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5
WILLOW
I’ve been damned to hell. One where rich fucks named Camdyn MacKenzie sit on a throne and have the ability to destroy you. His beautiful turquoise gems reflected how my days were numbered for defying him. The taste of his mouth was addictive—like every wicked sin I’d ever wanted but denied myself. And he’s hot as hell too. The second his mouth crushed mine, a fissure formed down the center of an icecap in Antarctica.
Still, I’m smart enough to deny my basic urges, though, seeing how I’ve paid for slapping him tenfold already—kids tripping me, scornful laughs, gossip about my dingy shoes—it’s all child’s play.
Each period, I carry out my mission to find the weak spots in DuPont Academy. Where are the cracks in its gilded cage? How do these kids ditch with those homeland security assholes cruising by every building?
I found the girls’ locker room had a comfy set of leather couches near the entrance. However, when I entered, a girl was riding a football player. They were nice enough to finish their business—a few minutes later. After witnessing that, I’ve cleaned off the surface of a cherry red bench and am straddling it.
For the last hour, I’ve sat in a daze, imagining that psycho’s teeth slaughtering my bottom lip. I swear he tasted my blood. My mind jumps around like pop rocks, every sense a reminiscence of him. His delicious taste. The sight of him. His stone body crushing mine. Those eyes.
At first glance, they’re these hypnotic blue-green pools on a warm summer day, but I’ve never seen anyone so guarded in my life—so broken—and that’s after I’ve glanced into the mirror this morning.
I’m pulled from my Camdyn compulsion when a chick with theatrical eyebrows appears.
“Sorry,” she blubbers, then starts off on a twenty-yard dash.
Awkward. I groan as my cellphone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call. Similar to the creep who kissed me speechless, Christian once had a harem of followers too. Only, he’s my people.
“Dammit, he didn’t get the memo,” I murmur.
Christian’s the Golden Gate Bridge I refuse to set ablaze. While he was the desirable bad boy at the school we attended, I never gave him a second glance.
Christian had his circle, and my passion began and ended with track. When we happened across each other last summer in his and my father’s hometown in Barbados, we crossed one line—the one that made us friends. We were chugging along when my world imploded, but I bite my eyes shut and groan. C’mon, Lolo, you owe Christian an explanation. Swallowing gravel, I accept the FaceTime call.
“Hey, Christian,” I mumble, nervously palming the lacquered wood. His smile unnerved me before my mom’s untimely accident turned down the volume on our conversation and future.
A dimple dips into the side of his creamy caramel face. Thick lips I’ve almost tasted cork into a smile. “Lolo, you should’ve let me drop you off at school, gal.”
“Um, that defeats the entire purpose of my sister moving me in.” I can’t quite meet his eye. “It was a short walk.”
“Damn, the rich gal got you isolated. Let me pick you up after school. Save you two long-ass bus trips to our neck of the woods.”
Awe, so sweet. He’s willing to pick me up and take me to Orange Blossom Nursing Home. The flat of my fist pops softly onto the smooth bench, and I squeeze my legs around it while I continue straddling it. I hate me. We only had one more line to cross, the thread that distinguishes friends from lovers. I fucked up—I’m scum.
I drop the match, let the flame flicker out. Torn between brutal honesty and tearing down my last bridge, I give an excuse. “I can’t have you coming all this way, Christian.” Please don’t.
“You got all those absences, Lolo. I don’t mind ditching for a cause. Say you’ll let me see you for a minute, then I’ll take you where you wanna go. Please, beautiful.”
“I—”
“I’m hanging up. I’m ditching last period. See you after school. You’ll be alright, Lolo.” His beautiful brown eyes connect with mine. A second later, FaceTime ends.
I should text Christian how I kissed someone else. He’s free to return to his popular life. Damn, I’m not saying shit. My first kiss was stolen!
“Lolo . . .” Camdyn’s deep, dreamy voice calls out. For a moment, I deceive myself. He can’t be here—in the girl’s locker room. But . . . DuPont is his dominion. Though, the twisted fuck hasn’t learned my nickname, so it can’t be him. Dammit, Lolo, you’re tripping again. My thumb poises over the text message app on my iPhone. I’m telling Christian. He deserves—
“Looo looo.” I hear my name again, whispered low and long.
Bones rigid, I swing a leg over the bench and get to my feet. The danger to my sanity stands in the very spot the creepy, eyebrow girl had. This reeks of a fucking setup.
“I’m so motherfecking disappointed in you.” The devil tosses another wild card. This one comes in the form of a puppy dog face. He presses a huge hand to his massive chest.
A cocky smile plays on Camdyn’s lips as if he finds the sight of me amusing, a toy for him to manipulate. I guess intermission is over. Now, he’s refreshed and in bully mode. I glare at his face; his cheekbones cut like granite. My mouth still zings from the aftereffects of his full lips.
“Disappointed?” My left eyebrow, as well as the desire in the pit of my stomach, climbs. “Okay . . . On that note, I take it you own the ladies’ locker room. I’ll leave you to it.”
For the faintest moment, I’ve forgotten about the vicious tattoo on the side of his neck. The promise of more inked chaos peeks from beneath his blazer. His arresting eyes dissect me from bone to marrow while I gather my backpack and hoist it over my shoulder.
Rattled, I chew at the inside of my cheek to decrease the chances of Camdyn noticing the effect he has on me. The locker room has two entrances. He’s at the door on the left. Sinks and a passageway to the showers are in the center. I stroll toward the right, cringing at the thought of turning my back on him. But he hasn’t made a move over the clay tile.
This morning, an audience witnessed my very first kiss. Camdyn’s lips had tossed me into the depth of the ocean. If he’s that bold in the presence of a crowd, there’s no telling his boundaries alone. I take a few hesitant steps, growing comfortable in my skin. Then the pit of my stomach falls, taking the organ in my chest along for the ride.
