Very Wicked Things (5 page)

I flinched and pulled away. Even though his touch had lit me on fire.

And I hated him for it, for making me still want him.

Long seconds passed as I waited for him to stand and face me, my head screaming at me to just walk away now, to snub him like he did me every day. A rush of adrenaline kicked in because I’d fantasized this moment a thousand times in my head. Images of me spitting in his face came to mind.

He stood.

He eased off his ridiculously expensive sun-glasses.

Don’t look at him.

Gazing at him was suicide for your soul.

But basic need won out over self-preservation, and my blue eyes crashed into his amber ones straight-on, the force of his gaze making my chest tightened.

Tick, tock.

Time passed, maybe a minute or two. I really don’t know because everything but him zoomed out.
As we studied each other,
the sounds of students going to and fro and teachers starting class faded, leaving only us and the sounds of our breathing. The rumbling sound of thunder from the storm outside registered briefly, but then it disappeared as my vision narrowed in on him, blacking out everything. This was it, the moment I’d dreamed about, the moment I could lie and tell him that the way he’d destroyed me hadn’t really hurt. My heart was still in my chest; it still beat.

I licked my lips, accusatory words rising up in my throat, but I swallowed down my bitterness at the expression I saw on his chiseled face.

Because even though I remembered clearly what he’d done to me, it got all mixed up—and I deflated.

Cuba Hudson, the hottest, richest, most popular guy on campus looked as broken as I felt.

“
I can do anything but love you
.”

–
Cuba

A RAIN STORM battered my silver Porsche as I parked in the usual spot, unofficially designated for upperclassmen students only. A primo spot, it was under a shady oak tree and close to the main entrance to Briarcrest Academy. At least I wouldn’t get drenched in the downpour. Not like those poor freshmen who had to park out in no man’s land. I fiddled with my umbrella and messenger bag, noticing it was nearly eight o’clock. Weinstein would be pissed if I was late.
So what
. A few more months and I’d be out of this place and in college focusing on my pre-med major. Yeah, right. With the way I’d let my GPA slide, I’d never be accepted to a decent university. Maybe I’d just be a fry cook somewhere. A long as it was away from Dallas, I didn’t care. But one thing was for sure, I wanted to put some distance between me and
her
, the one girl I couldn’t have.

Yet, no matter how far I went, I’d never be rid of the blood on my hands.

Not going there right now.

I scrubbed my face with my hands, trying to erase those jacked up feelings in my head. I’d gotten good at pushing those thoughts aside, but today, something was decidedly off. Something kept jiggling at me in the back of mind, like maybe I had homework due I’d forgotten about. Whatever.

As soon as I’d woken up this morning, things hadn’t flowed as usual. First off, Dad had spent the night at the penthouse in Dallas, sending over someone from the sitting service to stay with me. Which was something he did sometimes after working late. Since he was part-owner of the Dallas Mavericks, he had commitments, and much of it involved parties and schmoozing with the elite. Even a certain ex-President of the United States was his friend. Not that I cared.

I slipped on my dark sunglasses even though it was raining. Had to complete the look. And somehow it’s easier to smile when no one can see your eyes.

I did a walk-run all the way to the entrance, my mind focused on getting to my locker and getting to class. Leaving my Tom Ford umbrella outside on the portico, I strolled through the stone archways and into the double doors of BA. The scent of power and money assailed me. Rich people smelled good, like Chanel perfume, genuine leather, and cold diamonds—if diamonds had a scent, that is. Future movers and shakers made up the student body. And me. I fit right in with this crowd.

Guys unconsciously puffed up their chests, checking me out, wondering what I had they didn’t. I inclined my head in a slight nod. I didn’t give a damn if they liked me or not, which seemed to make them want to be my friend even more. Go figure. High school politics and hierarchy. Two giggling freshmen girls tried to catch my eye as I walked down the hall, and I gave them what they wanted, a heavy-lidded look and a slow-tipping smile. Yeah. I knew how to play this game. It’s all about image and they see what they want to.

Opening my locker, I rummaged inside, trying to hurry it up and not just because I was running late. No, I didn’t want to see
her
. My locker neighbor. I was number forty-eight and she was forty-nine. We’d been sharing the same real estate since August and somehow I’d made it all the way to February without eye contact. That takes skill, not looking at someone who’s standing right next to you, close enough you can almost feel the heat coming off their skin. I felt her hate too. It was a visceral thing, and I imagined I could feel it emanating from her pores, mushrooming and then settling in a cloud over me, clogging up the air I breathed.

I didn’t blame her for hating me.

Yet, on the flip side of that, she’d cracked open my chest when I’d thought it was invincible. When I thought I was immune to feeling anything more than lust for a girl.

I stiffened, smelling her before she arrived. Like silk, she slid in beside me like it didn’t bother her to be near me. Like we didn’t have this electric barrier between us that would fry you in a heartbeat.

I scooted away.

Even though I didn’t want to be near her, I breathed her in her sweet smell, one of the little extras I allowed myself. I might not be able to face her, but I tortured myself with her scent.

Yeah, she was altogether different from any of the other girls at BA.

Ugly, short skirts—yet not short enough to be sent home—were her staple
this
year, calling attention to her long and toned legs. I peeked at her from the corner of my eyes, because well, I had to. She had magnetism, and for some crazy reason, my eyes were doing whatever they wanted today.

Soaking wet from the rain, she stood there proudly, wearing a faded blue mini skirt with bright pink polka dotted patterned tights underneath. It clashed, but damn, her legs looked good. Her drenched top fit snug across her breasts, a sleeveless tee shirt with a faded skull on the front. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and a fringe of dark bangs rested on her forehead. She’d gotten some blue highlights, and I used my peripheral vision to check them out.

Not to my taste at all. I liked her hair just brown.

Tall black boots encased her legs. Not leather, but some kind of cheap, shiny material, probably pleather or vinyl. Her heels were about three inches high, which baffled me. When you’re five-seven, you didn’t need the extra pumping up, but she did it anyway, making her tower over all the other girls and most guys. And didn’t those shoes kill her ballerina feet?

I didn’t get why she wore them.

But maybe I did.

By magazine standards, she would never be called beautiful, yet there was something edgy about her that sucked me in. Perhaps her angular and lean body, with arms cut just enough to get your attention, yet soft enough to be feminine. Perhaps her mouth. Always painted red and pouty, it had a full upper lip and an extra full lower one, and the way it curved when she smiled made you feel like it was only for you. Her mouth never curved for me.

What?
Get a grip
, I told myself. I sounded ridiculous.

Back in August, when I’d first realized we were locker neighbors, I should’ve gone straight to the front office and demanded a new locker. They would have given me one if I’d pushed. My name carried weight around here, especially since my mother had been on the school board for years. Yeah. Maybe I’d go today and claim irreconcilable differences. Ha. I don’t know why I hadn’t already. I had to get away from her. Having her so close to me every day was a disaster waiting to happen.

Dropping my book, I expelled an exasperated breath and bent over to pick it up.

And because I’d already deemed the day as
off
, my eyes betrayed me, getting tangled up on the way her boots wrapped snuggly around her calves. I mean, her body was hot, a true work of art.

And, I’d blame the boots later for what happened next.

You see, something fractured in my head, making me almost, I don’t know, deranged as I took her in. Three hundred and something days ago, I’d had my hands all over that perfect ass of hers. I’d been hard for her constantly.

And yet, the night I’d taken her virginity had been our last night together.

Because I’d kicked her to the curb. Hard.

And, I’d made a promise to myself a year ago when we broke up that she was off limits, and that I’d do whatever it took to stay away from her. Sometimes that meant kissing girls right in front of her, and it sure as hell meant not letting our eyes meet.

Plainly stated, I just wanted to forget about her and move the fuck on.

Yeah, then why did I now find myself still kneeling on the ground, my eyes eating her up, devouring what I’d denied them for an entire year? I had to shake my head at my stupidity, recalling another time I’d been on my knees for her, when I’d begged her to go out with me.

And now, like it was in slow motion and acted of its own accord, my wayward hand reached out and stroked her leg above her boot. Her skin was cool and wet from the rain, but that didn’t stop me.

And because she froze, I lingered, drifting up to her upper thigh to just under the hemline of her skirt. My hand slowly inched its way closer to her underwear. Maybe, just maybe, I could pull her to me and put my mouth—she flinched away from me. Chest heaving, my hand dropped. I paused, trying to get myself under control with all the blood rushing to my crotch.

Already on the road to hell, I rose up off the ground and let my gaze keep on its path of perfect destruction, blinking at the sliver of bare midriff where a dandelion charm dangled from her belly button piercing.
I’d had my tongue there
, I thought. Lighting fingers flashed and jerked down her shirt, hiding my view. Not caring, my eyes continued their journey, past her swiftly rising chest, over her plump lips and straight into glittering eyes. Eyes the color of an angry sea, her gaze trapped mine, reminding me what a bastard I was.

I’d come this far, so I didn’t stop, watching her jawline tighten and her nose flare. Disgust radiated off her face. She’d never forgive me for my sins. Not a girl like her. She had hope for the future; she believed in shit like following your dreams and finding love.

She was the complete opposite of me.

I grew roots in that spot by the lockers, and as people passed, I barely noticed, caught up in the images that flickered through my head like a movie, pictures of us intertwined and naked in my Porsche, pictures of me breaking her heart in the quad.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally chunked those images in the trash.

Must ignore her and the sweat that had popped out on my face.

That period of my life was
over.

Yet
, I’m sorry
teetered on the edge of my lips, but never spilled out.

Because if I told her I was sorry, I was inviting her back in.

I stood there, feeling straight-up stupid, and waited for her to lose her temper and go off on me for touching her. I shouldn’t have done it.

Did her heart thud as hard as mine?

Did she ever think about me and wonder what could have been?

A bell rang, shattering the illusion that we were alone. With a Herculean effort, I broke the connection between our gazes, picked my runaway book off the floor, and turned back to stare into my locker.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my heart was pounding.

After a year of avoiding each other—of me avoiding her—I’d taken a good, long gander at her and survived. Unscathed. See, it hadn’t been bad. She wasn’t all that. Yeah. Carry-on. Find another hot girl. They’re a dime a dozen around here. And hadn’t that been the way I’d dealt with her absence anyway? Hadn’t I screwed every faceless girl I could to forget
her
?