I chuckled and ran my hands through the ridiculously soft faux fur of the cushion in my lap. Mena and Harlow were throwing bits of popcorn at each other, trying to catch them with their mouths between fits of giggles, and only half paying attention.
“No boy talk!” Harlow yelled, then launched herself to the side to try to catch a kernel.
Mena laughed so hard she had to wipe tears away before she could speak. “I don’t get why everyone’s obsessed with him. He’s just a guy.”
“Because we go to school with a bunch of thirsty bitches,” Amaya deadpanned.
I laughed. She wasn’t wrong. People were fascinated because he was a shiny new toy, but he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to be played with. We may as well give him what he wants . . .
“Reply to them.” I gestured at Amaya’s phone, and she picked it up.
“What should I say?”
“Just write . . . Hendrix who?” I grinned. “And nothing else.”
Amaya nodded, already typing. “Brutal.”
I spent most of Sunday doing homework, and on Monday, while most people were dragging their feet into school, I marched in with a faint smile. Every time something annoyed or frustrated me, I’d remember the loud music thrumming in my chest, the smell of beer and sweat and cheap perfume, the feeling of eyes on me as I danced like a stripper. Shady must’ve been in one of his moods, because I ended up not finding a guy to have dirty sex with, but it was still a fun night—exactly the break and distraction I’d needed.
With the help of a few depraved texts from Shady, my Davey’s high lasted well past the weekend, and I was still feeling loose as I pulled into the school parking lot on Tuesday morning.
“What the fuck?” Amaya growled. She’d spotted the Tesla in my spot the same time I did. I came to a stop and gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath.
“Whose car is that?” Harlow leaned between the front seats.
Everyone at Fulton knew not to park in that spot—everyone except one infuriating new asshole.
“I’ll give you three guesses.” My buzz was wearing off, and I hadn’t even stepped foot into the school yet.
“We’ll just have to park somewhere else today.” Mena squeezed my shoulder. “It’s no biggie.”
She didn’t get it. It may have been just a parking spot to everyone else, but I knew how these things worked. If I gave them a parking spot crumb, those vultures would devour my whole carcass—scrape my dignity, influence, and power from me strip by bloody strip. I had to remain in control.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll drive to the back of the lot and look for a spot.”
“No way, girl. We stick together,” Amaya protested immediately, but Harlow was already undoing her belt.
“I can’t get another late mark. Sorry, sis!” She sounded genuinely sorry but also a little satisfied at my ire—little sisters.
“I’ll walk with you,” Mena said to me.
I checked the time and shook my head. “Thanks, girls, but there’s no sense in us all being late. Get your fine asses out of my car.”
I flashed them a smile to show I really didn’t mind, and they got out, rushing for the front doors. There were hardly any students still outside. I had five minutes to find a spot and get to my first class.
Just as I was about to take off, the door to the Tesla opened, and Hendrix fucking Hawthorn stepped out, completely unhurried and unfazed.
I quickly put my car in neutral and pulled the parking brake, then got out too. If I had to be late, so would he.
“Hendrix.” I raised my voice, letting the edge cut into the single word.
He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “What now? I’m gonna be late.”
“You’re in my spot.” I folded my arms and glared, showing him exactly how pissed I was.
“Excuse me?”
“You.” I pointed at him, speaking as though I were explaining a complex idea to a child. “Are in.” I pointed to his car. “My spot.”
He stared at me for a beat, then made a show of checking the ground around his car before raising his brows and holding his arms out at his sides. “Don’t see your name on it.”
I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve tried to be nice, but you threw that in my face. You said you wanted to be left alone, but here you are antagonizing me. Everyone knows I park here. I’m now going to be late because of you. Move your car, and don’t let this happen again.”
He threw his head back and laughed, his broad shoulders shaking under his blazer. When he looked at me again, the mirth fell from his features, replaced by an intense stare.
“The spots are not allocated. Much as you like to think so, you don’t own this school, princess, you don’t own this spot, and you will never own me. I don’t respond well to being ordered around.” He locked his car and stalked toward the school as the bell sounded, leaving my profanity-filled response on the tip of my tongue.
I resisted the urge to stomp my foot like the brat he thought I was. Instead, I got back into my car, drove to the back of the lot, found one of the last remaining spots, and took the walk to the entrance to calm myself.
I was already late, so I didn’t bother to rush; no sense in ruining my appearance too. His blatant disrespect in front of the entire school—everyone would walk past and see his car in my spot—made it impossible to do nothing. And my seething rage and determination to remain in control allowed me to formulate a rough plan by the time I entered the main building.
I sent a message to the girls in our group chat. “I’ve changed my mind. He needs to be taught to heel.”
If he was going to act like a disobedient puppy, pissing on things he thought he had a right to, then I would treat him like a dog.
Chapter Three
Hendrix
I frowned at the bulletin board. I knew for a fact I’d put my name down on the sign-up form on my second day at Fulton Academy, yet there was the spot, covered in white-out with some other dickhead’s name scrawled over the top.
I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to hunt down this Thomas Booth and make sure he could never walk again, let alone kick a football.
It was for the best—I’d come here to remove my own name anyway. Playing football was too close to my old life. Apparently the school was holding tryouts this late in the year because four of the players had been injured in some car accident—one was off the team permanently for breaking the coach’s strict no-alcohol-during-the-week rule. The dumbasses were getting wasted and driving around Devilbend on a Wednesday night. It was something I would’ve done—before.
Only nostalgia had made me put my name down in the first place—misplaced longing for a life I now knew was a fucking joke. I flexed my fingers and bunched them into a fist, remembering the feel of the ball as it slapped into my waiting arms. I hadn’t played in over a year, and it was all my fault. All my stupidity and carelessness and . . .
I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to focus on my surroundings, the chatting of students as they passed, the opening and closing of lockers in the distance.
The teal tie felt stiff and tight, and I tugged at it before adjusting the bag on my shoulder. I wasn’t used to the uniform yet.