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“I’m Gloria’s boyfriend,” I say.
He finally gives me his attention, his gaze moving over my hair, my piercings, my choker, black T-shirt, silicon bracelets, and black jeans, all the way to my Vans. His lip curls the slightest bit, though I can’t tell if it’s a smirk or a sneer. “Okay.”
The word comes out on a snort of breath, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, we go way back. All the way to Savannah, in fact. I know her whole family, everything about them. Did you know they used to go by the last name Beauregard? Or hey, here’s a fun one. Did you know her brother fucked your girlfriend?”
Royal’s eyes narrow, and the muscle in his jaw flexes. I take an involuntary step backwards. Looks like my days of running my mouth like a smartass are about over.
“What girlfriend?” he grits out.
I shrug, cursing myself for not getting her name from Dawson. Is it his girlfriend now? Or the one he was with when they were in high school together?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He didn’t say. Just said she was a ho. Let him and a couple buddies take turns with her all night. Sorry, man. But hey, thanks for fucking her instead of my girlfriend. You did me a solid, letting her save herself for me. I figure I owe you one back. That’s why I told you.”
I know I’m rambling, but my palms are clammy and I’m about to piss myself from the way this guy is looking at me. He’s not just gigantic, he looks like a stone-cold killer. I wish I had a beer to sip on so I could look all cool and casual like him, instead of like my pulse is thundering in my ears so fast all I can hear is the inane drivel coming out of my mouth. I stop myself at last, shove a hand into my zipper pocket, and flip my lip ring around with my tongue.
My mouth goes dry as I wait for Royal to punch me out and manually remove my testicles.
After a minute, though, he leans back against the wall and sips his beer, like the insanity in his eyes was never there at all. “Thanks, kid,” he says.
“That’s it?” I ask. “You’re not going go find him and gouge out his eyeballs and shove them up his ass because he’s seen your girlfriend naked? Or at least rip his tongue out for calling her a whore?”
The corner of his lip twitches with amusement. “No.”
“Damn,” I say. “I thought you were supposed to be, like, theThugs R Usspecial deluxe edition. From the way your brothers talk, I thought you’d go nuts on the guy. What are you afraid of? He might kickmyass, but there’s no way he could do any damage to you.”
“You think because you’re too much of a pussy to fight him that you can find the nearest guy with muscles to do it for you? I’m not your goon. You got shit against Dawson, go work it out yourself. Don’t worry about how I handle my shit.”
“No wonder you couldn’t pull the trigger with Gloria,” I mutter. “You’re a pussy.”
Royal just chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I don’t fight smart-mouthed high school punks half my size. Now walk away before I change my mind.”
He glowers at me until my balls crawl halfway up to my heart. I swear, being the object of his icy stare for a single minute makes me come to terms with my own mortality. It definitely convinces me that truer words than his have never been spoken—after calling him a pussy, I’m lucky an EMT isn’t scraping an unidentifiable mass of scrambled body parts off the floor right now.
I leave him without answering. I’ll just have to find another way to make the Waltons pay.
eight
Rumor Has It… Willow Heights’ Queen and the new boy she’s been flaunting were not seen together all night at the post-game party. Is there trouble in paradise already, or were they making moves in secret?
Gloria Walton
“Gloria?” Coach Snow says, setting down the phone that just rang on her desk.
My shields fly into place, instantly ready for battle the moment someone speaks my name, and the eyes turn my way.
“Yes?” I ask, lifting my hair back over my shoulder and facing our cheer coach, who also teaches my history class. I like her. She takes no shit and keeps a drawer full of assorted feminine products in her desks, so girls can take anything they need without having to ask.
She gives me a smile full of the last thing on earth I ever expect directed my way—abject pity. “They need you at the office. Bring your stuff.”
My head swims, a cold chill explodes over me, and a flash of terror obliterates everything.
“What’s going on?” Dixie whispers.
I shrug, closing my MacBook and shoving it into my bag, ignoring the flash of intuition that stunned me for a second. Whatever is happening, it’s not good.
“Is it about Homecoming?” Dixie presses. “Do you think I should come?”
