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Rich, preppy asshat.
“Fine, it can be a compliment if you want it to be,” I tell him as we arrive at his car. “But just know, when I envision a person sitting behind the wheel of a Porsche, I imagine a cocky, rich jerk who wears too much hair gel, has way too many shiny shoes, and probably has a cheetah print thong on beneath his wrinkle-free slacks.”
His fingers wrapped around my wrist twitch, his eyes darkening. “Actually, I have on boxer briefs, but it’s nice to know you’re picturing what’s underneath my pants.” He smirks then releases my wrist.
The burnt flesh beneath the bandage throbs, but I refuse to rub my wrist, refuse to show that he hurt me. “I bet those boxer briefs are probably a size extra, extra small.” I flash him a toothy grin then round the front of the car, open the door, and slide onto the warm leather seat.
He follows suit, hopping into the driver’s seat. “You can argue all you want with me,” he says as he revs up the engine. “But in the end, you’ll lose.”
I reach for my seatbelt. “We’ll see about that.”
I’m all bravado since I already feel like I’ve lost almost everything already.
Well, at least that’s what I think at first.
But as Austin slams on the gas and peels out of the parking space, I spot a tiny bit of hope amongst the mob of people covering the parking lot.
Standing on the sidewalk is Jaxon Porterson, and his gaze is fastened on the Porsche.
I’m uncertain if he sees me—the windows are really tinted—but if he does, then maybe he’ll tell Blaise, and Blaise will …
What will Blaise do, Hadley? Come save you? Rescue you? Are you really turning into that girl?
No, but at the same time, I’ll swallow down my pride and hope he does help me if it means getting through this mess and my sisters being okay.
35
BLAISE
I’ve beenin detention one other time, which reveals just how much us Portersons get away with around here. Even Alex has barely clocked in any after-school hours. Maybe that’s why I’m restless as a crack addict as I sit at the desk in Mr. G.’s classroom, the teacher in charge of detention. Five other students are with me, three of which are currently staring at me like I’m the devil, and the other two have hearts in their fucking eyes. It’s always the case—either people fear me or like me too much. Why can’t it ever be in the middle? Why can’t someone just look at me like I’m some normal guy who doesn’t scare the shit out of them and that they don’t want to fuck?
My thoughts travel to Hadley. She’s definitely not afraid of me. Well, at least when I’m not trying to kiss her. And she definitely doesn’t want to fuck me—me trying to kiss her proved that. I can take a hint. She’s not interested in me that way. Or, she doesn’t want to be. I should be relieved by that. Like I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have time to do relationships, and I’m not a hooking up sort of guy—I did that one time and it was a disaster.
So why am I not relieved?
Why can’t I get Hadley out of my head?”
Why can I stop thinking about her full lips and her big eyes and her hair that is so soft … I bet her skin is equally as soft, if not more so.
“Blaise.” The sound of Mr. G’s voice yanks me from my lusting thoughts of Hadley. Probably a good thing since I’m one step away from getting a little too turned on.
I blink toward the front of the classroom and find Jaxon standing beside Mr. G.
Worry waves through me, violent and potent. Not only is he supposed to be in therapy, but he looks upset.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, struggling not to go into instant panic mode.
“Your brother says he needs to talk to you,” Mr. G. tells me, nodding at Jaxon. “Says there’s a family emergency.”
Suddenly, I feel like I’m ten years old again and am peering through the screen door of our house at a cop who is standing on my front porch, telling my dad that my mother passed away.
“Can I go?” I ask Mr. G., already rising to my feet.
He nods. “Of course. Go take care of your family.”
“Thanks.” I grab my bag and hightail it down the aisle, trying to get a read on Jaxon, but he’s a damn closed book.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Mr. G. says as I pass him.
