I recognized them from tryouts over the summer—freshies. I balled up my fist, letting my knuckles bump against his before I sat on the counter with my shoes hitting the island’s sides carelessly.
“Who did you piss off?”
He noticed the split in my lip almost instantly, and without thinking, I ran my tongue over it, making it sting all over again. Damn it.
“Nyx and his precious ego.”
Jasper laughed, handling a football, but not tossing it to anyone. He never stopped thinking about the game and winning, and it was apparent to everyone, even me—his less than dedicated co-captain.
That was Jasper’s downfall: He was bossy, but no one was following him anywhere. He wasn't a leader.
“Let me guess, you brought up his secret affection for the meek Luna.”
I shrugged in annoyance at his accurate guess. Jasper could even guess without any information to go on.
So why does telling the truth out loud hurt so many people?
Jasper pulled the top off a beer and handed it to me. “Damn, Bolton. You needed tonight more than me.”
I pushed the glass of beer against his, creating a high-pitched cling, before I pushed off the counter.
Substances was a check.
Now all I needed was to find a companion to drain these hormones and take my mind off the beast inside me that drove me to be so angry anyways.
People poured in as I walked around a large room that was once a classroom. There was a large open area for studying, and a coffee cart now used to house Solo cups. I gave up finding anyone of interest when I stalked to the back of the building to the room we deemed off limits.
I heard footsteps long before I reached the door, alerting me someone was trespassing. Quietly I stood in the doorway, searching the room for the culprit, when I should have guessed:
Arianna. New Girl.
Her fingers danced on the surfaces as her curiosity took it all in. There was no way to tell anyone that I was in a dangerously ruthless mood so that they could warn her. It was too late now.
“You’re gonna graduate from New Girl to felon if you don't start following the rules.”
She laughed, and something about the casual attitude around the word “felon” made it seem like she knew trouble better than I did.
“Been there, done that… wasn't worth the t-shirt or the keychain.”
I plopped down in the chair I put there years ago now. I had gotten tired of getting drunk and doing the same shit. I preferred to do it alone rather than with people I hardly liked. That's why this was my place to hide during parties.
She finally let eyes gloss over me, and her face winced at the cut on my lip. I almost thought she physically got hurt; too bad suffering isn't transferable.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
That sounded like a real concern, in all its displaced glory. Stern, demanding, even judgment—-all there.
“Well, not that it's your business, but I finally got what I deserved for my mouth.”
She fearlessly walked right over to me, standing between my legs, and leaned down to get a better look. Her deep blue eye, rimmed with violet to match her hair, reminded me of the sky when it got tie-dyed right before sundown. She inspected my wound that stopped hurting the more I pushed the beer bottle to my lips over and over.
Better than the golden hour, before the all the colors turned black and nothing was covered in the pretty filter. That summed up Arianna.
“Well-deserved doesn't make it hurt less.”
She was wrong. It actually did.
“Are you gonna kiss it and make it all better?”
She actually half scoffed, half snorted with laughter, like I wasn't being serious. I was in a despicable and semi-diabolical mood, hellbent on the two B’s that teenagers valued. Beers and Babes. The third B (bongs) was out, since I couldn't get caught with shit in my system during a pee test.
Arianna wasn't half bad looking, if I could get past her immaturity and whatever tantrum led to her purple hair. Her skin shimmered like it was actually happy, and her lips were almost always smiling. In this moment, she was half goddess, but I couldn't forget she was always half hell.
My own personal hell.
I let my hand touch her thigh so she knew I was serious even though I was slumped down and perpetually bored.
“What are you doing? We hate each other remember?”
“Hate me tomorrow.”
She suddenly got shy as she stood between my open legs and looked down, unsure of herself for the first time since she stormed into my life.
A world class bullshitter losing her touch in front of me. I wanted to be cruel and not so unusual, but I bit my tongue.
“How drunk are you? Your hate is lethal, and you've never been nice to me.”
“Not drunk enough for you to use it as an excuse. It's 2020; I know how to say no.”
She swayed slightly between my legs, like she was thinking about my proposition. I sat up, making sure both my hands slid up her jeans to her ass. I still hated her, but in this moment, all I could think about was how her ass was something you could bite into. She had a full ass that filled her jeans out in a way most girls would envy and guys would worship.
Why weren't guys worshiping her? Did they really need my okay, or was it simply my disinterest?
“Bolton…” she countered.
“Arianna…” I rebutted.
I wasn't a dog, and saying my name didn't kill my motivation. I was a teenager with my hands smoothing up the back of her thighs. Short of a cold shower or some relief, I wasn’t planning on backing down.
“This isn’t you.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that I wanted to drop my hands and scream she didn't know me, know how royally fucked I was, or how much I really knew she was different but not in the way I needed.
I needed a savior when everyone was looking to me to do the saving.
“Maybe you don't know me very well.”
I sat up, on the edge of the old chair, enticing her more by drawing her closer.
I was stronger than her, and she wasn't truly putting up our typical push/pull bullshit. I put a firmer grasp on her thighs to pull her into my lap, straddling me, as my hands grasped her hips.
“Is this how I get to know the King of Arcadia Prep?”
Even on top of me, she was still full of sass and attitude, and I wanted to seduce it out of her.
“You know more than most, thanks to your defiant behavior.”
She didn't make any advances, she simply sat there comfortably, like I was her throne, and she had just been crowned queen, not of Arcadia Prep, of my heart.
“But do I know the real you? I wanna know the version of you that isn't king and aches as much as we all do.” Her voice was like velvet on my skin when she spoke. It made parts of my awareness focus on what did ache, what really bothered me, none of which was my growing frustration to get laid.
This girl wrecked me in ways I didn't know possible.
I leaned up swiftly letting my fingers tangle into her hair as I pushed my lips onto hers too roughly. I was out of practice. She melted down into me, letting her hand land on my chest for balance. My hands grazed over her, exploring what I could, until I remembered why she was in this position to begin with.
Cheyanne needed her hair, and I was going to be the one to get it.
She deepened our kiss so much that my fingers in her hair almost forgot what they were doing and gave up, as I felt her tongue collide with mine. She wasn't shy or lazy; she knew exactly how to kiss. Every part of me got hungry for more of her, and the blood running through my veins felt thick with desire.