s fine," I say. "I get it.” She had no choice to be on the cheer team, the same way I had no choice about being here.
Hadley’s smile returns. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay? I heard Ace cornered you in English.”
“News sure travels fast.” It was only lunch.
“They’re the talk of the school. Conner is in my math class. He seems funny. Although he did do this thing with a pencil that Mr Faiman did not appreciate.”
The hallway grows restless, everyone pointing and staring at something. I crane my neck around Hadley and let out a groan. Bexley and the football team are making their grand entrance. Kids start calling out, cheering on their beloved Seahawks.
“Get ‘em good, Bex,” someone yells, inciting another round of raucous cheers.
Bexley’s face is a mess. There’s tape across his nose and dark purple bruising around both eyes. But in his blue and white jersey, it only makes him look the part.
“Holy shit, he looks ready to kill.”
Bexley Danforth is your all-American guy, a trust fund baby born into a world of privilege and power. He doesn’t have to work for a single thing; it all lands right at his feet, gift-wrapped with a bow. As if that isn't enough, the football gods themselves have blessed him with a record-breaking throwing arm. He's one of the best quarterbacks in the state.
And he's looking at me like I kicked his favorite puppy.
“Hads, Remi,” he greets us as his teammates spill around him.
“Hey, Bex,” Hadley says. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
I shoot her a look that says, ‘please don’t’, but she’s already gone, disappearing into the sea of kids all headed to lunch.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him.
“Not as much as it’ll hurt Jagger when we get him back,” he grinds out.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Going after Ace, I mean.”
