Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Showtime.
I type the digits into my phone and send a text.
Shark, got your letter. Who are you? How did you know my locker number?
The reply is immediate, and my hands clutch the phone.
Ava. I can’t believe you texted me.
Wonders never cease. You left me your number, dumbass. WHO ARE YOU?
I saw you today and you took my breath away.
I blink rapidly.
LIAR. This is all a joke. A stupid one. Fuck off.
I believe you. About the party.
Not going there.
I fire off another text.
Well, Mr. Shark, I have a flat. I wonder who’s responsible? I got new tires this summer. You think this is just a coincidence?
No reply.
I stuff my phone back in my blazer and run my eyes over Louise. Anger makes my fists curl as I inspect the tire. I expected the name-calling, the sneering glances, even Jolena getting in my face, but to damage my property—oh, good grief, Ava, this cannot be unexpected. You knew when you agreed to this that the people you’re dealing with believe they are above the law with their money and status—one of them got away with rape.
A few minutes later, I’m turning the jack’s rotatable clasp counterclockwise and lifting the deflated tire off the ground. It’s hot as hell and sweat drips down my face.
“Trouble again, Tulip? It seems to follow you wherever you go,” says the deep voice behind me, and I imagine what I must look like to him: butt high in the air, my body straining to turn the jack.
I keep working, never pausing. “Keep moving, QB1. Nothing to see here but a girl who knows how to change a tire. Quite fascinating for you, I’m sure.” I blow at a piece of hair that’s gotten in my eyes. “In fact, I’m quite unusual in your world, am I right? I’m nothing like those girls under the bleachers.” I twist on the jack, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t fuck guys under bleachers. I only sleep with guys who care about me, who want me in spite of where I come from.”
I close my eyes in exasperation, glad he can’t see my face.
What is it about him that pushes me to make these remarks?
Please leave. Just go away.
But he doesn’t.
“How do you know about the bleachers?”
I heave out a curse word. Me and my big mouth.
He bends down next to me, looking at me, but I refuse to return the favor. I stare at my tire.
“Tulip? Have you…seen me? Or just heard rumors? Girls like to talk, but you don’t really socialize with our crowd.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in his words; I expected gloating.
Curiosity makes me finally set the jack handle down and face him. His hair is damp from football practice and sticking up in all directions as if he left quickly without showering. He’s standing with his legs apart, his muscled arms crossed, wearing a white vented jersey with the number one on it and tight red football pants.
“Please. Word gets around, Knox. We all know how you like it, but yes, I saw you—twice after a game, and once in the freaking middle of the school day when I went to the field to pick up my poms I’d left.”
He frowns. “Three times? Shit.” His body tenses. “I think the odds of you catching me three times are quite low.”
Uh…
He studies my face, and I feel it getting warm. His eyes widen. “Did you look for me?”
“No! Stop it. That’s just gross.”
And it’s also the truth.
After I saw him the first time, I slipped under the bleachers after a game on purpose just to see if he’d be there, and oh boy, was he. He was hot, his head thrown back, still in his uniform, sweat dripping down his face, his lips twisted as he plowed some girl from behind with the grace of a powerful animal, barely leashed and close to veering out of control. Wild. Intense.
He bites his lips, a red blush rising up from his throat to his cheeks. “Fuck.”
I gape. “What? I’m shocked you’re actually embarrassed. By the way, is it true you only do it from behind?”
He glowers at me as his hands clench, and a fissure of triumph runs through my body. I finally got to him.
“Ugh, you saw me!” His hands tug at his hair.
“Uh-huh.”
He blows out a breath. “Look, erase that from your head.”
Not likely.
“Just the thought of someone like you…seeing me like that…” He grimaces and scrubs his face. “I’m sorry you saw that.”
“Who is someone like me?”
“No one. You’re no one here.”
Huh. Is that right?
I laugh bitterly. “Today when I said you’d peaked in high school and you’re going to end up alone and crying and addicted to porn? I forgot to mention you’ll probably spend most of your time drunk-dialing skanky ex-girlfriends and hookers. You won’t ever play football in college. No one will want you. You suck. You can’t even win a state championship, and trust me, this school demands one. The rumor is I really screwed up last year’s season. Not sorry.”