AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"As a cheerleader? No way am I doing that!" Her scoff was a mere formality, a mask for the battle raging within her.
"And why not?" I pressed, the thrill of the chase coursing through my veins. "You have no commitments after school, do you?"
Her hesitation was a crack in her armor, a tiny chink in the facade of defiance she'd so carefully constructed. "Busy," she muttered, the word hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, the little cogs of her defiance grinding against the gears of curiosity.
"Busy with what, may I ask?" I purred, my voice dripping with mock innocence. Let her squirm, let her try to weave a web of lies to justify her pathetic excuse.
"Studying, of course!" she spat, the word coming out more like a hiss than a proud declaration. Predictable. Skye, the studious one, the one who found solace in the sterile pages of textbooks while I revelled in the chaos of the bleachers.
"Your books can wait, Skye," I countered, my voice softening, adapting to the shift in her mood. "Because I, I truly, deeply want you to be there with me." The words hung heavy in the air, a plea laced with a hint of vulnerability I rarely exposed.
"Dax, I've already said no!" she snapped, a reminder of her defiance, a challenge that sent a thrill coursing through me. The game was afoot.
"I need you there," I insisted again, my voice dropping to a low rumble, a velvet cloak against the storm brewing within her. "Football needs you there."
"Go find some cheerleader clones to follow you around, Dax," she scoffed, her words laced with frustration. "I'm not interested in playing your games."
But I wasn't offering a game. I was offering a glimpse into my world, a chance for her to see me beyond the mask of the bully, the tormentor. "Everyone's seen me play," I whispered, the truth a naked blade in the dim air. "Everyone except you."
"And that's because I find sports utterly boring," she retorted, her voice a monotone shield against the crack in her facade.
"Boring?" I chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent shivers down my own spine. "Let me tell you something, Skye, the moment you watch me play, you won't be able to look away."
And it was true. I was a predator on the field, a whirlwind of grace and fury, a force of nature that captivated and terrified in equal measure. And I wanted her to see it, to witness the raw power that resided beneath my carefully built mask.
"Sure, Dax," she scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "And pigs can fly."
"Pigs might not fly," I drawled, my eyes locking onto hers in a silent duel. "But I guarantee you, watching me play will be the most exhilarating experience of your life. You'll be mesmerized, captivated, breathless."
The fire in my chest roared, fueled by Skye's maddening defiance. "Testing my patience?" I snarled, my hands clenching into fists. The nice act, the careful facade I'd struggled to maintain, crumbled under the pressure of her stubbornness. "Look, Skye," I growled, my voice laced with steel, "I need you there. No excuses, no arguments."
Her silence, heavy and pregnant with fear, was a twisted trophy I didn't want. But her defiance, that spark in her eyes, was a siren song I couldn't resist. She saw the storm brewing within me, the predator finally unleashing its claws. But instead of cowering, she met my gaze, a flicker of defiance still burning in her depths.
"Time?" she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a surrender, not entirely. It was a concession, a calculated move in the game we were playing.
"After history class," I spat, the words sharp and final. I needed to be firm, to maintain the illusion of control. But beneath the surface, the thrill of the chase was a delicious poison coursing through my veins.
"But I have art after history," she countered, her voice regaining its strength. Another excuse, another hurdle in the obstacle course she'd constructed.
"Art can wait," I declared, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Seeing me, that's just as important." The lie, the manipulative twist, felt like a betrayal, even to myself. But the hunger in my gut, the need to see her face in the crowd, it was undeniable.
"I never miss art class," she protested, her voice rising in pitch. The facade of the obedient student, the perfect daughter, was cracking under the pressure.
"And yet, here you are," I retorted, a cruel smile playing on my lips. The game was escalating, the lines blurring, and I was relishing the chaos.
The fear in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, it was a twisted aphrodisiac. "What if the teacher finds out? I'll loose marks for sure!" she cried, desperation edging into her voice. The trivial art class, the insignificant marks, they were suddenly weapons in her arsenal.
"How many marks would you lose?" I inquired.
"Five marks!" she exclaimed, as if it was a monumental loss. Five fucking marks. It didn't seem like a huge problem to me. Was she truly that concerned?
"But you can make up for it," I reasoned, trying to inject some logic into our exchange. Skye prided herself on her grades and detested slacking off, unlike me. I may appear lazy and indifferent, but don't mistake that for a lack of seriousness. I am serious, but I prefer to keep it hidden when others are watching. It's a part of me that I keep safely tucked away.
"I can't afford to lose five marks, Dax. It means a lot to me," she insisted, her determination unwavering.
"Well, you coming to my game means more to me than losing five fucking marks that you can still redeem..." I added with a smirk.
"But I don't like skipping classes," she protested.
