He looks at his nails.
“It reeks.”
It’s freaking divine.
He whistles and stares at the ceiling. Rakes a hand through his hair.
“And if your girlfriends aren’t telling you the truth about your stupid cologne, they’re pussies.”
I swear I see his mouth twitch.
“Maybe cats would like it. Meow.” I claw at him, and he breaks with a smirk.
“It’s actually something my mom picked up in Paris. She bought it for me every Christmas. Guess I have enough to last a lifetime.”
“Ah, Paris. Nice. Beautiful place—Eiffel Tower, cheese, wine, fancy accents, poodles. I shop there all the time.”
“Really?” An eyebrow pops. “I wouldn’t have known from the state of your shoes. When’s the last time you had a new pair?”
I give him a fake smile. “Maybe I like worn-out things. At least they’re original and not a cookie-cutter leather loafer. Let me guess…” I tap my chin and take in the immaculate shoe on his large foot. I see the meticulous stitching, the honey color, the comfort it no doubt provides with a nice insole. “Fresh from Italy, I presume.”
“Man, it’s so nice being rich. What’s it like being poor?” His eyes glow at me.
He likes this.
He enjoys messing with me.
He smiles.
I smile.
Oh, honey, two can play at this game.
I have nothing to lose anymore, and right now, I’m feeling brave.
I dart my tongue out then bite my bottom lip on purpose.
He blinks and looks away from me.
“Cold and Evil, do you get off on arguing with me?”
“Tulip, you can get me off whenever you want. Wanna meet me under the bleachers later? I don’t mind slumming.”
“Who told you my middle name?” My breath whooshes out as Mrs. White talks at another table, assigning another movie.
He laughs.
“Did you rape me?” The words come out unplanned, but there they are, and I’m glad because his face goes from bored amusement to shuttering into a mask.
I watch him intently, cataloguing each little change, searching for the truth in the granite-cut curves of his face. His jaw pops, betraying emotion, but when he looks me straight in the eyes, all I see is an arctic winter in those wolfish depths.
“Well?” I add, my hands clenched, hiding under the desk.
“I don’t have to take by force what is offered to me on a daily basis. I’ve never, ever touched a girl unless she begged for it. You aren’t even on my radar, Tulip. But hey, the offer’s still open for a pity fuck.”
Not on his radar—good.
“But you were there.”
“Doesn’t mean it was me. And I left that party—with my very willing date. You watched me leave. Remember?” His eyes cling to mine, searching for something.
I frown. Why would he bring that up? Such a specific detail.
“You’re one of them and I can’t believe a word you say,” I bite out. “You’re all liars.”
We’re facing each other now, our heads tilted low, our voices hushed, mine angry, his taut and firm.
“We’re all liars—sure,” he mocks. “I saw you drink Fireball like it was iced tea. I watched a video of you dancing in a circle of at least six guys.”
“Huh, I thought it was more. Did you count them? Funny, I didn’t see you in that video.”
“Because I don’t do that shit. And I left. Remember?”
What is up with him and this remembering? The whole school knows I don’t recall much. I shove it aside.
“Am I too poor for you?” I say. “Poor little old me.”
“I don’t participate in videos because I have a football career to think about. College recruiters look through social media,” he says tonelessly, unflappable control holding strong.
My mouth tightens. I’d give my right boob to see Knox Grayson lose his cool.
“Yeah, everyone knows you’re high and mighty. Everyone kisses your ass. Guess what—I don’t. I think underneath that exterior is a guy who’s got some real problems. Mommy and Daddy not love you enough as a baby? Is that why Dane is still snorting coke or whatever?” I pause, feeling triumphant at the thunderous expression he now wears. “Oh, yeah, I know what it looks like. Grew up with an alcoholic, drug-addicted mom. See, it’s bad all over, right? No matter the social class we belong to, when it comes down to it, we’re all just humans with the same problems. Mine’s dealing with not remembering what happened that night. Yours is…I don’t know. You’re just a cold sonofabitch.”
It was quite a speech and he blinks rapidly, his chest inflating as he flashes a look over my shoulder to glance at Dane. He gazes back at me, eyes hard, but at least there’s heat there, dark and deep and angry. “Leave my brother out of this.”
Huh. If there’s a chink of weakness in Knox, it’s his brother. I file that away under the Things That Piss Off Knox dossier.
“All I had that was mine—my body—was taken without my consent, by you or one of your precious teammates. There’s nothing else you can do to me, Cold and Evil. Go tell your little brat pack that today. Something’s going to trigger my memory and when it does, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
“I’ll kill him with my bare hands.” His eyes flash.
My heart drops and I rear back, confusion making me suck in a breath.
What?
I search for words and end up with, “Why would you say that?”
His face flattens. “And while you’re at it, let it all out. Say everything you’ve obviously been holding back for months. Do it now. Get it over with.”
I frown. How has he gotten the upper hand all of a sudden? “Why?”
“Don’t you want to? Isn’t this your first time back among us in ten months? Don’t think I don’t see all that rage inside you. Let me have it.”
Is this one of his games?
I swallow, caught between my need to lash out at a Shark—something I’ve dreamed about for almost a year—and my urge to ask him to explain why he’d kill the person who hurt me. Anger wins. “Fine. I hate you and your friends. You ruined me last year, but I won’t let you take this year from me or shape the person I’m going to be. If you make my life hell, I’ll do the same to you.”
His eyes close, his thick dark lashes lowering briefly. “Oh, Tulip. You can’t make my life hell.”
“I’d like to see you walk in my shoes.”
His gaze goes down to my Converse. “No thanks.”
“Asshole,” I say, my jaw tight.
“Yes.”
“Major asshole. Like the biggest dick at this school, and I don’t mean size-wise. I mean douchebag of major proportions. I can’t believe girls actually want you. You’re disgusting.”
“Yes.”
“And the truth is, you’ve probably peaked as a quarterback in high school. Someday you’re going to be a lonely, middle-aged man with deep-seated commitment issues. You’ll be in AA, hooked on porn, crying over your Chinese takeout—”
His hand scrubs his mouth, and at first I think he’s pissed; then I realize his shoulders are shaking.