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The asshole came out of nowhere. I was standing by a tree, texting Riley, and bam! He sucker punched me right in the back of my head. I went straight down, too stunned to react, then the blows just kept coming. He had on a mask, but I was able to pull it down enough to see who it was.
Ready or not, shithead. I’m coming for ya.
I walk into the coffee shop, wearing a pair of bloodstained gray joggers and a solid black hoodie. For once, it’s my own blood—my damn head wouldn’t quit bleeding last night. I can imagine I look like hell, but it doesn’t matter. I needed to see for myself if Riley was hurting. Sure enough, she is.
Pulling open the door, a bell jingles overtop, grabbing the attention of everyone inside, but most importantly, it grabs Riley’s attention. If looks could kill, I’d be stone-cold dead right now. She pins with me a scathing glare, tears pinching out of each eye. Then she lifts her hand slowly, giving me her middle finger.
At the same time, Scar rises from her seat at the corner booth, ready to come at me, but Riley waves her back down.
What the fuck did I do this time?
I take the first open booth and sit down, still able to see my angel if I lean out enough.
Didn’t drink much last night. In fact, I only had one beer. My messages to her were cordial. I was polite and kind. I don’t get it. Why’s she so damn pissed?
Screw this. I slide out of the booth, bumping into a barista carrying a tray of coffee. At least, she was. Now the mugs are shattered glass and spilled coffee at my feet.
Stepping over the mess, I walk toward Riley, who’s taking in my battered face, along with Scar. Riley raises a hand. “Don’t come near me,” she sputters and chokes, and it’s obvious she’s been crying.
I stop walking, a bit taken aback by her behavior, but also loving the challenge. I take another step, then another. Each one has her eyebrows lifting higher and higher on her flawless forehead. “Ridge,” she warns, feet now outside of the booth while she remains sitting.
Scar stands up, shoulders drawn back, and she grits out, “Walk the fuck away, asshole, or I’ll fuck your face up even more than it already is.”
Everyone heard her. Everyone is watching. But I don’t pay them, or Scar, any attention. I crouch down beside Riley. My mouth opens, ready to talk. Finally ready.
But…
I don’t.
I don’t say anything. Nothing. Not a word.
My chest is rattling, pulse rapid-firing against my wrists. I wanna slice open those scars beneath the hammering vein and try again. That’s how painful this is. That’s how bad I want to talk to my angel.
Scar steps out from the booth, fuming, but Riley softens her tone and says, “It’s okay, Scar. I’ll deal with this asshole and meet you back at the dorm.”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “Not a chance in hell am I leaving you with him.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Scar’s shoulders slump in defeat before she snatches her phone off the table then points it at me. “You hurt her again and I will claw your fucking eyeballs out.”
I roll said eyeballs, knowing she doesn’t stand a chance. Then again, that girl is feisty as fuck. She could teach Riley a thing or two. Might aid her in fending off all the guys who are pining for her.
I watch Scar walk away and once she’s out the door, I return my attention to Riley. Still kneeling, I attempt to grab her hand, but she snatches it away—playing hard to get again. This is all a game to her, isn’t it? I chase; she runs.
“You’re unbelievable. Wouldn't surprise me if you beat your own ass just so I’d feel pity for you. That’s how psychotic you are.” Riley spins her legs back under the table, her hands folding on top of it as she stares out the window, not even giving me the satisfaction of eye contact. “First, you waste an hour of my time at the party, playing hide-and-seek. Then, you come into my room when I’m shit-faced…”
What?
“…you undress me and…” Her voice drops a few octaves as she tries to get the words out. “…you put your fingers inside me.”
Is she fucking joking right now?
“…and you drugged me.”
Her room? Drugged?What the hell is she talking about? I didn’t go to her room last night.
“Oh.” She finally looks at me. “Now you can’t talk again? You talked last night. What’s the problem, Ridge? Did the guilt eat your vocal cords?”
