I go still when my eyes connect with Liam’s dark glare.
He’s standing at the edge of the pool, staring down at us in clear disgust.
Shit, how do I explain this? Saint’s hands are still on my ass, groping my flesh, and I’m too stunned to try and break from his hold.
“Liam, what are you—”
“Campus police started doing rounds in here every 90 minutes or so,” he says through gritted teeth. “I wanted to let you know to curb your breaking and entering. What else you decide you want to do is entirely up to you.”
He storms off, and I can’t chase him because Saint is still wrapped around me and clearly has no intention of letting me go. I turn my eyes back to meet his, and I’m not surprised to see he’s wearing a shit-eating smirk.
I grind my teeth, fury making my breath puff out in shallow gasps. “I thought you said he had to go home.”
“I lied.” He shrugs easily. “I’m not above being a hypocrite when your pussy’s involved, Mallory.”
I can’t believe it. I cannot believe I fell for it again. Fell for his bullshit and melted for his touch. I shove at him until he finally lets me go and then swim to the ladder to pull myself up and out of the water. Refusing to look back even though I hear him following me, I march toward my things and grab my towel to dry off.
“Does it really bother you that much that he saw us?” he asks, his voice tinged with cruel delight.
I whirl around to face him, wrapping the towel around my body.
“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” I shout before realizing that turning around was a mistake. He’s soaked and shirtless, and his bulge is clear and thick against his blue swim trunks. My anger battles it out with my libido for dominance as I stare at him.
He shrugs. “It’s my birthday week. I’m entitled to get what I want.”
Entitled. That’s the fucking truth, isn’t it? He’s an entitled prick who ruins lives because it’s fun for him. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts or what he destroys, so long as he gets his way.
“And what exactly is it that you want?” I snap. “Me?”
He doesn’t respond. Only smirks.
I can’t stand the sight of him anymore. If I stay in his presence one second longer, I’ll lose my goddamn mind and try to drown him, I swear to God I will.
Gathering up my things, I give him my back and storm toward the door. Just before I push out into the hallway, however, his voice stops me.
“You’re not going to want to miss history class tomorrow.”
I frown, having no idea what the hell that means, but I’m not sticking around to ask him.
21
The next day, I almost skip classes again. And not just history, either, but the whole day.
I’m terrified that Saint’s going to do something new to humiliate me, but I make myself go to each and every single class because I realize if I don’t show up, he’ll think I’m a coward. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking coward.
Liam ignores me all day. I’m not surprised, but it grates. He’s not my boyfriend and doesn’t have the right to throw a hissy fit whenever I hook up with someone. Even though I tell myself this, I know that’s not a very fair thought because I’m not just hooking up with anyone. I’m doing it with Saint. Still, I’m getting sick of the cold-shoulder treatment Liam gives me whenever I do something he doesn’t like or approve of.
By the time I get to history, I’m at the limits of my temper and just want to get whatever shitstorm Saint has planned over with. I pause outside the door to the classroom and take a big breath before walking inside with my head held high.
Within moments, three things hit me as odd. The first is that Dylan’s nowhere in sight—instead, there’s an older, female teacher I’ve never seen before. The second is that everyone’s talking excitedly. And the third?
For once, the hot gossip isn’t me.
“What’s going on?” I ask a couple of girls sitting in the front row.
They shoot me dirty looks but are surprisingly forthcoming with information. “I guess you’ll find out anyway, slut, but Mr. Porter’s under investigation,” one of the girls says with a flip of her long platinum hair.
My heart thumps hard against my chest. “What? Why?”
Her friend answers, “Zoe Buckley’s parents contacted the school claiming they’d found dirty texts and pictures from him on her phone. He’s been put on unpaid leave while he’s investigated.” She pauses for a moment, crinkling her nose at my cheap black flats. “If only every country-fried piece of trash that’s being investigated could get the same treatment…”
Her insult doesn’t even bother me today. My head is spinning so fast, I think I might be sick. I turn to the sub and ask to be excused, and I must look as nauseous as I feel because she lets me go without argument.
Hurrying from the room, I try to get a hold of my tumultuous emotions and riotous thoughts. Dylan’s being investigated, and I’ve no doubt he did what he’s being accused of.
What if he confesses to his affair with me?
I nearly heave in the hallway at the thought.
Suddenly, I hear heavy footsteps following me. I turn and find Saint coming my way, looking particularly smug as he smooths his large hands over the lapels of his navy blazer. Before I can react to his approach, he grabs my arm and pulls me through the doorway to my left and into the empty classroom beyond.
He shuts the door behind us and turns to me with a wicked grin.
“So, are you pleased?”
I’m so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened that it takes me a moment to completely process what he’s asking. When it hits me, my shoulders jerk back in shock. “Did you do this? Did you get Dylan in trouble?”
He places his hand over his heart and looks at me with a dramatically wounded expression.
“Ellis, I’m hurt. You keep accusing me of all these terrible things lately.”
“Answer the question, Saint,” I whisper, hugging my arms over my chest.
Releasing an irritated breath, he rolls his blue eyes. “Are you asking if I orchestrated some elaborate scheme to get your dead best friend’s predator brother in trouble? No, Mallory. Believe it or not, I’m neither desperate nor pussy-whipped. Porter brought this on himself by playing show-me-yours with teenage girls.”
That I can actually believe. Dylan was always arrogant, and arrogance can make you sloppy. He likely thought he’d never get caught creeping on girls.
Well fuck him. I hope he gets what he deserves.
Saint’s grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning.
“Why are you so happy?” I demand. “If you didn’t orchestrate this, then why do you care about Dylan’s fate?”
“Stop calling him that.”
“Jesus Christ, Saint, I—”
“It’s my birthday week,” he interrupts, as if that should answer all my questions. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
As much as I hate the way Dylan has treated me, it feels wrong that Saint’s getting so much glee out of what’s happening. The guy really doesn’t have any empathy or compassion in his entire body, does he?