“What’s up, man? Is it more stuff with your parents?”
Bishop’s eyes dart up to meet mine. “What?” He blinks. “No, no. It’s—Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Before he hides his phone, I catch a glimpse of the girl on the screen, a little hottie from the looks of it, with her chunky sweater pulled up to expose her stomach and hint at full tits peeking from beneath. I snort, shaking my head. Bishop’s this twisted up over some chick?
I was worried for nothing.
“I see.” Chuckling, I hit Bishop’s knee with a playful tap. He smirks, tucking his phone away. When he meets my gaze again, he’s my soccer-obsessed best friend. “There he is.”
“Let’s crush these guys. They won’t see us coming.”
I bump my fist against his when he holds it up.
The varsity soccer team might be less flashy than our football team, but between Bishop and I, we’re a force to be reckoned with. We’re both calculative players. Our unyielding two-man attack razes our opponents every time when Bishop picks up the ball from the defensive line and moves into attack plays alongside my offense position.
I pull the jersey over my head, running a hand down the #6 on my chest. The soccer field is where I cultivated my nickname as the devil. Bishop always jokes that as a striker, my assigned number should be #9, but I insisted on playing as #6 once my reputation as the dark devil spawned and grew.
Bishop puts on his #10 jersey and stands before me. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.”
“Two minutes.” Bishop taps his wrist.
I wave him off as he jogs around the locker room to round up our teammates.
The echo of slamming lockers and the chatter of the other guys travels through the room.
Closing my eyes, I picture the girl on Bishop’s phone, but her luscious curves automatically change to pale skin, petite tits, and a cascade of shiny black hair. My dick twitches with interest.
It bothers me that I felt nothing looking at that photo Bishop had. Sure, it was quick, but long enough to make out the gist of the sexy photo. No rush of heat to my groin.
I sit back against the locker.
The only girl on my mind is Blair, my thoughts filled once more with the replay of what went down between us in the hall during lunch.
The heat I expected before coils low in my stomach. I breathe through it, balling my hands in my shorts.
Blair didn’t shove me off, like I suspected she might when I touched her. For a survivor, she has terrible self preservation skills. Knowing I can press her buttons with my best asset, I plan to use it to my advantage.
The chessboard shifts, reforming and adapting to something that I’ll take supreme pleasure with.
In the morning, I wait by Blair’s locker. I want to be here when she opens it to find the special package I stashed inside with the help of the janitor before school started. A few people stop to say hi and ask about my weekend plans. I can see the curious suspicion in their eyes, wondering why I’m over here instead of out in the parking lot with Bishop.
Blair pauses several feet away when she arrives. I didn’t warn her with a text this time. I won’t give her room to breathe between commands, applying pressure harder.
She closes the distance between us and ignores me as she twists the dial on her locker. I prop against the one beside hers, watching. Her hair is partially damp from a morning shower and I catch a whiff of that cheap imitation vanilla wafting off her.
Blair cuts a look at me before she opens her locker. “Why are you here?”
I shrug carelessly. “In school? The state mandates a minimum number of days for students to grad—”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Blair groans. “Why are you at my locker?”
“Why did you have to come to my school?” I counter, leaning over her.
She stands her ground, squinting up at me. Stubborn little thing. Once she opens that locker, she’ll know better.
I make a show of checking the time on an invisible watch. “Better hurry. You’ll be late for homeroom.”
“Doesn’t that mean you should move your ass along, too?”
“I have office aid for homeroom this morning. Taking attendance.”
When she rolls her eyes, I grin.
The locker swings open and I relish the exact moment Blair pauses.
“What the hell,” she mutters, reaching for the gift bag. She freezes when she peeks inside. “What. The. Hell.”
She swings a confused gaze to me. I give her a challenging smirk in response.
“What is this?” Blair gestures sharply at the locker.
I peer into the bag and withhold a sadistic grin at the brand new Silver Lake High School uniform, complete with a blazer and new shoes.
On top sits an extra special item: a leather collar.
It has a silver nameplate that reads Sticky Fingers. My note peeks out from under the collar, where I wrote directions to wear everything in the bag to school or else there will be dire consequences—like no payment.
Below that I wrote $750.
“I think you’ll find all the answers you need inside this bag.” I wave a hand lazily and prop my shoulder against the edge of the locker. “Looks like you won’t stand out for having an incomplete uniform anymore. How generous.”
Blair sneers and jabs a finger at the collar. “And that? Are you fucking kidding me?”
My mouth stretches wider as amusement blooms in my chest. “Not in the slightest. Are you saying you’d rather take the other option from our agreement?”
I pull my phone halfway out of my pocket.
Blair clamps her hand on my wrist, squeezing hard. “No!” When I hum, she blows out a breath. “Jesus.”
She releases me and rubs her forehead. Her gaze bounces around the hall. One of her locker neighbors a few spots down makes her gulp.
I pretend to check my non-existent watch again. “Tick tock, Davis. Don’t want to be late for homeroom, remember? Should I mark you absent when I go to the office?” I tsk disapprovingly. “Too many absent days will increase your demerits, you know. Could put your scholarship status at risk.”
“Shut up,” Blair snaps.
I shift to block her between me and the locker, bracing my hands on either side of her head. A cold expression settles on my face. “Watch it, little bug. With that attitude, you’re making me want to squash you under my heel.”
Blair’s jaw clenches as she makes herself as small as possible, keeping a few inches of space between us. She doesn’t want a repeat of what happened the other day.
“Do as the note says, or it’s game over.”
I trace her neck with a delicate touch, then press into the soft spot under her chin, driving her face to angle up to mine. Blair’s throat works as she swallows. Her glare is mutinous, shooting acidic poison at me with her rich whiskey-colored eyes.
Blair is an uncontrollable flame that I want to touch whether it burns me or not as I tame it under my control.
I stare into her eyes, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. My attention drops to those full, pouty lips. They’re chapped today, like she licks them too often. Shifting my thumb, I brush the edge of her lower lip with my thumb.
Blair pushes out a harsh breath, breaking my concentration on her mouth. She wraps her fingers around my wrist and digs her short nails in, almost hard enough to break the skin. The sting spurs on the urge to pin her against the locker and take her mouth as mine.