I’ve found out a lot about Lia over the years. Like the factthat she’s a first generation immigrant, that her dad works for the Moretti family, and her mom stayed in Ireland when she and her dad moved to America the summer before first grade. I thought I knew everything about her. I’ve certainly stalked her long enough to imagine that I did.
And I thought I stood a chance. I must have imagined that too. After all, she sure has made it clear over the years that she hates me. But I always figured it was pride making her act that way. I probably shouldn’t have smacked her butt back in middle school, but the honest truth is I don’t regret it. In fact, I think about it just as much as I think about her accent, and the cute little insults that have never really hurt me. Until today.
Because the fact that she’s insulting me after I invited her to a high school dance in the neighboring wealthy town of Astley, means she really does hate my guts.
Scoring those invites was hard, and any Oakley girl would be nuts for refusing one of them. Nuts, or angry as hell.
“Get lost, loser.”
Lia’s two girlfriends, one on each side of her like two braindead bodyguards, snicker. My eyes flash at them dangerously, and the two girls quickly grow sober again. I’m glad I have an effect on someone.
But when I turn my eyes back at Lia, they’ve gone back to being neutral. I just can’t find it in me to be angry at her.
She’s perfect. Even when she insults me.
“I said, get lost.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” I ask quietly, but with the usual sarcastic edge that I can’t seem to quell, even now. Or maybe I’m using it as a shield, so she doesn’t see how much she’s hurting me.
“Get your ass up from that chair, and walk away.”
Once more my eyes grow dark, but I direct them only at her friends, who inch backwards, now visibly nervous. Lia, though,just keeps blowing bubbles with her gum. I wish I could take that gum away from her and taste it. And then taste her.
She’s oblivious to the look in my eyes that’s freaking out her friends. Too fucking oblivious. I would never hurt her. But Oakley is a dangerous town, and one of these days, she’s going to get into trouble. The kind two twenty-dollar bills won’t be able to save her from.
I clench my jaw, turning back toward the cafeteria table, my eyes fixing themselves on the sad pack of chips I grabbed at the corner deli before school this morning.
“I said scram,” insists Lia, her beautiful, high-pitched voice with its cruel edge making my chest tight.
“I always sit here,” I say calmly.
“Well, not anymore. You’re in my line of sight. And I don’t want to look at the loser who thought he stood a chance with me any more than is absolutely necessary.”
Fuck. If I thought my chest was tight before, it’s nothing to how it feels now.
I wish I could get the hell out of here.
It’s not pride, or anger, that keeps me glued to my seat. It’s Damien. I know he would figure out what happened if I left.
I’ve spent way too much time and effort trying to conceal from him the way Lia treats me. My loyalty to him is nothing compared to how protective he is of me. Anyone so much as side-eyes me, and Damien makes him wish he’d never been born. I have no doubt he’d destroy Lia without so much as batting an eye. And I’d be helpless to stop him.
No one stops Damien Wells.
“I’m going to count to three,” starts Lia in her high-pitched voice. She takes a step toward me, putting a hand on my shoulder and lightly shoving it backward.
I guess she remembers my reaction the last time she really shoved me, because she hasn’t tried it since. But no matter howlight this shove is, it still riles me up. And I don’t want to lose my cool with her.
So, fisting one hand at my side, I grab the bag of chips with the other. Every muscle in my arms is straining with the effort of not… reaching over and strangling her.
But I really don’t want to hurt her.
Well, okay, that’s not exactly true.
I may have rubbed one out while dreaming of punishing the tits that look just about ready to spill out of her top every time she leans down to insult me. Or pictured the way she would look lying across my knee while I absolutely pulverise her ass.
It feels like her body is taunting me every day of my life, reminding me of what I can’t have. And goddammit, I’d like to give her a real reason to hate me.
But what I really want right now, more than anything else, is to feel her powerless in my arms, to touch the life force throbbing in her neck, to see those blue-green eyes flutter closed, her slim body sagging backward into my arms, my hand sliding up her thigh toward her…