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“W-what?” She jerks back, as if I’ve physically slapped her. “I’m the head cheerleader. I live in one of the biggest houses in the Bay. I mean, hello, I drive a bespoke Mercedes.”
“And yet you’re still a vapid bitch.”
A collective gasp echoes down the hall.
“You can’t say that, you’re no one. Nothing. You shouldn’t even—“
“Michaela,” I snap, and she swallows her words, indignation flaming her cheeks. “I. Don’t. Care. You were my best friend. And all this time, I thought I was the one who did something wrong. But now I realize it’s you. You’re the unhappy one. You thrive in the misery of others. And do you know what? Until you learn to love yourself, you’ll never find what you’re looking for.
“So yeah, I pity you. Because sure, I might not have a lot, but at least I know the people in my life are in it because they chose it, and not because they want anything from me. Now if you don’t mind, me and my boyfriend,” the word flies out
of my mouth, but I don’t want to take it back. Ace is mine. The same way that I’m his. “We’re in the middle of something.”
I turn into him and throw my arms around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, baby,” he says, leaning down and brushing his nose over mine.
“I’m proud of me too,” I say, kissing him right there in front of most of our class.
“But you can tell me the truth,” he whispers against my skin. “How much do you want to knock that ugly smile off her face right now?”
“One a scale of one to ten, eleven.” I chuckle, sliding my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and pulling him closer. “You should probably distract me before I really make a scene.”
Ace’s deep laughter reverberates inside me as he spins me around and pushes me up against the locker. “It would be my pleasure, girlfriend.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ace
Despite Sarah apparently talking to James about the location of tonight’s birthday meal, he point-blank refused to change the restaurant to somewhere a little more low key.
He was testing me, I could see that when he took great delight in telling me what I was going to have to wear tonight.
“If you want to be there for Remi, then you have little choice,” he said with an evil smile on his lips.
The motherfucker was playing me, and I was falling right into his hands, because he was right. Tux or no tux, I wanted to be there for Remi. I wanted to be there more than I should. But him standing his ground and acting like she’s the daughter he never had only proves I was right.
She’s his weak spot, and I’m going to fucking smash it very, very soon. I just haven’t quite figured out how it’s going to go down. I’m hoping inspiration will strike at the right time—just like the night we stumbled over the IT geeks on our way to meet Bexley, when he needed to be taught a lesson. They didn’t take much convincing to send that photograph around the entire school for everyone to see, while ensuring the trail didn’t lead back to us in any way.
My lips twitch as I think about that pathetic motherfucker tied naked to that pole. It was the least he deserved, but fuck if it didn’t feel good. I’d heard since it was his mother who eventually came to untie him. Seems maybe his team doesn’t care as much as he thought, because they quite happily left him there and continued partying without him.
Oh, how the mighty fall.
Although I’m sure he’s going to come back fighting at some point. He’s been too quiet. I have no doubt he’s planning some big revenge as we speak. Whatever it is, he’ll lose. I’ve no doubt.
Standing in the bedroom of the pool house, I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look fucking ridiculous. I thought my prep school uniform was bad, but this… this is a fucking joke.
I pull at the tight collar of my crisp white shirt. It feels like it’s fucking strangling me. My tattoos peek out on my neck and down onto my hands, and I refuse to remove my piercings. James can try to dress me up to look like a preppy douchebag, but he can never remove the truth. I’m bad through and fucking through, and it’s about time he had a reminder of that.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I pull a blunt from my pocket and light up. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving dressed like this while sober.
“I feel like a fucking penguin,” Conner mutters, coming to join me with Cole following him. They're dressed exactly the same in the tuxes James oh-so-helpfully hired for us.
“This bitch had better be worth it,” Cole mutters as Conner snatches the blunt from between my fingers and takes a drag. He makes a show of offering it to Cole, but we both know he can’t have any, no matter how desperate he is.
“You got any fucking alcohol in this place?” He stalks toward the kitchen and starts pulling the cupboards open. “Jackpot!” He pulls out the bottle of vodka I’d stashed and lifts it to his lips.
Motherfucker.
“Seriously though, is James just trying to piss us off?” Conner asks, falling down into what he seems to have claimed as his beanbag now.
