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Defy
Editedby:KarenDaleHarris,EllieMcLove
CoverDesigner:LetitiaHasser,RBADesigns
InteriorFormatting:StaceyBlake,ChampagneFormats

“Iwouldalwaysratherbehappythandignified.”

—CharlotteBrontë,JaneEyre

ToJaimeSteinman-JonesandKerissaBlake

Soundtrack

“Secretly”–SkunkAnansie

“RUMine?”–ArcticMonkeys

“UnderYourSpell”-Desire

“Colors”-Halsey

“CrazyInLove”-Nightcore

“WhistlefortheChoir”–TheFratellis

“Halo”-Texas

“Atomic”-Blondie

Originally,theanchorsymbolwasnotusedbythoseonthewater,butbypeopleonland.Duringthe

earlyyearsofChristianity,ChristianswereunderheavypersecutionbytheRomans.Toshowtheir

religiontootherpracticingChristiansunderthewatchfuleyeoftherulingpeople,theywouldwear

anchorjewelryoreventattooanchorsonthemselves.Theanchorwasseenasasymbolofstrengthas

anchorsholddownshipseveninthestormiestofweather.Itwasalsoapopularsymbolbecauseofits

closeresemblancetothecross.Anchorswerealsousedtomarksafehousesforthoseseekingrefuge

frompersecution.

MyNameNecklace.com

MynameisMelodyGreene,andIhaveaconfessiontomake.

Isleptwithmystudent,aseniorinhighschool.

Multipletimes.

Ihadmultipleorgasms.

Inmultiplepositions.

IsleptwithmystudentandIenjoyedit.

Isleptwithmystudent,andI’ddoitalloveragainifIcouldturnbacktime.

MynameisMelodyGreene,andIgotkickedoutofmypositionasateacheranddidmywalkof

shameàlaCerseiLannisterfromtheprincipal’soffice,minutesaftersaidprincipalthreatenedto

callthecopsonme.

MynameisMelodyGreene,andIdidsomethingbadbecauseitmademefeelgood.

Hereiswhyitwastotallyworthit.

SNAILEDMYWAYOUT

oftheprincipal’sofficetowardtheSoCalmid-winterclouds.Anger,humiliation,

andself-loathingcoatedeveryinchofmysoul,creatingafilmofdesperationIwasdesperatetoscratch
away.

Rock.Meet.Bottom.
I’djustfoundoutAllSaintsHighwasnotgoingtorenewmycontractasateachernextyearunlessI

pulled my shit together and performed some magic that’d transform my students into attentive human
beings.PrincipalFollowhillsaidthatIshowedzeroauthorityandthattheliteratureclassesIwasteaching
werefallingbehind.Toaddfueltothefire,lastweekI’dreceivednoticethatIwasgettingkickedoutof
myapartmentattheendofnextmonth.Theownerhaddecidedtoremodelandmovebackin.

Also, the sexting partner I’d bagged through a questionable dating site had just fired me a message

sayinghewouldn’tbeabletomakeittoourfirstin-persondatebecausehismomwouldn’tgivehimher
cartonight.

Hewastwenty-six.
SowasI.
Beingpickywasaluxuryawomanwhohadn’tseenareal-lifecockinfouryearsreallydidn’thave.
And, as a matter of fact, other than a few short flings, I’d never had a relationship. At all. With

anyone.Ballethadalwayscomefirst.Beforemenandbeforeme.Forawhile,I’dactuallythoughtitwas
enough.Untilitwasn’t.

Whendiditallgowrong?
Icouldtellyouwhen—rightafterIstartedcollege.Eightyearsago,IgotacceptedtoJulliardandwas

about to fulfill my dream to become a professional ballerina. This was what I’d worked for my whole
life. My parents had taken out loans to pay my way through dancing competitions. Boyfriends were
deemedanunwelcomedistraction,andmyonlyfocuswasjoiningaprestigiousNewYorkorEuropean
balletcompanyandbecomingaprimaballerina.

Dancingwasmyoxygen.
WhenIsaidmygoodbyestomyfamilyandwavedatthemfromthesecuritypointattheairport,they

toldmetobreakaleg.ThreeweeksintomyfirstsemesteratJulliard,Iliterallydid.Brokeitinafreakish
escalatoraccidentonmywaydowntothesubway.

It not only killed my career dreams and lifelong plan, but also sent me packing and back to SoCal.

Afterayearofsulking,feelingsorryformyselfanddevelopingasteadyrelationshipwithmyfirst(and
last) boyfriend—a dude named Jack Daniels—my parents convinced me to pursue a career in teaching.
Mymomwasateacher.Mydadwasateacher.Myolderbrotherwasateacher.Theylovedteaching.

Ihatedteaching.
Thiswasmythirdyearofteaching,andmyfirst—andjudgingbymyperformance,only—yearatAll

SaintsHighinTodosSantos,California.PrincipalFollowhillwasoneofthemostinfluentialwomenin
town.Herpolishedbitcherywasformidable.Andsheabsolutelydespisedmefromtheget-go.Mydays
underherreignwerenumbered.

AsIapproachedmytwelve-year-oldFordFocusparkedacrosstheaislefromherLexusandherson’s

monstrous Range Rover (Yeah, she’d bought her son, a senior, a fucking luxury SUV. Why would an
eighteen-year-oldneedacarsobig?Maybesoitcouldaccommodatehisgiant-assego?),Idecidedmy
situationcouldn’tpossiblygetanyworse.

ButIwaswrong.
Islidintomycarandstartedbackingupintothealmostemptyparkinglot,slippingbacktowardthe

two pricey symbols of a small dick. At the exact same moment, Mr. Living With His Mom texted me
again. The green bubble flashed with GOT THE CAR. R8DY TO SEX IT UP? accompanied with
approximatelythreethousandquestionmarks.

Igotdistracted.
Igotannoyed.
IbumpedstraightintoPrincipalFollowhill’sson’sSUV.
Choking the steering wheel and gasping in horror, I slapped my hand over my heart to make sure it

didn’tshootoutofmyribcage.Shit.Shit.Shit!Thethudthatfilledmyearsandshookmycardidn’tleave
anyroomfordoubt.

I’ddonetohisSUVwhatKeanuReevesdidtothemovieDracula.I’dfuckingruinedit.
Myfight-or-flightadrenalinkickedin,andIbrieflycontemplatedwhetherIshouldhitthegas,assume

analias,andfleethecountrytohideinacavesomewhereintheAfghanmountains.

How was I going to pay for the damage? I had a big deductible and there was that notice at home

aboutmylastinsurancepremiumbeinglate.WasIevencovered?PrincipalFollowhillwasgoingtokill
me.

Mustering my courage, I peeled my sorry ass off my seat. Technically speaking, Jaime’s precious

blackSUVwasn’tsupposedtobeparkedintheteachers’lot.Thenagain,JaimeFollowhillgotawaywith
alotofshithewasn’tsupposedto,thankstohislooks,socialstatus,andpowerfulparents.

I circled around to find my cheap car’s ass that was kissing his Range Rover’s back quarter panel,

leavingadentthesizeofAfrica.

Sufficeittosay,nowthingscouldn’tgetanyworse.
ButIwaswrong.Again.
Bending down, I squinted at the destruction, not giving a damn about the fact that my brown knee-

lengthdressdancedintheair,exposingmynewlacepanties.Therewasn’tanyoneelseintheparkinglot
to see them, and it wasn’t as if I was going to be flaunting them in front of Mr. Living With His Mom
tonight.

“Oh,no,no,no…”Ichantedbreathlessly.
Iheardagutturalgrowl.“Nexttimeyoubendoverlikethis,Ms.G,makesureI’mnotbehindyou,or

it’llenduponNationalGeographic:WhenPredatorsStrike.”

I slowly straightened, pushing my reading glasses up the bridge of my nose and scowling at Jaime

FollowhillasItookhimin.

JaimelookedlikethelovechildofRyanGoslingandChanningTatum,andIwasnotmakingthisshit

up.(Sidenote:ThiswouldbeagreatideaforaM/Mromancenovel.I’dtotallyreadit,anyway.)Sandy-
blondhairtiedintoalow,messybun,indigoeyes,andthebodyofamalestripper.Seriously,thekidwas
soripped,hisgunswerethesizeoffuckingbowlingballs.Hewasawalking,talkingclichéoftheprom
kingina90smovie.Aballerwhohadeverygirl’sattentionatAllSaintsHigh…

Andhiseyeswerenowonmeashestrodeclosertohisverysmashedride.
HeworeatightgrayHenleyshirtthatmadehisbicepsandpecsstandout,slimdarkdenim,andhigh-

topshoesthatlookedsoexpensiveandtastelessyoujustknewPDiddyhadtobebehindthatdesign.He
hadafewbruisesonhisarmsandafadingblackeye.Iknewwherehe’dgottenthem.Rumorwasheand
hisstupidfriendsbeattheshitoutofeachotherontheweekendsinafight-clubgametheycalledDefy.

GuessPrettyBoywasn’ttoorichtobepushedaround.IwonderedifhismotherknewaboutDefy.

Wait,didheaskmeaquestionaboutmyhamster?Orwasitmyhamstrings?
“Well, fuck me to the moon and back.” He stopped a few inches from our cars, releasing a wicked

grin. It looked like the two cars had melded together. Like his SUV was giving birth to my ugly car
throughitsrearend,andnowtheSUV’ssignificantother(PrincipalFollowhill’sLexus)wasdemandinga
paternitytest.

ItaughtJaime,andhewasoneofthefewkidsthatIcouldcountonnottoyell/scream/throwcrapat

people in English Lit. He wasn’t a good student by any stretch of the imagination, but he was too busy
withhiscellphonetomaketroubleinmyclass.

“Sorry.”Ireleasedapainedbreath,myshoulderssaggingindefeat.
He lifted the hem of his shirt and rubbed his perfect six-pack, stretching lazily and yawning at the

sametime.“SeemstomelikeIfuckedyourcarup,Ms.Greene.”

Wait…what?
“You…”Iclearedmythroat,lookingaroundtomakesureitwasn’taprank.“Youfuck—Imean,you

damagedmycar?”

“Yeah.Bumpedrightintoyourass.Punintended,obvs.”Hekneeleddown,frowningatthespotwhere

ourtwovehiclesmet.HebrushedhistanpalmovertheshinypaintofhisSUV.

Jaime made it sound like he was the one who’d crashed his car into mine. I had no idea why. He

wasn’teveninhiscar.He’djustwalkedup.Maybehewantedtoblackmailme?

I considered myself a respectable teacher with a moral compass. But I also considered myself

someonewhowouldprefernottobatheintheoceanandsleepinhercar.ThatwasexactlywhatIwould
needtodotosurvivethefinancialblowifIadmittedtobeingatblameforhittinghisexpensivecar.

“James…”Isighed,clutchingontothegoldanchornecklacehangingaroundmyneck.
Heshookhisheadandraisedhishandintheair.“SoIscrewedupyourride.Shithappens.Letme

makeituptoyou.”

What.The.Heck?
Ididn’tknowwhatgamehewasplaying.IjustknewthathewasprobablybetteratitthanIwas.So,

in true Melody Greene fashion, I turned around and walked straight back to my car, essentially running
awayfromthesituationlikethelittlepussythatIwas.

“Whoa,notsofast.”Hechuckledashegrabbedmebytheelbowandspunmearound.
My eyes darted to his palm on my flesh. He lowered his hand, but it was too late. Butterflies

somersaultedinmystomach,andmyskinprickledwithneed.Iwashotandbotheredbyoneofmypupils.

OnlyJaimeFollowhillwasn’tjustanypupil.Hewasalsoasexgod.
TherewasgossipinthehallwaysofAllSaintsHightoproveit,enoughstoriestocompetewiththe

lengthofthefuckingCompleteWorksofShakespeare.Andthatwasn’ttheonlythingsthatwerelongand
impressiveabouttheguyiftherumorsweretrue.

Followhill made me almost as uncomfortable as his mother did. Only difference was his mom

inspiredfearinme,whilehepokedatmymostsensitivespot.Hemademefeelembarrassed.

ThatcouldbebecausemyeyesalwaysdriftedhiswaywhileItaughthisLitclass.Likeamothtoa

flame, I always noticed him, even when I didn’t want to. I was worried he knew that too. That I was
lookingathiminawayIshouldn’tbewhenhewasdickingaround,messingwithhisphone.

Notlikeateacher.
Butlikeawoman.
“IsaidIdentedyourcar.”Hisblueeyesshimmeredwithintensity.
Whywashedoingthis?AndwhythefuckdidIcare?ThiskidreceivedmorepocketmoneythanIhad

inallmysavingscombined.Ifhewantedtoshoulderthis,Ishouldjustaccept.

Wasitabettergradehewasafter?Doubtedit.Jaimewasasenioronhiswayoutthedoor.I’dheard

hisrichasshadlandedaspotatanexcellentTexasuniversity(see:MommyDearest),wherehe’dplay

footballandprobablyfuckhiswayintosomekindofaman-whoreGuinnessWorldRecord.

“Youdid,”Isaid,swallowing.“Andrightnow,I’mrunninglate.Pleasestepoutofmyway.”
We mentally shook hands on that lie, our eyes hard on one another. I had a feeling I was digging a

hole.AholeinwhichIwasabouttodumpatonofdarkshitthat’dlandmeinhottrouble.Iwasstrikinga
dealwiththedevil’sspawn.EventhoughIhadagoodeightyearsonhim,Iknewwhohewas.

OneoftheFourHotHoles.
Aself-centered,privilegedprincelingwhoruledthistown.
Jaimetookanotherstepmyway,hisbodyflushwithmine.Hisbreathskatedovermyface.Mintgum,

aftershave,andmuskymalesweatthatmademeoddlyheady.Iwassounpreparedforthisthatmyface
twitched.

Itookastepback.
Hetookastepforward.
Bendinghisheaddown,hemovedhislipsclosetomine.Tomyhorror,mykneesbuckled,andIknew

exactlywhy.

“I owe you,” he murmured darkly. “And I’ll make sure you get to cash in on that debt. Soon. Very

soon.”

“Idon’tneedyourmoney,”Isputtered,mywombtinglingwithfuzzywarmth.
Hismesmerizingeyeswidened,andheflashedmeadimpledsmirk.“It’snotmoneyI’mgoingtogive

you.”

Howcouldsomeonesoyoungbesoarrogantandself-assured?Ifelthisthumbstrokingmystomach,

barelytouching,teasing,makingmequiverthroughthethinfabricofmydress.Itwaslikehe’dshovedhis
wholefistintomeandattackedmymouthwithhis.

Ilickedmylipsandblinked,astonished.
Holyshit.
Holy.Fucking.Shit.
JaimeFollowhillwashittingonme.Blatantly.Intheparkinglot.Inplainsight.
Iwasn’tatroll.Istillhadadancer’sbodyafterall,greeneyes,aniceCaliforniatan,andsoftchestnut

curls.ButIdidn’texactlygivethecheerleadingcrowdarunfortheirmoney.

Tripping backward, I swallowed a groan, feeling my pulse everywhere, eyelids included. “That’s

enough,James.Drivesafely,andpleasebesuretodoyourhomeworkfortomorrow,”Ihadtheaudacityto
say.

I tucked myself back into my Ford, and then accidentally bumped my car into the Range Rover one

more time before I fled the scene, smearing the ugly dent into a long, wide scratch. From the rearview
mirror,Iwatchedashecockedhiseyebrowsatmeinachallenge.

IdrovesofastIsworemycurlstransformedintoadramaticblow-outbythetimeIparkedundermy

building.

Athome,IslouchedonmycouchinfrontofmyphoneandwaitedforPrincipalFollowhilltocalland

tellmeshewasfiringmyassandsuingmeforeverysinglepennythatIhad.Orinmycasedidn’thave.

Long hours passed, but the call never came. I crawled into bed and closed my eyes at ten p.m. but

couldn’tsleeptosavemylife.AllIthoughtaboutwasthatgorgeousasshole,JaimeFollowhill.

HowhesmelledlikethehottestguyI’deverbeennear.
Howhelookedlikethemostdeliciousthingintheworldwhenherubbedhistansix-pack.
Howhehelpedmeoutofashittysituationwithoutflinching,knowingthathismotherwouldprobably

crushmeforthis,andnow…hewantedsomethingback.

Onpaper,hewasstillakid,buteveryotherpartofhimfeltlikeamanthisafternoon.
Itsodefiedlogic,itwasunnerving,almostinfuriatingwhenIthoughtaboutit.
Thismorning,I’dwokenupwiththeimpressionthatIhatedtheFollowhills.

But after this afternoon, there was no denying it—there was at least one Followhill I wanted to get

veryfriendlywith.

ERE WAS ALL YOU NEEDED

toknowaboutTodosSantos:itwastherichesttowninCaliforniaand,asa

direct result, home to the most entitled teenagers in the world. My students knew I couldn’t fail them.
Their parents had enough power to strip me of my citizenship and banish me to an oxygen-deprived
planet.Thesekidsdidwhatevertheywantedduringclass,muchtonoone’ssurprise.

Thedayafterthecarincidentwasdifferent.
Itaughtsixclasses.Thefirstfivehadgonebetterthanexpected,meaningIdidn’thavetoslapanyone

withadetentionsliporcallanambulance/911/aSWATteamforassistance.Butitwasthesixthandlast
classthatchangedmylifeforever.

I sashayed into Jaime’s class—following another barking session from his bitchy mom—into an

echoingsilenceIwasn’tusedto.Everyonewasseated,nobodythrewanything,andVicious,Jaime’sBFF,
hadn’tcutanyone’sfaceandadornedtheirforeheadwithasatanicsymboljusttoburntime.

Normally, this was the part where I had to contain the wrath and deplorable behavior of the Four

HotHoles.(HotAssholes,astheyweredubbedbyeveryoneinTodosSantos.)Itwasthreemonthsbefore
graduation,andtheywereallseniors,apossibleexcusefortheirbehavior.Exceptthey’dbeenthisway
sincethefirstday.

TherewasJaime,whospentmyclasstextingthewholeworldanddrawingtheattentionofeverygirl

whowasn’ttongue-deepintoTrentRexroth,theunderprivilegedmocha-skinnedfootballstar,whomade
outwithrandomchicksintheback.Heoncehadagirlsuckinghiscockunderhistableincalculus.Ikid
you not. There was Dean Cole, the airheaded stoner who enjoyed pranks and annoying me in equal
measure,andfinally,Baron“Vicious”Spencer,theWorld’sBiggestJerk.

Viciouswasbyfartheworst.Hemadegoodonhisname.Sogoddamnedcoldandsullenallthetime

that people nicknamed him after Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols. He had coal black hair, expressionless
eyes, fair skin, and the kind of rebellious anger that could electrify you to the point of the chills. The
permanenttickofhisclenchedsquarejawmadegirlswettheirpantiesfromfearandlust.Hewasajock,
like all the HotHoles, but he was leaner than the rest, not as muscular. But scarier. Definitely fucking
scarier.

Thatday,MillieLeBlanc,asweetgirlwhowasthemostfrequenttargetofVicious’swrath,arrived

three minutes late. I tilted my head, signaling for her to take a seat. I felt bad for her. Her parents had
draggedherallthewayfromVirginiahersenioryeartotakeajobaslive-inservantsatoneofthetown’s
manymansions—ViciousSpencer’shousetobeexact.

As always, she strode right in the psycho’s direction and took the empty seat beside him as if she

didn’tknoworcarewhoViciouswas.Mysoulshoutedanextended“Noooooooo!”whenIsawhowhe
waswatchingher.Hewillgrindyouandfeedyoutohispetsnake,Iwantedtowarn.

But Emilia just lifted her head, offered a polite smile, and drawled a Southern “hey, y’all” in the

directionofhimandtheotherHotHoles.Viciousblinkedslowly,intriguedbytheideathatshedaredto
speaktohimwithoutpermission,andhisexpressioncloudedintoatautfrown.

“Motherfucker,didyoujust‘hey,y’all’me?”Heletoutaferalgrowl.“Pleasetellmeit’safucking

safewordyou’reusingnowbecausesomenewboyfriendshovedtheConfederateflagupyourass,pole

included.Otherwise,don’teverfucking‘heyy’all’meagain.”

Wow.Thatwasmorewordsthanhe’dspokenallyear.
Milliesighedandsaid,“I’monlytryingtobepolite.Youshouldtryitsometime.”
“Idon’tdopolite,”heretorted,araresmiletuggingonhislips.Usually,heseemedtodespiseher,but

hewasstudyinghersointentlyitlookedasifhewastheonewho’dliketoshovenumerousthingsupher
perkylittlebutt.

“Leavehimalone,babydoll.”Trent,theguynexttoher(whotookabreatherfromlettingthechick

nexttohimsuckhisthumb)glancedfromDeantoVicious.“Viciousstopbeinga—”

“A raging fucking asshole,” Jaime finished from behind them, scraping his chair back and towering

overtheirheads,hissculptedmusclesflexedtothemax.

Goddammit.Itwasthefirsttimemyworkdayhadeverbeenblissfullyuneventful.TheHotHolesjust

hadtoruinit.

Before I could warn everyone off with an impotent threat I’d never follow through with, Jaime

gallopedtowardViciousandpinnedhimtothenearestwall,hisfingerslacedfirmlyaroundVic’sneckin
adeathsqueeze.

“Where’syourloyalty,man?Leaveitbe,okay?”JaimetightenedhisholdonVicious’sneck.
“James!” I raised my voice, flying up from my chair and banging my palm over the desk. “Back to

yourseat,now!”

Viciouslookedthoroughlyamused,rollinghisheadonthewallandlaughinglikeamaniac.Jaimeand

Vicious were best friends, but they were also two alphas with a shitload of testosterone and hormones
coursingthroughtheirveins.

TheywerealsotheinventorsofDefy.Theteachersandhighschoolstaffdidn’tknowtoomuchabout

Defy,becauseitwentonatVicious’shousepartiesovertheweekends,butwegotthegeneralidea.The
gamewassimple:Ourstudentschallengedeachothertobloodyfightsandbeattheshitoutofeachother.
Forfun.

Defy was supposedly voluntary, but I didn’t doubt people were afraid enough of Vicious to indulge

hiswhims,howeverridiculousordangerous.

“Make me,” Jaime challenged me on a whisper, his eyes narrowing into slits and zeroing in on my

face,hisfingersstilldiggingintotheneckofanamused,bluishVic.

JesusChrist.InevertouchedFollowhillwhenitcametodetentionsandtardyslips.Hismomwasthe

fuckingprincipal,andshealreadyhatedmyguts.Buthe’dcorneredme.Ihadtoreact.

Iclutchedmynecklacetighter.
Whywashedoingthis?Yesterday,heeye-fuckedmetounconsciousnessandback.Andnow…he…

he…

Oh,shit.Nowhe’scashinginonthedebt.
Hedidn’twantmetobackdown.Hewantedmetoaccepthisdare.WasIgoingtotakethebait?It

wasn’tlikeIhadmuchchoice.IowedhimbigtimefortheRangeRover.Whateveritwashewantedfrom
me,itwasalreadyhis.

“You’vejustlandedyourselfindetentionforthenextweek,startingthisafternoon.”Ipulledopenthe

drawerofmywoodendeskandstartedfillingoutthedetentionform.

Everyonefellsilent.I’dneverdonethisbefore.NottoasenioranddefinitelynottoJamesCharles

FollowhillIII.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as Jaime finally let go of Vicious’s neck. Vicious made a

sucking sound and grabbed his junk, motioning to Jaime, laughing as he strode back to his seat. Other
studentsslappedhisbackandlookedbetweenthem,slippingnotes.ProbablybetsonanimpendingDefy
fightthatwasabouttogodownthisweekend.

I smacked the detention slip on Jaime’s desk, and he jerked his eyes up, beaming a smile at me so

sinistermypantiesmeltedintogooey,sweetliquid.WebothknewwhatIwasdoing.

Awardinghimwithone-on-onetimewithme,exactlywhathewanted.
Acceptinganarrangementthat’dputmeinafragile,potentiallydisastrousspot.
Iwassayingthankyoutohimforthreateningmyclass,tellingthemtobehave,sothathe’dbetheonly

personindetentionforthenextweek.

Andatthispoint,therewasnodenyingit—Iwasallowingmyselftofree-fallheadfirstintotheendof

mycareer,doingsomersaultsonmywaydown.

JaimeFollowhillhadcelebratedhiseighteenthbirthdaythreedaysbeforetheparkinglotincident,which
madethechainofrecenteventsevenmoresuspicious.Hadhewaitedtohitonme?Why?Hecouldhave
anygirlinschool.(AfterTrentRexrothhadataste,ofcourse.)

I’d already spent my lunch break roaming his Facebook page like there was no tomorrow. His

timelinewasapointedreminderthathewaseightyearsmyjunior.Hehadpicturesfromsummercamp,
forfuck’ssake.Hewasalwayssportingadimplysmile,tanmuscularforearms,astunningpairofbright
blues,andatonoffriends.

Jaimehadeverything,andIhadnothing.Hehadacoddledpast,acushypresent,andadazzlingfuture.

I,ontheotherhand,wasalreadytaintedwithcareerfailureandheadedtowardalifeofscramblingtostay
employedandoutofdebt.Wedidn’tmakesense.Evenforafling.

ButIwastooselfishandvulnerabletosayno.Besides,havinghimwouldbelikestickingittohis

momwithoutreallylettingherknowaboutit.

Win-win,right?
Thatafternoon,Islippedintotheclassroomwheredetentiontookplace,notingthatthewoodendoor

totheroomhadawindow.

Iwasn’tsurprisedtoseetheblondHotHolewasalreadythere,sittinginthefrontrow,jinglinghiscar

keys—andoursecret—betweenhisstrongfingerswithasmirk,hauntingmewithhistealeyes.Gulping,I
satdownattheteacher’stableandtookoutmylaptopandsomeexamsIneededtograde.

“Putyourphoneinyourbackpack,Jaime.”Iwetmylips,myeyesfocusedonmypaperwork.
He did as he was told, but I felt his lingering gaze licking me everywhere. My self-consciousness

levelsweresohighIwasonthevergeofthrowingup.IactedlikeIwasabouttocommitacrime.Ina
way,Iwas.

Afterafewminutesofmepretendingtotypeabsolutelynothingonmylaptopandhimstaringatme

with a cocky smile, like he was about to devour me at any second, I grunted, “Why don’t you do your
homework?I’msureyoucandosomethingconstructivewithyourtimewhileyou’rehere.”Hehadtwo
hourstoburn,andmyfacecouldn’tbethatfascinating.

ButIsworeIheardhimmumble,“Sizingupmypreyisconstructive.”
Myheadboltedupfrommyscreen,andIshothimadirtylook.“Excuseme?”
Hetiltedhischinup,flashingarowofpearlywhitesoftheHollywoodvariety.“Ms.Greene,thisis

goingtohappen.”

Iknewwhathemeant.
“I have no idea what you mean,” I snipped. Pshh. Playing games with an eighteen-year-old. I

promised myself that after today, I was going to take a long, hard look at my life. Preferably while

enjoyingagenerousglassofwine.Well,notaglass,maybemorelikeabowl.

Jaimeleanedforwardonhiselbows,hishugearmsspanninghiswholedesk.Thedevioustwinklein

hiseyesassuredme,onceagain,thathisagewasmerelyanumber.Hell,he’dprobablysleptwithmore
peoplethanI’dkissedinmyentirelife.

“Yes,youdo.Youknow,”hesaidwithasmilethatwasarrogant,yetforgiving.Whowasthegrown-

uphere?Whowascorruptingwho?Iswallowed.

Myeyesdroppedtomykeyboard,andIstruggledforasteadybreath.Iwasshit-scaredandturnedon.

Apparently,thiswastheperfectcombinationtomakemeproducesmallmoansresemblingacatinheat.

“Whyme?”Iasked.
Jaimeremainedmotionless,buthisstarenippedatthesensitivefleshofmyneck,ticklingmylower

abdomen. “Because,” he said slowly, his soft lips parting as he drank me in, “I want to fuck a teacher
beforeIgoofftocollege.”

Andjustlikethat,ladiesandgentlemen,myquiveringthighsandglassyeyessufferedabadcaseof

ice-coldbucketofrage.

Standingupandfoldingmyarms,Ipinchedmylipstogethertomakesureacursedidn’tescapethem.

“I’m sorry, James. I don’t seem to register half of the things you’ve said today, because it sounds like
you’rebeggingtofailmyclassandgetkickedoutofschool.”

Nowitwashisturntostand,andIshrankbacktowardthewhiteboardwhenIrememberedhehada

goodnineinchesonme(alsoinhispants,ifthatprevailingrumorwasright.)

“Sweetheart,”hesaid,followingthatwithatsk-tskofhistongue,hisconfidenceunnerving.“Giveme

your worst. Fail me. Throw me in detention for the rest of the year. We both know it won’t affect my
graduationormyfuture.You’donlybeshootingyourselfinthatlovely,sexy-as-fuckfootofyours.”

Hiseyesmovedtomylegs,andhetookastepforward.Mythroatconstrictedwithanunfamiliarneed

tobitesomething.PreferablythisHotHole’sbutt.

“The damage to the Range Rover is around eighty-five hundred dollars, thanks for asking,” he

continued,straight-faced.

Anotherstep.Thump,thump,thump,wentmyheart.Iwasaflowerandhewasararesunray,andwe

weredrawntoeachother,reluctantly,unwittingly,disastrously.Everycellinmybodysizzled,beggingfor
histouch.

Jaimewantedtofuckateacher,sowhat?Iwantedtofuckaballer.Weweretwosensiblegrown-ups

makingaconsciousdecision…onlyhewasn’treallyagrown-up,washe?AndIwasanythingbutsensible
togetintothismess.

Buthehadleverageonme.
Andthosepiercingblueeyes.
Besides…Iwantedhim.Hewasthefirstthingthathadmademefeelgiddyinawhile.SinceJulliard,

tobeexact.

Howsadwasthat?
“Jaime,” I croaked. “I’m sure there are other teachers you could…work your charm on. How about

Ms.Perklin?”

She was about three centuries old and smelled like used dental floss, but I wanted to gauge his

reaction, postponing what was beginning to feel inevitable. Jaime stopped when our toes touched, his
dimpled smile broadening, the black eye barely visible. I might have an easier time rejecting him if he
weren’tafemalelubricant,Ithoughtwhileadmiringhismasculinejawandhighforehead.

“Correction…” His lips brushed mine as he leaned down, and I shivered and stepped back, aware

peoplemightseeusthroughthedoor’sglasswindow.“Idon’tonlywanttofuckateacher.Iwanttofuck
myLitteacher.She’sgotsass,greatass,longlegs,andeventhoughshethinksIhaven’tfiguredherout,I
knowthatbehindtheprissydisguiseisawomanwhocurseslikeasailorandcanoutdrinkanyoneonmy

footballteam.”

Damn right, I could. They were only teenagers. I had impressive binge-drinking mileage. Eras of

destructivenesscausedbydarktimesofdepression.ButIdigress.

“DoyouwantusbothtogetkickedoutofAllSaints?”Iinhaled,pattingmysweatypalmsonmynavy

polka-dot dress. Someone had to talk sense into this boy. Too bad it was me we depended on. My
willpowerwasnonexistentinthosedays.Ihadverylittletoloseatthispoint,ifatall.

He grabbed me by the waist and spun us around so his back shielded my whole body from the

windoweddoor.Hepulledmeintohim,andmybodymeltedagainsthislikehotbutter.

“Iwon’ttell,”hewhisperedintomyneck,makingmeshiverwithpleasure.“Neitherwillyou.Anice

shortfling,Ms.G.I’llmovetoTexastoplaycollegefootball.You’llmoveontoanugly-assaccountant
with a good heart or some shit. Someone to make babies with. That’s all. Now what do you say,
Melody?”

Iwasabouttosaydreamonbutdidn’thavethechance.
Jaimedovedown,hissultrylipsbreathingintomine.“Onsecondthought,don’tsayaword.I’llsee

formyself.”

JaimeFollowhillkissedme,themostintoxicatingkissI’deverhad.Theminutehismouthslammed

over mine, my toes curled inside my sensible pumps. It wasn’t just the urgency of his hot mouth or the
sweettasteofhisgumbutalsohisdruggingmalescent.Heinvadedeveryinchofmypores,kissingme
like he had something to prove, a point to make. I grabbed his smooth-cheeked face with abandon and
inhaled,whileheopenedmymouthwithhistongueanddevouredmelikeIwashisfuckinglastmeal.

His tongue attacked mine, owning my mouth, licking every part and swallowing my needy moans. I

wasn’tsurprisedwhenhishanddugintomyassandheyankedmeintohiserection.Herubbedhimself
againstme,shamelesslyjerkingoffonme,grabbingoneofmyhandsandplacingitagainsthisimpressive
cock.

Itwaswrong.
Itwaswrong,andI’dbelyingifIsaidIdidn’tlikehowwrongitfelt.
WhetherIwascorruptingorbeingcorrupted…Ilovedhowitmademefeel.
My heart drummed with excitement and fear. I knew part of the thrill was the possibility we’d get

caught.Itfeltlikeswallowinganeightballofspeedandwashingitdownwithadozenshotsofvodka.

Hotfuckingdamn.JaimeFollowhillhadsomemoves.
“Anyone can see us,” I muttered into another dirty-hot kiss. The space between us was already

chargedwithsex,reekingofjuiceswebarelykepthiddenbehindthinclothing.Iwassoakedandready,
andhe’dreleasedthosemalehormonesthatmaketeenageguys’roomssmelllikejizzandsweat.Onlyon
him,thesmellwasprettymagical.

“You’recoveredbyme,”hemurmuredintomyneck,nippingmyskinwithhisteethandmovingsouth.

Histongueslicedthroughthevalleyofmyswollenbreastslikeanarrow.

“Nottrue.”Myfacewasnowondisplayforanyonetosee.
“Meetyouatyourplaceinanhour.”
“Youdon’tknowwhereIlive.”Ihungrilyskimmedmyhandsoverhisironchest.
Jaimepulledawayandgavemeoneofhismischievousgrins.
Jesus.Hewasastalker,too?Ihadtoadmit,Ifoundithotashell.Oneofthesexiestguysatschool…

stalkedme.WhydidIhavetobeateacher?ShitlikethatneverhappenedwhenIwasastudent.

“No.” My voice was resolute. With every second his lips weren’t on mine, the fog of a building

orgasmfaded,makingwayforlogic.

Hello,logic.Youkilljoy,you.
“Ms.Greene…”Hisforeheadandnosewerecrushedagainstmine.Webothpanted,eyetoeye,chest

tochest.“You’reabouteightminutestoolatetowalkoutofthisarrangement.This…”Hishandducked

undermydresshemandupbetweenmythighs,andafingertraveledalongmywetslitthroughmyplain
cottonunderwear(nolacetoday),strokingnotpushing,inatorturoustease.“Ismineuntilschoolends.I
willeatit,fuckit,playwithit,andsleepinitifIwantto.AndIwantto.Iwannadoallthosethingsto
you.”

WhathorrifiedmethemostaboutJaime’sstatementwasthatIknewhewasgoingtogethisway.Ihad

agreedtoitbeforeI’devenwalkedintodetentiontoday.Hehadtoomuchpoweroverme,andnotonly
becauseofhissocialstatus.I’dalwaysbeenawareofhisbeautyandpowerfulpresence,butupuntilnow,
Iusedthemtoresenthim.Nowthattheywereofferedtome,allbetswereoff.

“We’re going to be exclusive. If I catch you spreading those toned legs for anyone else, he’s gonna

regrethewasbornwithadick.”

Oh yeah? Was he going to resist all the temptation that was swarming around him like bad BO at

Coachella?

Asifreadingmymind,headded,“Mycockwillonlyhavetwohomes.Yourmouthandyourpussy.

Ass,too,ifyou’refeelingadventurous.”

MotherofGod.
“Detention’sover.Takeyourstuffandleave,”Igritted,takingonestepbackandthenanother.
He followed me and dipped his head, biting my neck before straightening and snapping his fingers.

“Getinyourcaranddrivehome.I’lljoinyousoon.”Hesmackedmyass,turnedaround,andleft,leaving
awhiffofhissingularlymasculinescent.

Istoodthere,mouthagape,histastestillonmylips,thetinglingofhistouchstillbetweenmythighsas

Irolledonethoughtaroundinmyhead:Oh,Melody,youaresofucked.

Luckilyforme,Iwasabouttogetfuckedevenharder.

DIDN’TGOHOME

Goinghomewouldbeadmittingdefeat.ImighttechnicallyhaveletJaimetaketheblameforthecar,

butIhadn’tinitiatedanythingsexualwithhim.Thatwasallonhim.

Whatmademydecisioneveneasierwasbumpingintohismotheronmywayout.
IwasheadedtotheparkinglotwhenIspottedPrincipalFollowhillwatchingmethroughheroffice

window.Istabbedtheentryremote,hysteriacontrollingmymovementsasIconsideredmakingadashfor
mycarwhenhericyvoiceseepedfromtheopenwindow.

“Ms.Greene.Aword?”
There was a soundless moment when I saw my life flash in front of me, and sadly, it was a short,

shittymovieconsistingofmesprawledoutonmyoldcouchwatchingAmericanNinjaWarrior,showing
uptofamilyeventsdateless,andattendingaweeklysupportgroupforformerathletes(mostofuswerein
variousstagesofdrunkenness).

Yaknow,funtimes.
IfPrincipalFollowhillknewwhathadhappenedindetention,shewasgoingtoremoveeveryinternal

organinmybody,restuffitwithdynamite,andblowupthewholeschool.That’showmuchshehatedme.

“Sure.”Ismiledbig,throwingmyarmsinawhy-notgestureandwalkingbacktowardAllSaints.
Whynot?Becauseshewantstokillyouandbecauseyoujustmadeoutwithherteenageson.
TheminuteIenteredheroffice,Iknewshewasontosomething.HerusuallysmoothBotoxedforehead

lookedlikeithadcollapsedintoaheapofextraskin.

“Sit.”
Idid.
“Ms.Greene,doyouknowwhyyou’rehere?”
I was so nervous I couldn’t breathe but somehow managed to shake my head no. Her office alone

scaredtheshitoutofme.Itwassobig,yetsuffocating,withitsheavyfurnitureofcherry-stainedwood
andburgundyleatheranditsox-bloodwalls,everythingadeepred,likeCarriehadpaidavisitthereon
promnightandlost.

PrincipalFollowhillstoodnearapaintingthatprobablycostmorethanmyrent,herarmsbehindher

back,andclosedhereyes,exhaling.“Theincidentwithmyson,James.”

Oh no. Please, no. I wasn’t ready to die. I had so many things to see and experience. Most of them

betweenthesheetswithherbarely-legalson,butstill.

Jokesaside—IwasprettysureIpeedmyselfalittle.Iwasterrified.Notofgettingfired,butofthe

consequencesofpissingoffsomeonewithPrincipalFollowhill’sclout.Myparentstaughtintheschool
district adjacent to Todos Santos. This was their home, and they were a vital part of this small,
judgmentalcommunity.

Iwasabouttoscrewmyfamilybecauseofabriefkiss.
“PrincipalFollowhill,Icanexplain,”Irushedtosay,jumpingupfrommyseat.
Shelaunchedinmydirectionandshovedmebackintothechair.IfIwasn’tsoconsumedwithguilt,I

would’vebeenflooredthatshetouchedme.

Sheheldupherhand,herfacepale.“No,youlistentome.Jamesisabrat.Don’tyouthinkIknow

that?Whathedidtoyourcar…heshouldhaveleftanoteafterhehityou,notdrivenaway.Itlooksbad,
buthesimplypanicked.Heexplaineditalltome.Noneedtofileapolicereport.Iassureyouhe’svery,
very sorry, and he’s going back to the student-parking lot from now on. I’ll write you a check for your
repairs,andI’ll,ofcourse,compensateyoufortheinconvenienceaswell.I’llbedamnedifI’llallowone
reckless decision to tarnish my son’s reputation.” She reached for her Hermès bag and plucked out a
checkbook.

Myeyesfollowedhermovementslikeshewasperformingsometrickofdarkmagic.Ofcourse,Iwas

aproblem.Shewanteditfixed,soshethrewmoneyatit.Atme.

She didn’t know about the kiss. All she knew was that Jaime came back home yesterday with a

banged-upRangeRoverandhisownversionofwhathappenedintheparkinglot.He’dkepthissideof
ourdeal.

“This little car mishap is not to leave these walls. Do you understand, Ms. Greene?” Principal

Followhillbentdownandscribbledonthecheck,hermouthtwitchinginannoyance.“Youhaveamouth,
incaseyoudidn’tnotice.Youcoulduseitandsaysomething.”

Why do you hate me? I wanted to scream. What have I done to you? Though I already knew the

answer. She hated me because I wasn’t royalty. I wasn’t someone who was born and bred in Todos
Santos. I was an outsider, contaminated and mortal, with middle-class parents. On top of that, I was a
weaklinkwho—becauseofmyabove-mentioneddisadvantages—couldn’tcontrolmyclasses.

“Understood,”Isniffed.
Shefingeredthecheckshe’dwrittenforme.Despitemybestintentions,Ipluckeditfrombetweenher

French-manicurednailsandpeeked.TenK.Way,waymorethannecessary.Bribe.

Wewereallcorruptednow.Itmademealittlelessremorsefulaboutmakingoutwithherson.
Jaimewasblackmailingme.
AndIwasblackmailinghismother.
My parents always said money made people twisted and immoral. I used to think they were

exaggerating.Iwasstartingtobelievethattheyweren’t.

Istoodup,smoothingmydressandjuttingoutmychin.PrincipalFollowhillheldmygazebuttugged

atherear.Nervous.Desperate.Clueless.

“Allisforgotten?”Herlipsbarelymoved.
“Allisforgotten.”Inodded,walkingoutofheroffice$10,000richer.
Idrovestraighttoalocalbar.
Afterall,Ihadsomemoneytoburn.Anddirtylittlesecretstoforget.

WOBBLEDBACKTOMY

apartmentbuildingatmidnight,mybreathstinkingofBudLightandstalepeanuts.

Tryingtofishformykeys,Ihaltedinfrontofmydoorinthedarkenedhallway,rummagingthroughmy
loadedhandbag.WhenIfinallyfeltthesharpedgeofthekey,IjerkedoutmyPointeshoekeychainandit
clunkedtothefloor.Blowingalockofmyhairfrommyfaceinfrustration,Isighed.Itwasgoingtobea
bitchtoretrieve.Iwasgettingtoooldtogettanked.

ButIdidn’tevenhavetobenddown.
Becausesomeoneelsepickedmykeysupforme.Frombehind.
Myheartthrobbedfaster,yetIstilled,feelingthewarmthofanotherbodypressingagainstmine.The

airpulsatedwiththevitalityofanimpendingfantasythatwasabouttobefulfilled.

Fearandlustfilledmyveinswithadrenalineanddopamine.Theoverlappingfeelingsmademeheady,

excitedandaroused.

Crap.Icouldn’tresisthiminmycurrentstate.Hiserectiondugintomyass,andIswallowed.
Iwatchedhishandunlockingmydoorfrombehind.Hiswarmlipswhisperedintomyear.“Getinand

getnaked.”Itwasanorder.

Thedoorflungopenwithalittlepushfromhishand.Iwantedtocryinexcitement.Correction:Idid

actuallycryinexcitement.Thereweretearsofjoyinmyeyes.WhatcanIsay?Boozeandeighteen-year-
oldjockswhoarehunglikeahorsemadethisgirlhellahappy.

Ipracticallyskippedintomylivingroom/kitchen,whichwasdecoratedwithbrownboxesandmyold

couch. I had to move to hell-knows-where next month and was already starting to pack. Seeing my life
crumbling, stuffed into half-filled cardboard containers, only made my decision to have sex with my
student easier. It wasn’t like I was ruining anything substantial I’d built. I was a loser, practically
homelessandsoon-to-beunemployed.Anoutcast.Jaimetooktheedgeoffoftherealityofmyfuture.

Ifelthishugeformpacingbehindme,readytopounceatanymoment.
Ipulledoffmypolka-dotdressandthrewitonthefloor.Turningaround,Ilookedathimforthefirst

time,smilingundermylashes.Jaimedidnotreturntheplayfulsmile.Infact,hisbrowswereknittightly
togetherandhisjawsoclenched,itlookedlikeitwasabouttosnap.Hehadacutlipanddriedblood
coatinghisnostrils.

Hefought.Again.ProbablywithVicious,judgingfromthenastyweltsandpurplebruises.
“Whathappenedtoyou?”Iswallowed.
Heignoredmyquestion.“Thisishowyourepaymeforfixingupyourshit,Ms.Greene?”Hisvoice

wasdarkandserious.Notatalllikeaneighteen-year-old’sstudent.

“Jaime.”Mytonedancedunevenly.Jaime…what?Istoodhimup.EventhoughIneverdidagreeto

meethimatmyplace.Howlonghadhebeenwaiting,anyway?

Iwasstandinginmybraandunderwearinmylivingroom,dealingwithacrankyteenagerandwas

prettyfuckingsauced.AnotherlowIdidn’tthinkIwasgoingtostoopto.Ihuggedmyownwaist,covering
someofmyskin.

“Ilikeyourbra,”hesaidhoarsely,butitdidnotsoundlikeacompliment.Itsoundedlikeathreat.
Ilookeddowntoexaminethepinklace.

“It’s my favorite. Victoria’s Secret.” I licked my lips, sounding dumber than an Adam Sandler

character.Iwassooutofmyelement.Jesus.Whatthefuckwaswrongwithme?

“Comehere,”hedemanded,pointingatthefloor.
I paced in his direction, my eyes bugging out at the thrill. He was wearing dark Diesel jeans and a

blackmuscleshirtwithhisgym’snameonit.Andflip-flops.Ilovedmenwhocouldpulloffflip-flops.
Hisbunwasspectacularlymessy,too.

WhenIgottohim,Ilookeddown.Notoehair.Akeeper.
“Downonyourknees,Greene.”Hisvoicestillhadamenacingedgetoit.
Wheredidthatcomefrom?Hewasusuallyaprettyplayfulguy.InanI’ll-fuck-you-overkindofway.I

did as I was told, because…well, because at this point, I was pretty much the Followhills’ bitch. Sit,
bend,cashchecks,forgetsecrets,kneeldown.Iwasluckytheyhadn’taskedmetoscoopdogpoopfrom
theirfrontlawn.

“I have a blow job with your name on it for making me wait here like a soft dick.” He brushed a

browncurlfrommyface.

“Idon’tdoblowjobs.Ihaveareallybadgagreflex,”Iansweredtruthfully.Seriously,I’dfoundout

aboutitthehardwayduringhighschool.Neverhadacorndogorabananasince.

Calmandcollected,heunzippedandloweredhisjeans,releasinghishard,swollencockoutofhis

CalvinKleinblackbriefs.

Holyshit,itwasbeautiful.Notnineincheslikethecheerleaderswerewhisperingaboutinclass(they

suckedatgeometry,thatshould’vebeenmyfirstclue)butalmost—itwasjustpicture-perfect.Postcards-
and-stampsworthy.Hehadthesleekest,smoothestshaft,aprominenthead,andathickvelvetyvein.And
atilt.Totheright.

Perfect,perfect,perfect.
Andhefuckingknewit,thebastard.ThatwaswhyhedisplayedhisdicktomelikeitwastheMona

Lisa.

ItookabriefmomenttoprocessthefactthatIhadmystudent’sone-eyedsnakestaringrightbackat

meinthemiddleofmytinyemptyapartment.Worstpart?Stillgiddyandexcited.

Mythroatbobbed.
“MaybeIcanmakeanexception,sinceyoutookabulletformeandall.”Irolledmyeyes,feigning

amusement.Buttherewasnothingamusingaboutthatcock.Itwasserious.Thingswereabouttogodown,
literallyandfiguratively.

Theonlyproblemwas…Ididn’tknowhowtogivehead.IthinkJaimefigureditouthimself,because

hetuggedatmyhairtowardhisgroin.

“Startlicking,”heinstructed.
Idid.Hisfleshwashotandsilkyundermykeentongue.Icircledhiscock’sheadhungrilywithmy

eyesclosed,feelingitjumpingindelighttothemovementsofmymouth.Afteraminute,Jaimepickedup
myhandandcurledmyfingersaroundthebaseofhisshaft.Wouldyoulookatthat?MyLitstudentwas
givingmeasex-edlesson.

“Pump,”hegroaned.
I did. I wondered how many of my female students had sucked him off. Probably a lot. I wished I

couldsayIdidn’tcare,butthatwouldbealie,soItriedtoconvincemyselfIcaredbecauseitmademe
feelinexperienced.

“Nowsuck,inandout,”hewhispered,grabbingthebackofmyheadandmovingitbackandforth.
Every time I went in, his cock hit the back of my throat and I struggled for air…but I loved it. My

underwearwasonceagaindampwithwant.Logically,Iknewthiswasn’tokay.Butifitwassowrong…
whydiditfeelsoright?

Jaime kicked one of his flip-flops off and dug his toe into the fabric of my underwear. It was

humiliating…andsofuckinghot.Heusedhistoetolowerthewaistbandofmyundieswithaloudgrowl.
Oncemysexwasexposed,histoehonedinonmyclit.

“Shit, fuck, Jaime.” I did not sound like his teacher. Didn’t feel like one, either. “What are you

doing?”

“Makingyoucome.Keepsucking,Greene.”
IlickedandsuckedandgotaddictedtothesoundsthatleftJaime’smouth.Igaveinandgaveitmyall.

Hekeptonrubbinghistoeagainstmyswollenclit,andthefeelingofanimpendingorgasmfiredevery
nerve-endinginmybody.Mykneesshookwithpleasure,andIgreedilyrubbedmypussyagainsthistoe.I
wassuremyOB/GYNwouldhavealottosayaboutthehygieneofthisact,butatthatmoment,noneof
thatmattered.

Noteventhenaggingsuspicionthathemight’vedonethissohecouldbragtohisfriendsandhumiliate

meinfrontofthewholeschool.

“I’mgoingtocomeinyourmouth,andyou’regoingtocomeonmytoe.”
Hewassofilthy.
Itwasbeautiful.
Justwhenthewarmliquidshotintomythroat,Ifeltasharppainasmybrawastornfrommybody

frombehind.Igaspedinhorror,swallowinghissaltyhotcumandopeningmyeyesatonce,shocked.

Hefuckingtoremyfavoritebra.Onpurpose.
Jaimeusedhistoetonudgemetoarecliningpositiononthefloor,andIcollapsed,rubbingthepink

skinwherehe’dpulledoffmybra.

“Whatthehell!”Iscreamedbutwassilencedbyakiss.Adazzlingkissthatwasfollowedbythetwo

strong fingers he shoved into my pussy. I clenched around him, watching him move his head south and
grazemyhardnippleswithhisteeth.

“That’sforkeepingmewaiting.Idon’ttakewelltotardiness.”
ThefuckerwaslatetoninetypercentoftheclassesItaughthim!
“Well,Idon’ttakewelltoassholeness,”Imuttered.
“I’llmakeituptoyou.I’mamasteratoralsex.”Jaime’sperfectskillfulmouthsaid,hissereneblues

scanningmeearnestly.

“How so?” I raised an eyebrow as he inched closer to my pussy, still pumping his fingers to the

rhythmofmythuddingheartbeat.

Hegavealightshrug.“SpentsummercamplastyeareatingpussyatParkCity,Utah’smostexclusive

teenretreat.Campers,counselors,evenafuckingparkranger.Twenty-sixof‘em.”

ThatwasprobablyoneofthemostdisgustingthingsI’deverheard,butIwashavingtoomuchfunto

care.

“Notallwomenlikethesamethingsinbed,”Icroakedwhenhisfacewaslevelwithmypussy.
“True,butallwomenlikemeinbed.”Jaimepunctuatedhiscockygrinwithawink,reachedforhis

jeans,pulledoutsomethingsmall,rippeditopen—wasitacondom?—andtosseditintohismouth.

“I know what you want, Ms. Greene. You want to come undone. I’ll make you come. And with me,

you’llneverbedone.”

Hedovein.
Jaime’s cold, minty mouth met my hot-as-sin flesh. My hips bucked, chasing his touch as he sucked

hardonmyclitbeforebreathingthefreshbiteofmintintomypussy,drivinghistonguedeepinside.Itried
towrigglefree,theintensityofmypleasuresoprofoundIfeltlikeI’dcombustintoburntmarshmallow
underhisbody.Buthepinnedmedown,placingaflexedmusculararmovermystomach,insistingIsee
thisthroughwithhim.

Itwastantalizing,thewaveofweaknessandlustthatcrashedovermybody,headtotoe.Igrippedhis

longblondhair—sosoftandshiny—inmysmallfistandjerkedhimcloserintome,lettingoutadesperate

mewl.Aviolentorgasmrippedthroughme,mymusclestighteninginpleasure.

Jaimepinnedmetothefloorandcrawledontopofme,devouringmymouthwithhis.“Tasteit,”he

growledlikeabeast,disposingofhisguminmymouth.Histonguewaseverywhere—myteeth,thewalls
ofmymouth,onmychin,evenmycheeks.“Ittasteslikeyou,Teach.”

Ichewedonhisgum.Hewasright.Ittastedlikemypussy.
ThrillslicedthroughmyveinswhenJaimeraisedhisbodyandfumbledforhisjeans.Iprayedhewas

actually searching for a condom this time. I wanted to fuck him more than I wanted to hit the lottery
jackpot,butIwasstilltooflushed,mynervestoosensitiveaftermymind-blowingorgasm.

Herolledonacondomandguidedhiscockbetweenmyfoldsuntilhisballshitmyentrance.
“Missionary,huh?Whatkindofcampwasit?‘BookofMormon’Youth?”Ieggedhimon.
Helaughed,hissingamoan,hiseyelidshalf-mastashestartedthrusting,findingthetempothatmade

usbothgroan.Hewastheperfectsize.Bigandthick,butnotscarilyso.

“Baby, I’m just breaking you in for the future.” He bit my earlobe, his damp chest sticking to mine.

“OnceI’mdone,you’llbebeggingformissionary.”

Ibelievedhim.
Thesexlastednearlyfifteenminutes,alotlongerthanIthoughtaneighteen-year-old,evenonewho’d

justgottenofffromablowjob,wouldbeabletolast.Hecameagain,andafterflippinghimsoIwason
top,watchinghisgorgeous,Channing-Tatum-meets-Ryan-GoslingfaceasIclutchedhiscock,sodidI.

Whenweweredone,Irolledbackandlayonthefloorbesidehim.Hehadonehandtuckedunderhis

headandtheotheronhisstomach.Everythingabouthimwassoperfect.Evenhisblondarmpithairwas
sexy.Andthatmademesad,becauseIknewguyslikeJaimegrewuptofindwomenwhowerejustasput-
togetherastheywere.

Andthesetypeofwomen?Iwasn’tamongthem.
Hestaredatmypopcornceilingincontentedsilence.
“Saysomething.”Iclearedmythroat,glaring.Ihadmyheadproppedononearmbehindmyhead,my

cheststilldancingupanddown.Wewerebothnaked,anditwasstartingtogetchillyonmyfloor.ButI
wantedhimtospeak.Neededhimto,badly.

“I’ve just fulfilled a fantasy.” He slanted his head so we were looking at each other. “I think I’m

allowedamomenttoregroup.”

“I was your fantasy?” How could that be? He was perfect, rich, and handsome. Young and sexily

dangerous.AndIwas…hisboringteacher.

“Ms.Greene…”hestarted,cuppingmycheek.
I leaned into his hand before I realized what I was doing. By the time I felt his warmth against my

skin,itwastoolatetopullaway.“Please,callmeMelwhenwe’realone.”

His lips twitched, but he fought his smile. “Mel,” he corrected. “You’re it. You’re so. Fucking. It.

Smart,sassy,andwitty,andunimpressedwithallthewealthandbullshitdramaaroundyou.Youhaveno
ideahowhotyouare.Whichmakesyouevenhotter.Thisisfuckinghappening,baby.We’rehappening.”

I nuzzled into his neck, knowing that I was fueling a delusion that was just waiting to explode into

calamitybutnotgivingadamnanymore.Hiswordsmovedsomethinginsideme.Notgently,either.They
shookmetothecore.

“Justuntilschoolends,”Iwhisperedintohiswarmmuscularshoulder,tryingtoconvincemyselfmore

thanhim.Hebrushedhisthumbalongmyback,sendinggoosebumpstomyarmsandscalp.

“Thisendsthelastdayofschool,”heagreed.
Wehadadeadline.
Wehadaplan.
Andforamomentthere,ourwarmbodiesonthatcoldfloor,withthehazeofsexandblissclouding

our minds, I believed we were going to keep our careless promise. There was a little earthquake—a

literalone—thatmovedsomeoftheboxesaswemadethisagreement.Ithoughtitwasacoincidence.It
wasn’t.Itwasthedevilinhelldownbelow,rattlingtheearthwithhislaughter.Laughingatme.

AthowwrongIwas.

HENEXTWEEKATSCHOOL

wasparadise.Myclasseswereperfectlybehaved.Ididn’tstruggletoholdthe

students’attention,becausemynewfuck-buddy,anintimidatingseniorjockwhomadepeoplefallinline
withhisstarealone,spreadthewordnottomesswithMs.Greene.Noonewasballsyenoughtoaskwhy.
Everyonenaturallyassumedmyfucked-upcarandhisfreshlypaintedRangeRoveranditsretreattothe
studentparkinglotweretheanswertothatquestion.Tothem,Jaimewantedtokeepmehappysincehe
bumpedintomycar.

Noonesuspectedwewerebumpingafewotherthingsinourfreetime.
ItaughtallmyclassesthensatwithJaimeindetention.Iusedthetimetowork,whileheusedthetime

to text. On the last day, I kept glancing at my watch, tapping my Sharpie against my desk. I couldn’t
concentrateonanythingwithhimintheroom.Therewerenowordsspokenbetweenus.Whenhistime
wasup,webothpickedupourbelongingsandwalkedoutoftheclassroom.Iwenttomycar,hewentto
his,butbythetimeIgothome,hewaswaitinginsidemybuilding,hishandsshovedintothepocketsofhis
jeans.

“Wouldyouliketocomein?”Islopedmychindown,bitingasmile.He,too,grinnedathisshoes.We

weregiddy.Ilikedthat.IlikedthatandIhatedthatIlikedthat.

“Nah…Ican’t.Footballpracticefortheexhibition.TheKingsaregoingtokillthosepussiesplaying

nextyearfortheSaintsifwedon’tpulltheirshittogether.Trent’spissed.Ascout’scomingtowatchthe
gameandlookathisleg.Theymightreconsiderhisscholarshipnowthathisrehab’sdone.Sevenokay?”

“Seven’sperfect.”
Henodded.Westoodthere,staringatoneanother,beforeheshruggedandclosedthespacebetween

uswithalongstep.“Screwthisshit,Imissedthoselips.”

Thencameahard,desperatekisswherehislipsassaultedmineforagoodminute.
Breathlessly,Iunlockedmydooranddisappearedbehindit,pressingmybackagainstitwithasigh.
Thatdidn’tfeelforbidden,orbad.Justaboyandagirllikingeachother.
Hecamebackattenafterseven,andforeveryextrasecondIwaited,anxietyanddisappointmentbuilt

inmygut.Iopenedthedoor,frowning.“Yousaidseven.Ihatetardiness.”

“Thatmakestwoofus.”Heroughlypushedmeintomyapartment,oozingchargedenergy.“So,about

thatmissionaryposition…”Thequarterbackgiantsteppedintomyorbit.

Hiscutlipandnewpurpleweltwereevenmoreprominentwiththepinkflushonhischeeksaftera

gruelingworkout,andhishairstillwetfromtheshower.BetweenfootfallandDefy,therewerealotof
injuriesamongtheHotHoles.AbrokenanklehadendedTrentRexroth’sfootballcareerinthefall.That
happenedinalocker-roomaccident.ButitwasalmostlikeJaimewantedtofuckupthatprettyfaceofhis.
TheSaintspracticedandscrimmagedeveninthewinter,buthewasasenior.Heandhisfriendswouldn’t
bepartoftheteamnextyear.

“Flipyourdressup.”
Idid,withoutevenblinking.Heshould’vebeentheteacherwiththatkindofauthority.Exposingmy

babybluepanties,Iawaitedfurtherinstructions.

“Turnaroundandbenddowntotouchyourtoes,LittleBallerina.”

IhadnofuckingcluehowheknewIwasadancer,andaskinghimaboutitwouldforcemetodeal

withthetruth.

Thathewasacrazystalker.
AndthatIabsolutelylikedthatabouthim.
So, I just did as I was told, my ass in the air, presumably level with his groin. The throbbing ache

between my thighs demanded release. I felt his fingers clutching my pussy from behind. He ripped my
underwearoffinonegoandservedthemtomefrombehind.

“Stillwet,despitemytardiness.”Herubbedthemagainstmylips.“Notthatmad,Isee.”
Shit.Thewetspotwasobvious,evennow,whenmypantiesweremerelyastring.
“Can you please stop tearing my stuff apart? Not everyone’s under mommy and daddy’s financial

wing.”Goodie.Thecatwasoutofthebagnow.

Helaughed,hisabsbouncingagainstmyass,thenthrustthreefingersatonceintomyentrance,making

mestumbleforward.HecaughtmebytheshoulderbeforeIfellheadfirst.

“Thisweekwasanintroduction,”hewarned.“Today…today,baby,I’mmarkingyouasmine.”
Itsoundedcrazy.Andhot.Crazyhot,actually.Iwasimmediatelygame.IfIwasgoingtofuckupmy

career,betterenjoytheride,right?

“Let’sseeyourballerina’sbalanceasIfuckeveryotherguyyou’veeverhadoutofyou.”
Withthat,Iheardhiszipperrollingdownashefreedhiscockfromhispants.Hisbulgingheadfound

thelipsofmypussy,andIquiveredinanticipation,liftingupslightlytogainmorebalance.

“Hands.On.Toes.”Hebitthecrookofmyneckfrombehindanddrewcircleswithhistiparoundmy

pussy,makingmemadwithneed.Hewasalsofuckingbare.

“Jaime,wrapupandgetinbeforeIdie.”Myvoicetrembled.
“Shh,” my stalker said, ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth, still teasing my entrance from

behind.“Youjustkeepholdingontothosetoes,ballerina.I’lltakecareoftherest.”

Hewentinslow.Painfullyslow.Everyinchofhimtookasecondtogoin,thenslidbackevenslower.

Mylegsquivered.Icriedoutinpleasureandfrustration.Thiswastortureofthehighestlevel,butIwas
enjoyingeveryminute.

“Faster,”Ibeggedundermybreath.
Hewouldn’tlisten.Thenexttimehewentin,itwasevenslower.
“Jaime.”Ibitmylowerlip.“Fuckmelikeyoumeanit.”
“Thenactlikeyoufuckingwantit,”hegrowled,grazingmyshoulderwithhisteeth.“Don’tstandme

up.Don’tgivemeshitwhenI’mtenminuteslate,anddon’ttryandactlikeyoudon’twantthis.”

Inch.Anotherinch.Anotherinch.Itwasabeautifultorture.Iwantedtopushhimawayandruntomy

bedroomtofinishmybusinesswithmyplasticboyfriend,VictortheVibrator.ButIwasn’tstrongenough
toresisthim,nomatterwhathedidtome.

“Fine,”Igrunted.“Fine,Ipromise.Nowfuckme.”
“That’sbetter,”hemurmured,thrustinghimselfallthewayinandmakingmestumble.Hegatheredmy

hairintoaponytailandjerkedmyheadupward,pullingmybodyclosetohimsoIwouldn’tcrash.Then
hefuckedmesohardIfeltnumbfromthewaistdownbeforehewasdonewithme.

That’s what happens when you come seven times in one night, I thought as I wobbled toward my

bed.Bythetimehewenthome,aroundmidnight,Icouldn’tfeelmyclit.Ormylegs.Hell,notevenmy
feet.

Buthe’dmadehispointcrystalclear.Andme?Iwantedhimtomakeitalloveragain.

AYSFILLEDWITHCHAINORGASMS

andhurriedkissesinhiddencornersanddesertedclassestickedby.A

blurofblissanddanger,abandonedlust.Thetrickwasnottothinkaboutit.Anypartofit.Notaboutmy
future—asateacherandanadult—oraboutwhatIwasdoing.AnddefinitelynotaboutwhoIwasdoing
itwith.

Nolongerindetention,Jaimefoundothercreativewaystostickaroundafterschoolandspendtime

withme.Mostly,wefellintoaroutinewherehevisitedmeatmyapartmentafterhisfootballdrillswith
nextyear’steam.

Three weeks into our affair, when another Saturday rolled around, I was glad he had other plans. I

finallymusteredenoughfakebravadotocollectmythoughtsandtryandmakesenseofitall.TheSaints
were playing an exhibition scrimmage against the Kings of Sacramento, and technically, I could’ve
supportedmylocalteamandwatchedJaimeplaybutdecidedagainstit.Puttingsomespacebetweenus
andremindingmyselfthatthiswasjustcasualfunwasinmybestinterest.Histoo.

Besides,I’dmademyownplanstomeetmyparentsatanItalianjointindowntownTodosSantosthis

evening.

IdidpassbythegameonmywaytoTargetthatafternoon,takingthelongwayjustsoIcouldcatcha

glimpse of the game. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t about Jaime. Football was a big deal at All
SaintsHigh.Butnomatterhowyoulookedatit,whenIstoppedattheredlightandglancedacrossthe
roadtothefield,Iwaslookingfornumberfour.ForJaimeFollowhill.FortheHotHolewhoalwaysmade
my stomach dip like I’d just gotten on a rollercoaster. For the boy who felt too much like a man. And,
sadly,fortheguywhofilledthevoidinmewithmorethanjusthisarousalandhotflesh.

Ifoundhimstandingonthesidelines,chewingonhismouthguardwithhishandsonhiswaistwhile

nodding at something coach said to him. He looked distracted, and if I had the courage, I’d want to
believeitwasmehewasthinkingabout.

Hisbodylookedcutandperfect,eventhroughhisjersey.
Itwasworrisome.Ishouldhaveknownrightthere.ThewayIsmiledtomyself,likeIownedhimin

some way. Like this perfect creature, that was now yelling to his friends from the sideline, looking
animated,lookingperfect,wasundermyspell.

IkeptonstaringuntilsomeonebehindmehonkedandIhadtospeedaway,hittingthegaspedaltoo

hard.Justthen,Jaimetwistedhisheadinmydirection,asifheheardittoo.

Itwasridiculous.TherewasnowayhecouldknowIwaswatchinghim.Theplacewascrowdedas

hellandtheparentsandstudentsofAllSaintsHighwereveryvocalabouttheirlocalteam.

Butthatdidn’tsoothetheblushthatcreptupmyneckandspreadthroughmycheeks.
Nothingdid.Fortheremainderoftheday.
MyparentsandIhaddinner,duringwhichtheyaskedaboutwhenmycontractwiththeschoolwould

berenewed(probably never?), when I might find a man (ditto, but hey, I found a hot boy who knows
how to go down on a woman thirteen different ways), and why my cheeks were so flushed (see the
answertoquestionnumbertwo).

Itwasn’tbad,perse.Thefoodwasgreat.Thecompany…well,mademefeellikethebiggestletdown

humanityhadtoface.

That was the thing about being Celia and Stewart Greene’s daughter. The minute my dream of

becomingaballerinadied,sodidtheirprideinme.Iwasneverquitegoodatanythingelse,andIguess
theyknewthat.

TheymadesureIrememberedit,too.
Itwasn’tanexcuseforwhyIwaslikethis.Unmotivatedandsarcastic,butitdefinitelydidn’thelp.
ThethreeofuswalkedbacktoourcarsandpassedbythecentralfountainindowntownTodosSantos

across from Liberty Park, the home to a semi-famous lake and alarmingly aggressive swans. Teenagers
werealwaysroamingthereonweekends,playingloud,shittymusic.(Guessthatwasonereasonwhythe
swanswerepronetoattacking.)Notthatnight,though.Thatnight,itwasworryinglyquiet.

MyparentsandIwereabouttoroundacornerandheadtotheparkinglotwhenIsawVicious’ssilver

Mercedes-BenzMcLarenslicingpastus.Icouldn’tmissthe500KvehiclebecauseHEWASDRIVING
ONTHEFUCKINGSIDEWALKoppositefromus.

Thekidwashonkinghishornatpeoplelikehisdaddyownedthistown.Unfortunately,hisdaddydid

ownthistown.Vicious’sfatherwassorichhehitlistslikeForbesandshiteverysingleyear.

Maybethat’swhyhissonfeltentitledtohiteverythingandeveryoneelse,Ithoughtbitterly.
Pedestriansmadewayandlethimpassthrough,acceptinghisbehaviorwithbentheads.Everybody

knew who he was, and more importantly, who he was going to be—a powerful, lawless cretin and the
heirtoahugeportionofthebusinessinterestsinTodosSantos.

My parents and I skidded to a halt, our mouths shaping into stunned Os. We stared as my student

parkedonthegrass,gotoutofhiscar,andstrodetowardarowofkidsontheirkneesnearthelake.

Well, fuck me sideways scissor-style. The older jocks were standing above the teenagers on the

ground,yellinganimatedlyandpushingeachother,onthevergeofbreakingintoahugefight.

I saw Jaime there. My eyes were drawn to him immediately, on instinct, before my mind even

processedwhatIwasstaringat.Hewasleaningagainstthegazebo,exchanginghushedwordswithDean
ColeandTrentRexroth,theformercaptainofthefootballteam,whohadhisleginafresh-lookingcast.
Shit.He’dbrokenitagain?Whathappenedatthegametoday?

Jaime,Trent,andDeankepttothemselves,furrowedbrowsandbroodingexpressionsontheirfaces.I

recognized some of the kids on their knees, their heads down in surrender and their arms behind their
backs.Allfailed,aspiring,oryoungerfootballplayersatAllSaintsHigh.

TheFourHotHoleswereuptosomething,Iknew.Anditdidn’tlooklikethiswasavoluntarygame,

likeDefy.

Itlookedserious.
ViciousunrolledthesleeveofhiswhiteteeandtookhissoftCamelpackoutofit,lightingacigarette

andsquattingdown,blowingsmokeintothefaceofoneofthekidswhosatontheirknees,awaitingthe
verdict. The guy gasped and choked on a cough but didn’t dare move an inch. It looked like an ISIS
executionline,andIknewIhadtodosomething.Thepolicechiefwasakiss-assfriendofBaronSpencer
Senior,Vicious’sfather,socallingthecopswouldhavegottenmenowhere.ButIcouldn’tjuststandthere
andwatchthishappen.Right?

Right?
Vicious walked slowly along the row of suspects, his arms behind his back. “Listen up, fuckers. I

knowtheKingsweren’tthedickbagswhogreasedthefloorunderTrent’slocker.That’stwicesomeone
targetedhim.Thecaptainofyourfuckingteam,yousorry-assbitches.”

Hewassomad,hespatashespoke.Iwatchedthesalivaflyingoutofhismouth,illuminatedbythe

Victorianlamppost.

“Last time I figured this was an attack from a rival team to keep him from playing. Eliminate the

competition.”Vicioustookanotherdragandspatnearoneofthemeatheadsontheendwitharedvarsity

jacketandabaseballcapturnedbackwards.“ButTrent’sgraduating.Noreasonforanotherteamtotake
himoutnow.”

Some of the teens were crying as they looked down to the dewy grass, and some were moaning in

pain.Theyweren’tbleeding,theydidn’tlookbeatenup.Well,notphysically,anyway.ButJesus,thiskid
wasasfuckingintimidatingasSatanhimself.

“I.Will.Findthefuckerwhogreasedthefloor!”heshouted.
Thejocksontheirfeetbehindhimroared,pumpingtheirfistsintheair.Jaime,Dean,andTrentwere

stilldeepinconversation.Luckily,theyweren’tfeedingthetroll.

“I WILL punish the motherfucker,” Vicious screamed maniacally, thumbing his chest and looking

aroundforsupport.

“Fuckyeah!”Thejocksraisedtheirhands,slurringintothenight.
“And by the time we’re done with him, he will be sorry his whore of a mother ever gave birth to

him!”

“Yes!Yes!Yes!”
Ihadchillsupanddownmyarms.IhatedBaronSpencer.AccordingtoCoachRowland,hewasn’t

even a very good football player, and I doubted he cared about the team that much. No. This whole
nightmareofanightwasorchestratedbecausehewasasadistic,violentfuck.

My mother yanked my white blouse and gritted, “I know some of these kids. They go to All Saints

High.Theyareyourstudents,Melody.Youcan’tletthishappen.”

“ThescreamingoneintheskinnyjeansisBaronSpencer,”Iwhisperedback.“Hisdaddyownsthis

town.”

“Doesn’tmatter.”Myfathershookhishead,restinghishandonmyshoulder.Itfeltsomuchheavier

thanitactuallywas,andIknewwhy.“Thisisaboutyourintegrity,Mel.”

Oh,fuck.Thatoldthing.
I knew I had to step in. I also knew I was about to be royally humiliated in front of my parents.

ViciousfearedmejustalittlelessthanhefearedaChihuahuainapinktutu.Meaning,hewouldn’tgivea
damnaboutmebuttingintothismess.

Icrossedtheroadonshakylegs.Vicious’sruthlessvoicewasstillboominginmyears,gettinglouder

witheachstepItook.Myspinecrackled,butImovedforward.

“Ratouttheassholewho’sresponsible,oreachandeveryoneofyoufuckersgoesbackhomewitha

permanentmark.”Hepointedhiscigaretteathispotentialvictims.Afewballersbehindthemhauledthem
uptotheirfeetbytheirhair,andthecaptivescriedinagony.

Viciousstoppedinfrontofaheavyguy,whohadtriedtomakeitontothefootballteamlastyear,and

inchedtheburningemberofhiscigarettetowardtheguy’sforehead.

Theyareyourstudents,Melody.Youcan’tletthishappen.
Mydadwasright.
“Baron!”Ihurried,lightlyjoggingfromthecrosswalkintoLibertyPark.Hewasnotgoingtohurtthe

kid.Notonmyshift.

Vicious didn’t even have the courtesy to turn around and check to see who called him. “Take all

suspectstothegazebobehindtheparkinglotforinterrogation.”Hisvoicewasclippedandlow.

Thatgazebowasisolated,adeserted,scaryplacewherenoonesetfootatnight.Bastardhadatouch.

Nosurprisesthere.

“Baron Spencer!” I raised my voice, only a few feet away from him now. Some of the students

clearedoutofthewayforme,butthemajorityjustsnickeredasIracedtowardtheteenagerfromhell.
Theyweremorescaredofhimthantheywereofme.Icouldn’tblamethem.“Stopthisimmediately!Let
theseboysgo!”

WhenIreachedhim,hefinallyturnedaround,hisfacepaintedwithboredomandpity.

WhenIdidn’tbackdown,hisexpressiondarkened.ViciousmightnotbeasbeautifulasJaime,Trent,

andDean,buthesomehowhadthemostmemorableface.Helookedlikeaguywhoseshitlistyoudidn’t
wanttobeon.Iswallowedhard,hatingmyselfforfeelingintimidatedbyhim.

“I’msorry,remindmewhothefuckyouare?”
Of course he knew who I was. I taught him Lit every day, which is what made everyone around us

laugh,pointingtheirbeerbottlesandSolocupsatme.Evenhisfuckingcaptiveschuckled.

I’mdoingthisforyou,assholes.
Heatspreadupmyneck,andmyhandtightenedaroundmyanchornecklace,asitdideverytimeanger

washedoverme.IdideverythinginmypowernottolookatJaime,becauseIwasafraidtoseewhatwas
writtenonhisface.Washelaughingatmelikealltherest?

“Doitnow,orI’mcallingthepolice,”myvoicebarelyshook.
Vicioustookastepforward,hisfacesoclosetomineIsawthecrazydancinginhisirises.Hiseyes,

blacklikeanabyss,threatenedtopullmetothedarkside.Idugmyheelsdeeperintothegrassandballed
myhandsintofists.Mybodyhummedwithadrenaline.Thiswashappening.Iwasstandinguptohim.

“Ifuckingdareyou,sweetheart.Goahead,testme.Actually,I’dloveforyoutodothat.It’llgetyou

kickedoutofyourjob,andIwon’thavetoseeyoursour-assfaceeveryday.”

Thatwasit.IwassopissedthatIwasn’tabovepunchinghissmugface.Isteppedback,fishingoutmy

cellphonefrommybag.Sowhatiftheyfiredme?Theyweren’tgoingtorenewmycontractanyway.

A warm, familiar hand stopped me before my fingers dialed 911. “Apologize,” Jaime’s voice

commanded.

Buttheorderwasn’taimedatme.
Vicious tipped his head back and snorted, his straight teeth on full display. “Tanked again,

Followhill?Jesus.It’snotevenmidnightyet.”

“You better do it,” Jaime sing-songed, ignoring the jab, stepping into his BFF’s face. Nose to nose

now,theirgazesdrippeddefiance.“UnlessyouwantoutoftheHotHoles.”

Iwasbaffled,tosaytheleast.Twobulletsinlessthanamonththisguyhadtakenforme.Viciousand

Jaimewerelockedinastare-down.Viciousgloweredunderhisdevilishbrows,beggingJaimetoletitgo
—every muscle in his face quivering in anger—but Jaime wouldn’t back down. Finally, after a whole
minuteatleast,itcame.Sweetandorgasm-worthy.

“Mybad,Greene.”Vicious’swordsweresharpandinsincereashisshoulderbrushedpastJaime’s.

Helookedlikeitphysicallypainedhimtosaythem.

Asmuchashisindifferentactsprinkledfear-dustoneveryone’sheadsatschool,hewasstillmortal.

Capable of feeling the loss of his best friend. And Vicious knew the truth. People didn’t like him, not
really.TheylovedJaime,DeanandTrent.Thehandsome,funny,wholesomejockshehungoutwith.

Heneededthem.
Butsomethingtoldmethattheyneededhim,too.
“Apology accepted. Now, break this thing up immediately.” I smoothed my blouse, arching one

eyebrowandslantingmyheadtohiscaptives.

“No,”Jaimesaidfirmly,turningaroundtofaceme.
Iallowedmyselftodrowninhisface,evenifforonlyasecond.Wewerebacktoactinglikeateacher

andastudent,playingourroles,butIknewthoselipswhichhenowrolledinward,probablytosuppress
wordsheshouldneversaytohiseducator.Knewhowtheytastedandwhattheywerecapableofdoing
undermythin,wornblanket.

“Sorry,Ms.Greene,butyou’llhavetositthisoneout.Thisisateammatter.Igiveyoumyword,it

won’truboffonyou.SomeonescrewedTrentover.”Heshookhishead,hislipspinchinginannoyance.
“Weneedanswers.”

“Mr.Followhill—”

“No,”hesaid,cuttingmeoff.“Youlose.”Thelastsentencecameoutsoft,andwhatcameafterwas

even softer. “Next time I catch you stalking me from across the road,” he whispered into my ear, close
enoughforittolooksuspiciousbutnotenoughforpeopletotalkaboutitafterwards,“youbettercomesay
hi.Betteryet,youbettershowmehowmuchyoumissmewithyourlips,insteadofstrippingmewithyour
eyes.”

Therewasn’tanythingIcoulddoaboutViciousandhisdangeroustricks,andIknewit.TheHotHoles

alwaystookcareoftheirown.Trentwasinjuredagain,andsomeonehadtopay.Ihadverylittlepower
over the students of All Saints, but I very much doubted anyone else, including Principal Followhill
herself,wouldbeabletostopthemfromseekingretaliation.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact with him, I backed down, until I finally turned around and

walkedbacktomyparents,whowerestillwaitingontheothersideoftheroad.

“Well?”Mymotherelbowedme,hereyesshimmeringthesamehealthycuriosityshehadaboutalmost

everysubjectmatterintheworld.

“Itookcareofit.”Iavoidedhergaze,pretendingtolookforsomethinginmybag.Maybeitwasmy

dignityIwaslookingfor.Eitherway,Vicioushadwon.

AndJaimehelpedhim.
Butnotatmyexpense.Andthatwassomething.
Thatwasalot.

SPENTTHEWEEKENDWONDERING

whathappenedtothepoorbastardstheFourHotHoleshadinterrogated

atLibertyParkandwhethermyface-offwithJaimeandViciouswouldchangethepactbetweenmeand
myfuck-buddy.Myfingerstingledtotexthimandaskallthosethings,butIknewitwasrisky.

WasIangryathim?Wastheincidentawake-upcall,remindingmethatweweresodifferent?Thathe

was still a teenager, taking tentative steps toward becoming a man? These were exactly the kind of
questions I didn’t want to deal with. No. I was biding my days, clinging to the weekend in the hope
distanceandtimewouldwashawaythefogoflustbetweenus,makingroomforlogicandrationality.

Mondaywasthebestdayofmyentirecareer.Everythingransmoothly,andwhenIreachedthelast

classwithJaimeandhisfriends,theyallbehaved.

Everyone…otherthanJaime.
He was messing with his phone, as usual. Since he wasn’t looking at me, I let it slide. I wanted to

teachthisclasswithoutfeelingmynipplespuckeringunderhisscorchinggaze.

Myphoneonmydeskflashed.Iresistedtheurgetocheckit,focusingonMillie,whowasstandingup,

readingapoemshe’dwritten.Shewasgood.Acreativespirit,withanartisticflarethatpouredthrough
every cell in her body. Did she want to write? Maybe paint? Her textbooks and hands were always
decorated with doodles, her nose always buried in a book. With the right guidance and nurturing, she
coulddogreatthings.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t the person to bring them out of her. I lacked

motivation,compassion,andauthority,thethreequalitiesthatmadeagreatteacher.

AsIstaredather,IrealizedthatevenViciouswasquietwhenshespoke.Shehadthekindofquirky

charmagirlcouldn’tfake.Everyone’seyeswereonher,whichallowedmetosneakapeekatmyphone.
InthewordsofJuliaRobertsinPrettyWoman:Bigmistake.Big.Huge.

Jaime:
Imissedyouthisweekend.Thoughtyourungratefulasswouldtextmeathankyouforsaving

youfromthewrathofVicious.Alas,Iwaswrong.

Wow.Didhehaveanyideahowmuchtroublehecouldgetusintoifsomeonesawthistext?Students

and teachers had each other’s numbers for professional purposes only. I ignored him and continued
noddingatMillie,smilingtightly.Ping,anothertextcame.

Jaime:
It’scutehowyoupretendtolistentoMilliewhenIknowyourjustwaitingfortheclocktohit3

soIcanbendyouoverthatdeskandfuckyousohardthewindowswillrattle.

Ofcourse,Ididn’tgracethatmessagewithanactualanswer.Although,Iwasitchingtocorrect“your”

with“you’re.”TheLitteacherinmehatedwhenpeoplemisspelledshit.Apparently,evenduringsexting.

My cheeks darkened, and I played with my anchor necklace, brushing it against my lower lip. I

coughed,clearingmythroat,andsaid,“Louder,Millie.”

She looked around, anxious as I was, and reluctantly raised her voice with the next line. Her poem

was pretty fascinating, actually. About life and death and the way the cherry blossom tree symbolizes
both.Everybodywasquietandalert.DeanColehadhiselbowsonhisdesk,leaningforward,drinking
herwordsliketheywereoxygen.AndVicious?Helookedatherlikeshewashis.

Buttherewasnopoint.TheonlythingmyearsweretunedintowaswhatIsecretlyhopedtohear—the

soundofmyphonevibratingagainstthetableasanothermessagecamethrough.

Jaime:
Your nipples are so tight I could cut fucking diamonds with them, baby. It’s a turn on when

everyonecanseewhatIdotoyou.Inhalfanhour,I’mgoingtoshovemyhandintoyourpencilskirt
andmyfingersintothatpussy.DiggingintoMs.G’sG-spotandhittingitagainandagainuntilyou
passoutfromyourorgasms.

Icircledthetableandleanedbackagainstitfacingtheclass,hopingtheycouldn’tseetheblushthat

wasadailychallengesincethestartofouraffair.Jesus!Affair?Thatwasabitmuch.Itwasn’tanaffair.I
was fucking my student, and my future, all at the same time. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop. I scanned the
classroom full of students, and his face was the only one that stood out in the sea of bland teenagers. I
barelyregisteredtheotherfaces,lostinthefogoflust.

Anothervibration.ThistimeIwaitedafewsecondsbeforeIglancedhiswayandfoundhimsmirking

athisphone.Asshole.

Jaime:
ThenI’lltakemyhandout,letyoulickmyfingersonebyone,suckonthemhard,andbegfor

metotakeyou.ButIwon’t.You’llhavetogodownonmefirst,andI’llmakeyouchokeonmycock
untilyoucan’tbreathe.Howwouldyoulikethat,Mel?

I was sweating. Sucking in short breaths. Millie finished reading her poem. She was still standing,

expectingmyfeedback.Alleyeswereonme.She’ddoneawonderfuljobfromwhatIcoulddecipherin
my lust-induced haze, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. I was truly afraid that I’d blurt out
somethingaboutJaimeandhisdick.Itreallywastoofuckingbeautifulnottobecelebratedbyourfine
nation.

“Millie,”Istarted,clearingmythroatwhenIrealizedmyvoicecracked.IheardJaimesoftlychuckle

inthebackoftheroom.Iwasgoingtokillhimwhentheclasswasdismissed.Herbig,blueBambieyes
followed my every movement as I spoke. “I thought it was brilliant. Your poem had a rhythm like
heartbeats.Itwas…enchanting,”Imanaged,mysmilealmostapologetic.

Itwasn’ttherightthingtosay.Ineededtoopenthisupfordiscussion,butIwashavingahardtime

stringingtogetheracoherentsentencewhilemypantieswerethiswet.DamnJaimeandhistexts.

Straighteningmyspine,Iclappedmyhandsonetime.“Let’shearyourthoughtsaboutMissLeBlanc’s

poem.Anyone?”

Bzzz.Anothervibrationerupted.Ahandfulofpeopleraisedtheirhands,andIchoseShelly,thegirl

whoIknewwouldn’tshutup,andthereforeallowedmetimetoreadmyincomingtext.

Jaime:
Solost.Soconfused.Sofuckingmine.Owningsomeonehasneverfeltthisgood.

Hiswordshitmehard.

WasIreallyhis?Itdidn’tfeellikeit.Likeitwasreal.Maybeforhim,itwas.Butforme?Iwastoo

scaredoftheconsequencesoftrulyhavinghimtoevenconsideritanoption.

Lost.Confused.Ifeltallthosethings.Notjustinthatmoment,butingeneral.WherewasIgoingafter

this?Iwasaterribleteacher,andmystudentsdeservedbetter.Whatmore,Icaredenoughaboutthemto
acknowledgethefactthatIneedtomakeroomforsomeonemorepassionate.Morecaring.Someonewho
would take the Millies of the world and turn them into artists, and not keep them here, in the gray
classroom,readingpoemstheycouldbarelyunderstand.

AfterShellybabbledsomethingforthesakeoftalking,andanotherstudentaskedMillieacoupleof

questions, Vicious, who had his long legs crossed over the table, his boots nearly touching someone’s
back, held up his hand. My breath hitched. I didn’t want him to shatter Millie’s confidence. Actually, I
wantedtotalktoheraboutenrollinginacreativewritingclassIknewacrosstown.IlikedtobelieveI
saw some of me in Emilia. She was delicate, artistic, and unfazed by the privileged environment she
wasn’tapartof.IhadaweirdurgetoprotectherfromVicious,butnooneelsewasliftingtheirhands.

IwantedtostranglethesulkybullyasIgroundoutaweakpermissionforhimtospeak.“Yes,Baron?”
Vicious’shoodedeyeswereonMillieasheplayedwithoneofhisrustymetalrings—apartofhis

iconicserial-killerattire.Hebaredhisteeth,expectinghertoshrinkbackintoherchairliketherestof
them,butMilliewasstillstanding,eyeballinghimlikehewasapunchingbagshewasabouttoswingher
fistinto.

Ifuckinglikethisgirl.
“Ithoughtitwasspectacularlyawful,”hesaid,tuggingathisfulllowerlip.
Sheraisedonelonelyeyebrow,asmileonherpretty,roundface.
“That’senoughfromyou,Baron,”Istarted,butMillieraisedherhand.
“Please,Ms.Greene.Lethimfinish.Whatwasso‘spectacularlyawful’aboutmypoem?”sheasked

him,andshesoundedgenuinelyinterested.

Icringed.Whywasshedoingthistoherself?
Vicious slumped back in his chair, examining his rings. “Too wordy. Too many analogies. Some of

themwerecorny.Oneswe’veheardathousandtimesbefore.You’vegottalent,I’llgiveyouthat.Still.”
Heshrugged.“Yourwriting’ssloppy.Sticktopainting.”

“Andwhatwouldyouknowaboutwriting?”Isnapped.Itwasmyturntoask.Itwasn’tlikemetolose

mytemperduringclass,butViciouswasliterallybeingvicious.Thefactthathe’dwononSaturdaynight
attheparkdidn’thelp,either.

I think Jaime knew better than to continue sexting me, because he tucked his phone into his jeans

pocketandfrownedatVicious,hisexpressionscreaming,Shutthefuckup,man.

“I know quite a fucking bit, actually,” Vicious chirped, his face lighting up. Usually, his voice was

likeastraightlineonaheartmonitor,uncaringandflat.“Ass-kissing’sneverhelpedanauthororapoet
growanddevelop.Constructivecriticismdoes.Maybeyou’reinthewrongprofession,Greene.”

Fuck this shit. I was going to throw him into detention until he was seventy. I didn’t even care that

Jaimehadjustinvitedmetoanothersex-festafterschool,andthatallIcouldthinkaboutwashisangry,
swollen cock. I didn’t want Vicious talking to me like this and more importantly—to Millie. The girl
didn’tdeserveit.

“Pack your stuff, Baron. You’re coming with me to see Principal Followhill after class. I hope you

don’t have any plans for the upcoming month, because you’re going to spend it with your mediocre
educator. In detention. Where you can explain to me all about good poetry and bad life choices. Like
talkingbacktoyourteacher.”Iletlooseasugarysmileandcrackedopenmynotebookwiththenamelist,
lookingforthenextpoorsoulthathadtoshareapoemwithclass.

TrentgroanedfromhisplaceontheothersideofVicious.“Goodgoing,cunt.Youjusthadtotalkshit,

didn’tyou?We’vegotteambusinesstohandle.Didyouforget?”

“Language,Rexroth.Oryou’reupnext.”
Igotballsy.Ihadaback.ItwasJaime.Who,bytheway,lookedjustaboutreadytoexplode,staring

down Vicious like he had just slaughtered a basket full of kittens. There was fire in his eyes, and it
scorched everything it landed on. The bell rang, filling the class with laughter and noise, and people
shovedtheirstuffintotheirbackpacks.

“Mr.Linden,you’llbereadingyourpoemnexttime.Class,IwantyoutoreadTheRulesofPoetryby

Michaela Steinberg and know it by heart for next class. There’ll be a quiz,” I barked into the chaos of
teenagechatter.

Students poured into the hallway, but Jaime stayed put in his chair. His clenched jaw suggested

someone in the room was about to get killed. Vicious was the only one still there other than us, and he
tookhistime,stuffinghisbagdeliberatelyslowwithagrinsobigyou’dthinkIwasabouttoescorthimto
anexoticvacationonanislandpopulatedbystrippersandinternationalarmsdealers.

I dropped Vicious at Principal Followhill’s office and got back to class. I think she was both

impressedandhorrifiedwithmecallingViciousonhisbullshit.Ihadnoideahowshewasgoingtodeal
withhim,butIdidn’tcare,either.I’ddonemypart.

The minute I walked back into my classroom, I heaved a sigh. “What did you do to those kids the

othernight?”

Jaime sprawled back in his chair. He was wearing navy Dickies, high-top sneakers, and a purple

muscle shirt that showed off his corny tattoo of a stupid-ass quote he had inked on his ribs. I’d never
botheredreadingit,butwouldn’tbesurprisedifitwassomethingfromSpongeBobSquarepants.

Whocares?Hewasmyownpersonalcalorie-freedessert.
Atleast,that’swhatItriedtoreducehimtoinmymind.
Mostofthetimeitworked.
Butthemorewespenttimetogether,themoreIneededtofeedmyselfthislie.
“Comehere.”Hecrookedhisindexfingeratme.
“Excuseme?I’mtheteacher,”Iteased,happytohavehimalone.
“And I’m the pissed-off guy who needs to put you in your place every now and again. Here.” He

pattedhisdesktopandploppedbackinthischair.Iglancedatthecloseddoorandbackathim.

“Viciouscouldcomeback,”Iargued.
“ViciouswouldkeephismouthshutevenifhewalkedinonmefuckingMr.PattinsonwhilethePTA

president licks my asshole. I can do anything with anyone as long as it’s not Millie. We’re goddamned
nearblood-brothers.”

Millie,huh?Maybethebastarddidhaveabeatingheartafterall.
Itookslowstepstohimandsatattheedgeofhisdesk.Hegrabbedmebythewaistandpulledme

intohisgroinsothatIstraddledhim,mylegscurlingaroundhiswaist.

“Whatdidyoudotothem?”Iwhisperedagain,myhandsburiedinhisgoldenhairasmyarmscircled

hisneck.Despiteeverything,Icaredaboutthosekids.

“Baby…”Hebrushedhisknucklesagainstmylips,hiseyesfocusedsolelyonthem.
“Well?”Ideliberatelywidenedmyeyes,questioninghim.
Helaughedlikehethoughtmyexpressionwascute.“Nothingyet.Butwegotaname.TobyRowland.”
“And?”Rowlandwasajunior,anotherdouchewhoItaught.HewasalsoCoachRowland’sson.
Jaimeshrugged.“Dude’salwayshidingbehindhisdaddyinpractice.It’llbehardtopinhimdown,

butneitherone’sgettingawaywithwhattheydidtoTrent.Fuckerskilledhisticketout.”

TrentRexroth,AllSaints’stand-outfootballstar,hadslippedinthelockerroombeforeabiggame

thisfall,breakinghisankleandendinghispathtocollegeandpro-footballglory.

Iopenedmymouth,intendingtoconvincehimtogiveuptheretaliation,buthegrabbedmebymyass

andpulledmeintohisachingerection,suckinghardononeofmybreaststhroughthefabricofmyblouse

andfinishingonateasingbite.

“Shit…”Imuttered.
“How was your weekend?” He placed his lips on my neck and licked his way to my cleavage. I

shiveredintohisbody.“Didyoumissme?”

“Itwasgood.”Myhandsghostedoverhisbroadchestgreedily.“Andno,”Ilied.“Ithoughtweagreed

thiswasjustharmlessfun.”

“Itis.”Hetippedhisheadback,staringatmeseriously.“Andit’sfunbeingwithyou.”
“Ibetit’sjustasfunbeingwithhighschoolgirls.”MymouthwentdrywhenIsaidit.
It was stupid and insecure, but it felt good to finally say what I’d been thinking about for weeks.

WhereJaimewent,girlsfollowed.Bronze-skinned,shiny-hairedcheerleaderswithwidesmilesandlegs
for miles. They caught up with his long steps in the hallways, leaned against his SUV after school, and
laughedateverythinghesaid…evenwhenhedidn’tmakejokes.

Jaime smirked, his right hand tracing my inner thigh, traveling upward and disappearing under my

pencil skirt. “I beg to differ. High school girls are high maintenance. They’re full of drama. They talk
aboutfuckinghairstraightenersandpartiesforhours.ThehotonesmakeyougotoJenniferLoveHewitt
movies.No.There’snothingfunabouthighschoolgirls.You,ontheotherhand…”

Hisfingersfoundmysoakingundies,andasusual,hecockedhishead,smirking,lettingmeknowthat

hewasontome.MybodysangatuneonlyJaimeknewthewordstoandmyheartdrummedsofastand
loudthatIfeltthepulseinmytoes.Doingthiswasalmostlikebeggingtogetcaught.

Apartofmewasdesperatetobeseen.
“Youtalkback,”hesaid.“You’recoldandstubborn.Sadandsnarky.Ilikeyourbrandofweird.The

wholepackage.”Hedrewanimaginarycirclewithhisfingeraroundmyface,leaningintome.“Butmost
ofall…”hebreathed,placingagentlekissonthecornerofmylips.“Ilikethechase.Youmakemesweat
somewherebesidesafootballfield.Turnsout…that’stheexerciseI’vebeenlookingfor.”

Just as he said that, the door flung open and Vicious pushed his way inside. Lucky for me, he was

staringdownatapieceofpaperheheldinonehandandtheripped-openenvelopehehadintheother.
“Can’tbelieveshesaysshitlikethis,”hemuttered.

ThatallowedmeaminutetojumpoffJaime’sbonerandrearrangemyskirt,leaningbackdownand

pretendingtoflipthroughoneofthebookshehadonhistable.“Here’stheparagraphyouwerelooking
for.”Iclearedmythroatandstraightened.

Vicious finally looked up, but it wasn’t at me. “Trent just texted me. Coach called a team meeting.

Toby’sbeennamedascaptainfornextyear.”

“Whatever.” Jaime’s jaw ticked. The atmosphere in the room changed. No words were spoken, but

planswerebeingmade,rightinfrontofmyeyes.

TobyRowlandwasinsomuchtrouble,itphysicallyhurtmetothinkwhatthey’ddotohimoncethey

gothimalone.

“Whateversoundsright,”Viciousechoed,hisvoiceflat.“Thanksafuckingtonfordetention,Ms.G.

Hopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing.”Heshookhisheadwithasadisticsmile.Athreat.

“Vicious,”Jaimegnashed.Awarning.
Viciousstrodetohischairandfloppeddown,wavinghishand.“She’sluckyyouhaveasoftspotfor

her.OtherwiseI’dhavereducedhertoashesatLibertyPark.”

Ahardspot,baby,IthoughtasImademywaybacktomydesk.Andyouhavenoidea.

HATDAYCHANGEDEVERYTHING,BECAUSE

thatdayJaimeandIstartedtexting.Itmadeitsomucheasierto

plan things. More hot dates at my partially-packed apartment. More fucking in insane positions. More
stealingkissesatschool,gettingoffonthethrillofbeingcaught.

Attheendoftheweek,Jaimesentmeapictureofhimselfflexinghisgunsinfrontofthemirrorin

theirlockerroom.Ialmostdidn’topenthetextmessage,fearingI’dseesomethinghorrificlikesomeone
else’s junk, but then I remembered it was Jaime I was talking about. He was oddly responsible for
someonehisageandwithhisstatus.Outofthefourofthem,hewasthequietest.Theonewiththeworking
moral compass. If Vicious was the evil one, and Dean was the stoner one, and Trent was the lost,
beautifulsoulsearchingforitsmate,Jaimewasthecementthatgluedthemtogether.Hewastheguyyou
couldalwayscounton.AndIwasstartingtocountonhimtoo.

Jaime:
It’sscientificallyproven.You’reridingthebeststudintown.Thesegunscouldkill.

Me:
Jaime,you’reaneighteen-year-old.Perspective,please.

Jaime:
Thisfromsomeonewhogoestosleepwithmydickclutchedinherhand.Pizzatonight?

Me:
Thathappenedonce.Byaccident.

Me:
Andyes.Butnoonions.

I leaned back against a box filled with books and giggled, hugging my cell phone like an idiot. A

disaster,Ithoughttomyself.Whatthefuckareyoudoing?Datinghimnow?

Jaime:
Noonion?Nocondomthen.I’mclean.Youronthepill.

Me:
YOU’RE.YOU-apostrophe-RE.

Me:
Anddeal.

Jaime:
Nicedoingbusinesswithyou.x

DearGod,Ineededtostopthis.StopthisbeforeIwasgoingtogethurt.Already,thewaymyheart

squeezedeverytimeInoticedhimforthefirsttimeinclassfeltalittletoohard.Thepleasureofsleeping
withhimfreckledwithadashofpain.Hestillfilledme.Filledmewithjoyandlaughterandamazingsex.
Butnowhewassuckingfromme,too.

Emotions,thoughts,logic.
That evening, Jaime got to my apartment and tackled me to the sofa, peppering my whole face with

kisses.Ilaughed,throwingmyfistsathissculptedabs.Werolledaround,halfmakingout,halffighting
andlaughing,beforewebothstoppedtotakeabreath,examiningeachother’sfacesforthefirsttimesince
hewalkedin.Hewasatopofme,hiseyesroamingmyface,searchingforanswerstoquestionswewere
bothtooscaredtoaskaloud.

“HowdidyouknowI’monthepill?”Thesilencerangsoloud,Ifelttheurgetobreakit.
“Sawthemonyourbathroomcounter.Duh.”
“Well,let’sgetnekkidanddosomedirtystuffthen.Iknowit’sFriday,andyouprobablywanttohang

outwithyourfriendslater.”Igrabbedthehemofmyshirtandstartedgettingundressed.

He stopped me, his palm on my hand. “Take it easy, missy. No rush. Let’s watch a crappy nineties

movietogetherwhilewewaitforthepizza.I’mgoingtosleepheretonight.”

I frowned. Vicious threw balls-out parties every weekend, and the HotHoles were always in full

attendance.Itwasmandatoryorsomeshit.IhappenedtoknowthisbecauseatAllSaintsgettinginvitedto
thesethingsmeantthatyouwereoneofthecoolkids.Ialsohappenedtoknowtherewasapartytonight
because yesterday the hallways were filled with hushed convos about which guys were going to be
challengedtoafightinDefyandwhichgirlsweregoingtogetinsideVicious’sprivatemediaroomwhere
theHotHoleshungout.

“What about Vicious’s party?” I asked. The last few weeks, the mere idea of having Jaime sitting

thereinthesecludedroomwithyoung,willingwomenofferingthemselvestohimmademelosemymind.
Ihatedthoseparties,anddespisedViciousevenmoreforthrowingthem.

“I’mplanninganevenbiggerpartybetweenyourlegstonight.”Hewiggledhisbrowsatme.
Irolledmyeyesbutcouldn’thelpbutsmile.“IthinkIlikeyou,”Imuttered,pressingmyfacetohis

muscledtorsoinahug.Ifelthisheartbeatundermyear.

“IthinkIlikeyouback.”
My heart nearly exploded, and I found myself clutching the anchor on my necklace for dear life,

knowingthatthistime,itcouldn’tsavemefromfallingdeeperintowhateverthehellthatwaswewere
creating.

Actually,Iknewexactlywhatitwas.
Magic.

It’sbeenpsychologicallyproven.Peoplelietothemselvesinordertoprotectthemselvesfromthethings
theydo.Fromwhattheythinkandfeel.IwasindenialwhenitcametoJaimeFollowhill.Inmyhead,I
downplayed the whole thing. Reduced it to nothing but some fun. But the truth was, I was never so

intriguedbyaman.

Defy.
That’s what I wondered about most. Why did he fight? He didn’t look like the type who needed a

violentoutlettounwind.Vicious,sure.ButJaime?No.Heseemedlikealaid-backguy.

Soafterthemovieandpizza(noonions.Heremembered),Iaskedhim.
Ipreppedhimbeforehand.KnewthatJaimewasnotgoingtoopenupaboutthingsthathadtodowith

hisfriendssoeasily.Igotdownonmykneesandtookhim—allofhim—deepinmymouth,coveringmost
ofhisshaft,myfistdoingtherest.Hegroanedandyankedmyheadbackandforth,myhairinhisfist.

“I’mgoingtocomeinyourmouth,”heannounced.Hestood,onefootlazilyproppedbackagainstmy

fridge,inallhisnakedsixfootthreeinchglory.

Imoanedintohishotflesh,lollingmyheadfromsidetoside.Ilikedit.Tofeeladmiredanddesired

byayoungerman.Hewasdrivingmecrazy…butIwasdrivinghimwild.

My moan encouraged him, and he emptied himself inside my mouth. The warm, salty liquid shot

straightintomythroat,andIswalloweditinstantly,desperateforeverydropofhim.

Afterhis release, heglided down thefront of my fridge,sinking into asit-down position, his knees

bent, as he slowly let go of my hair. We both grinned, the kind of private smile only we knew how to
decode.IdoubtedIcouldgivethatsmiletosomeoneelse,evenifI’dtried.

“What’s up?” He grabbed my hand, offhand and confident, and jerked me to sit between his legs. I

did, purring into his mouth as we shared a slow, seductive kiss. “Look at my Little Ballerina, learning
howtogiveheadlikeit’stheeighties.”

“Whathappenedintheeighties?”Iasked,feelingridiculouslystupid.You’dthinkIknowmoreabout

thedecadethanhedid.Heshrugged.

“Nothing.Peoplelikedgivinghead,Iguess.”
Ishookmyheadonalaugh.Hewassoridiculoussometimes,butthat’sexactlywhatmadeitsoeasy

tounwindwiththisguy.Iflattenedmypalmagainsthischest.“Ineedtoaskyousomething.”

“Uh-oh.AmIintrouble,Ms.Greene?HaveIbeenabadboy?DoIneedaspanking?”Hewiggledhis

browsandlaughed.

God,hewassexy.AndGod,itwascreepy.
Ishookmyhead,closingmyeyessoIwouldn’tseehisreactiontomyblush.“TellmeaboutDefy,”I

said.

NoneoftheteachersknewmuchaboutDefy,otherthantheinjurieswespottedonMondaymornings.

StudentsgotintobloodyfightsatVicious’sparties,andtherewasnothingwecoulddoaboutit.

Jaimefrowned.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Iwanttoknoweverything.”Iclearedmythroat.“Where,why,how,andmostofall…whyareyou

doingit?”

Hiseyesdarkened,andhepulledhisblondhairintoahighbun.Iwatchedhimsilently,swallowing

hardwhileheexaminedmeunderhislashes.Iwassteppingdeeperintoaterritorythatwasn’tmine.We
both were. This was intimate and secretive, two lines we promised we wouldn’t cross outside the
bedroom.

Arewebreakingtherules?
It occurred to me that I was the first one to step over the line that I was so quick to paint in our

relationship.Butitalsooccurredtomethattherewasn’toneline.Itwasmorelikeanabstractpainting
fulloflines,circlesandtriangles.Itwasamess,andtryingtomaneuveryourmovesinthisthingbetween
uswashopeless.

“Thisdoesn’tleavethisroom,”Jaimewarned,dippinghischindown,hisnosetouchingmine.
“Of course,” I said as if this was obvious. We were still on the floor, my legs knotted with his. I

wantedtotossasidemyteacherhatatthatmoment.Toburnittoashes,morelike.“Thisisbetweenyou

andme.I’mjustcurious.”

“Well…”Hepulledmedeeperbetweenhislegs,openingthemwidertoaccommodateme.Hiseyes

honedonaninvisiblespotonthewall.Thiswashardforhim.Givingupasecretthatwasn’twhollyhis.
“Where?AtVicious’splace.Everyweekend.Guysknowbetterthantocometohispartiesiftheydon’t
feellikefighting.Andstill…everyonedoes.Let’sadmitit.Thistownisfuckingboring.We’reallrich,
privileged,anddesperatetofillinthevoid.”

“Whatvoid?”
“That void. Whether it’s sex or pressure or money. We fight on the tennis court. His father and

stepmotherneveruseit,sotheynevernoticethebloodstains,whichtheirhandymantakescareofduring
theweek.”

Thatvoidwasfamiliar.Ididn’twanttotellhimthatIhadit,too.Theholeinmysoul.AndthatI,too,

foundawaytofillit.Withhim.

Suddenly,hesnakedonehandbehindmybackandloweredmealongwithhimtothefloor,doingit

slowlysoIwouldn’thitmyhead.

A wicked grin curved his lips. “Why? Because it’s fun. Because men have become so fucking

emasculatedbysociety,wesometimesfeellikehavingourballsback.WhydodudesloveFightClubso
much?It’sbecausebehindeveryA&Fboxers-wearingguywhosmellslikecitrusaftershaveandknows
whoVersaceisandtakesyououtonadatetoanItaliandinnerandaforeignfilm,there’sasavagewho
justwantstograbyoubythehairanddragyoutohiscave.”

Hisotherhandmovedbetweenus,slidingdownmybelly,findingmysoakingpanties.Iwaswearing

aknee-lengthdress,butitwasflippedupandJaimedidn’tlooklikehewasbotheredbyittoomuch.He
rubbedmyentrancethroughmypantiesfuriously.

“How? Someone steps out to the pool with his sleeves rolled up. That’s an invitation to fight. You

can’tchallengeaspecificguy.Theotherguyhastovolunteer.Chicksdigit,evenwhenyoulose,soguys
doit,becausepussyisnice,evenwhenyouhaveableedinglip.Weuseourfists.Kicks.BasicMMAshit.
But we fight clean, mostly. And if things get out of hand, which they usually don’t unless Vicious’s
involved…”Hebitmylip,tuggingmyunderweardownroughlyandpushingintwofingers.“Thenoneof
theHotHolesbreaksitoffbeforeshitgoestotheER.”

Iwhimpered,tighteningaroundhim.Hewasrougherthanusual,andIdoubteditwasacoincidence.

Hewantedtoshowmethathewasaman,notakid.

And he succeeded. In and out, in and out, he fingered me while I writhed on my kitchen floor

underneathhim.

Sothiswasit.ThiswasDefy.IhadmorequestionsIcouldn’texactlyarticulateatthatmoment,but

onethingwasclear—Jaimewasn’tafraidofgettinghurt.Notphysically,anyway.

Butwhataboutemotionally?
Andwhataboutme?WouldIbeabletotakethehitwhenthingsbetweenuswentsouth?
AllIknewwasthatmysouthlikedhim.Somuchso,thatIcameonhisfingersbeforeheevenhadthe

chancetotouchmyclit.

“Youfeelprettymanlytome,”Ibreathedout,alljelly-leggedwithhalf-masteyes.
“Andyoufeellikeawomanworthyofafight,Ms.Greene.”

IXHEAVENLYWEEKSTICKEDBY

beforeJaimeclaimednotonlymybody,butmyheart.Unsurprisingly,it

wasthedayIgotmyperiod(AKAthetimewhenmyhormoneswerewreakinghavocwithmybody).It
wasalsothedaythatImoved.

I’d found a place in a small beach town on the outskirts of Todos Santos, and I’d arranged for a

substituteteachertocovermyclassesthatday.Thatdidn’tstopPrincipalFollowhillfromgruntingthatI
hadsomenervetakingtimeoffwhenmypositionwasonthelineandmyclasseswerebehindscheduleon
therequiredsyllabus.Shewasbacktoheroldwaysnowthatshe’dpaidmeoffforJaime’scaraccident.

Since I didn’t want to spend much money on movers, I’d decided to do some of the heavy lifting

myself.Ispentmymorningrunningfrommyoldapartmenttothenewone,movingboxesupanddownthe
stairs.Iwassweatyandsmelly,withmymessyponytail,PINKblacksweatpants,andayellowtanktop
thatshowedoffmytonedmidriff.IftherewasapotentialhusbandwaitingformeinthedingycomplexI
wasmovinginto,hewasgoingtothinkthatIwashot.Andpossiblyhomeless.

Onmythirdrunbacktomyoldapartment,IsawJaimewaitingatmydoor.Hewaswearingawhite

sleevelesstankandkhakishorts.Thekindthathuggedhisassasiftosay,YoubetterbelieveI’mtouching
thisallday,bitch.

Myheartflutteredinmychest,whichmademysoullurchinpain.Justuntilschoolends,remember?
“You’resupposedtobeatschool.”Islippedpasthim,marchingintomyapartment.Yes,Iwascoldto

himbecauseofhismother’sbehavioryesterday,andno,itwasnotfair,butIcouldn’thelpit.Iwasonmy
period.Heneededtocutmesomeslackhere.Besides—hereallywasskippingschool.Istillcaredabout
hiseducation.Alot,actually.

“I thought you were sick.” He hurried into my apartment before the door shut behind me, his hands

tucked in his pockets. “You didn’t even mention you were moving today when we saw each other
yesterday.”

“Yousawtheboxes.”
“Yeah.TheyhavebeensittingaroundsincethefirsttimeIwashere.Youneverputanythinginthem.I

thoughtyouweremovingin,notout.Whatkindofbullshitisthis?”

“Mylandlordwantstheplaceforhimself,soIgotanewone.”Ishruggedandrefusedtoexplainmore

because this thing with him was supposed to be fun. He didn’t need to know my schedule, even though
most days, we both knew exactly where the other person was. There was pain in his voice. I not only
heardit,Ifeltit.Likeapunchtomystomach.Thiswaswrong.Heneededtoknow,weowedeachother
nothing.

Withasigh,Jaimedroppedthesubject.“Whatever.Let’shangout.”
“Youcan’tskipclasses,Jaime.You’llfail.Evenifyou’vealreadybeenacceptedtocollege,itlooks

bad.”Istartedgatheringmyclothesbytheirhangers.Iwasgoingtocarrysomemoreboxestomycarbut
didn’twanthimtoseememeltingintoasweatypileofPMSrage.

“Inotherwords,youdon’twannahangoutwithme?”Hefollowedme,knockingoverastackofboxes

withhishugebodyintheprocess.

“No. I don’t have time to fuck around today.” I kept walking back and forth, stuffing my hanging

clothesintoapairoflaundrybaskets,hopinghe’dgetthehint.

Damnhim.ItwashisfaultIwasn’tpackedalreadyinthefirstplace.
Jaimegrabbedmystiffshoulder,studyingme.“Youthinkthat’swhyIcamehere?Tofuckyou?”
Hisrawgazealonestrippedoffalayerofmyshittyattitude,butIstillneededhimtoleave.Thishad

tostop.Wehadtostop.

ThenwhydidIrunoutofbreatheverytimeIthoughtaboutmylifewithouthim?
Ishruggedagain.“No?Okay,nothen.Still,I’mmoving,asyoucansee,andI’vegotmyhandsfull.”I

lifteduptheheapofclothesinmyhandsforemphasis.“Seeyoutomorrow.”

“I’ll help,” Jaime announced, grabbing the biggest, heaviest box and throwing it up on one of his

shoulders.

Iwantedtoprotest,butshit,thatboxwaslikeahundredpounds,easy.Iwasavoidingthethinglikeit

wasthatdrunkauntataweddingreceptionnoonewantedtotalkto.Scanningtheprominentveinsinhis
armspoppingout,IknewIshoulddeclinehishelp.Heshouldbeinschool.Itcouldevenraisesuspicion,
meandhimnotshowinguponthesameday.IrememberedVicious’sveiledthreat.

But…Ireallyneededthehelp.
Also,Iwashelplesswhenitcametohim.
“Right,”Isaidafterapause.“I’llshowyouwhereI’mparked.”
He tutted with a growl, reminding me who the boss around here is. “Makes more sense to use the

RangeRover.Morespace.Wecanfinishsooner.It’llleaveusmoretimeforourselves.”

Iexhaled,climbingdownthestairs.“Justtogiveyouaheads-up—I’monmyperiod.”
“Youdon’tsay.Youhiditsowell.”HethrewtheboxintothebackofhisSUVlikeitwasfeather-

light.“LikeIsaid,I’mheretohangout.”Hespearedmewithhisscowl.

Iguesswewerehangingout.
Wefinishedmoving(andunpacking)everythingbyseventhatnight,andJaimemadeaquickruntothe

nearestWendy’s.Heaskedifheshouldpickupbeertoo,andafterIsaidsure,Inearlybitoffmytongue,
realizingwhatI’ddone.Itwaseasytoforgethewasn’tmyage.Funnythingwas,hedidbringbeer.When
IaskedhimifhehadafakeID,hechuckledandmussedmyhairlikeIwasanadorablekid,explaining
thattheHotHolesnevergotcardedinTodosSantos.Ishookmyheadandcrackedopenmybeer.

JaimehookedupmyTVanddraggedthecoffeetabletothemiddleoftheroom.Wewatchedashitty

game show from the 80s. His feet were on the table, while I curled up on the sofa. We looked like a
couple.What’smore—weactedlikeone.

Itfeltnatural.Andscary.Foramoment,justabrief,crazy,I-obviously-need-helpmoment,Iimagined

thatweweremovingintothisapartmenttogether,meandhim.

“Howdidwegettothispoint?Holyshit,I’mfuckingmystudent,”Imumbledoutofnowhere,myeyes

stillgluedtotheTV.

“Well…”Jaimestretched,downingwhatwasleftofhisbeerinoneswigandslammingitagainstthe

table.“Iblackmailedyouintoit.That’show.”

His sarcasm held a lie I wanted to believe. We both knew he hadn’t forced me. I fucked him by

choice.Iputthebeertomylips,stalling.

“Okay.”HelickedhislipsandturnedofftheTV,rubbinghisthighs.“Let’splayTruthorDare.”
IwastemptedtoremindhimIwasn’ttwelvebutdidn’twanttobeevenmoreofagrouch.So,Ibatted

myeyelashesinnocently.“Areyougoingtomilkmysecretsoutofme?”

“Mightaswellsinceyouaren’tgoingtomilkthejizzoutofmetonight.”Hegotupfromthecouch,

disappeared into my tiny new kitchen, and returned with a bottle of Jose Cuervo. Holding the bottle of
tequila by its neck, he slouched back down beside me. Now we were both sitting cross-legged on the
sofa,facingeachother.Afanhummedaboveus,andifwewerereallysilent—whichwewere—wecould
hearthesoundofthewavescrashingagainsttheshore,theirrhythmsystematic,likeasweetlullaby.

“Thisconversationneedsbooze,soashotforeverytimewechooseatruthoveradare.”Jaimerested

thebottlebetweenus,hisvoiceclipped.Hewaslookingatmefunny.

Jaimewasnormallyimpossibletoread.Ahot,carefreejockwithdarknessbehindhislighteyes,but

theexpressionhewore…itwasborderlinepained.

“Idon’twantyoudrinkingundermyroof.You’reundertwenty-one.”
“I’m eighteen. Any other place in the world—virtually all over Europe—I’d be allowed to get

shitfacedwhereverIwant.”

“We’renotinEurope,”Ideadpanned.
“Wewillbe,oneday.Together,”hisbizarrestatementcameoutsoconfident.Ialmostdoubledover.

Okay,then.Backtothesubject,Iguess.

“I’madaredevil.”Icockedabrow,laughingmainlytohidemyembarrassmentathownervousIwas.
“Real daredevils choose the truth. It’s always more challenging than a dare.” His right eye ticked.

“So…truthordare?”

“Dare,”Iteased,hopingtolightenthetension.Whereverthisconversationwasleading,itwasgoing

tobearaw,dangerousplaceforthebothofus.

Jaimedippedhischindownandranhisthumboverhislowerlip,hisplayful-selfpeekingfromthe

wallofgravenesshehadbuiltaroundhimtonight.“Idareyoutolookmeintheeyeandtellmeyoudon’t
havefeelingsforme.”

Hiswordsweresimple,yethisrequest—impossible.
Iblinked,realizingforthefirsttimethattheanswertohisquestionwassomethingIwasn’treadyto

face.“Truth,”Isaidandswallowedpainfully.

Jaimetippedhisheadbackandlaughed.Itsoundedgruffandunhappy.
Ilookedaway,feelingmyfacewhitening.“What?I’mallowedtochangemymind.”
“You’re not.” He reached for me, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Tell me what you feel.” His

tonehadchangedtocushion-soft.

“Why?”Iwhispered,resistingtheurgetoclosemyeyes.IfIdid,atearwouldescape.Inevercried.

NotsincetheaccidentinNY.Idealt.Damnyou,JaimeFollowhill.Idealt.

Jaimethumbedmychin,tiltingmyfacetomeethisgaze.Slowly,hebroughthisforeheadtomineand

closedhiseyes,releasingadefeatedbreath.“BecauseIfeelit,too.”

I wanted him to kiss me. To kiss me hard and soft all at once, a kiss that’d assure me that I wasn’t

crazyfordiscoveringwhatI’djustdiscoveredonthistatteredsofainthistinyapartment.

ThatIwasinlovewithmystudent.
I’dtriedtoconvincemyselfthatitwasjustsex.Itwasn’t.Itwaspizzanightsandlaughingundermy

cheap,itchyblanketandnicknamingeachotherstupidnames.IwasLittleBallerina,whilehewasGiraffe
Tongue,forreasonsthatgavemecountlessorgasms.

It was watching Tarantino movies and stealing breathless kisses at school, two thieves of pleasure,

begging to confess their crime. I was spellbound, desperate, and possessed. And I knew with certainty
that once he graduated and moved away for college, the blow would be just as hard as my subway
accident.

Dancingwasmylife.
ButJaime?Jaimeismylife,Irealized.
Hetookaswigofthetequila,screwedthetopbackon,andjerkedmeintohim,holdingthebackof

mynecktobringmylipstohis.

“Askme.”Hisalcohol-fumedbreathoozedintomymouth.
“Truthordare?”
“Truth. And it’s gonna be ugly. Buckle up.” He let me go, pushing away, his eyes fluttering shut.

Frustrationandhurtradiatedfromhisface,andheslouchedonthecouch,lookingalmostdefeated.This

wasnottheJaimeIknew.Thedevilwiththepanty-droppingsmile.

Worrygnawedatmygut.
“ThefirsttimeIsawyou,”hebegan,“Iwantedtoslapmynameonyourass,leteveryoneknowthatI

wasgoingtobetheonlyguytotapthatshit.Youlookedlikeaprincess,Mel.Aninsanelyhotprincess
with a perfect posture and unruly curls.” He smirked. “’Course, acting on it was out of the question. A
fantasy.ThenIcamehomethatfirstdayofmysenioryear,andMomwouldn’tshutupaboutyou.Melody
thisandMelodythat.Howbadyouwereatyourjob,howyouweregonnaruinMr.Pitterman’slegacy,
blahblah,bullshitblah.Shehatedyourguts.Gaveyouthejobonlybecausehecroakedsosuddenly.”

HewastellingmethingsthatIalreadyknew,butitdidn’tmakethemanylesspainful.Theprevious

Litteacherhaddiedofaheartattacktwodaysbeforeschoolstarted.PrincipalFollowhillhadneededto
actfast.

“You became a favorite topic at our dinner table. She loathed your ass.” Jaime took a sip, wincing

fromthebiteofthetequila.“Youwereprettyandyoungandcompletelyunimpressedbyherpowerand
thestatusandstinkingmoneythatrunsourfucked-uplittletown.”Hespokewithhiseyessqueezedshut.
Embarrassed,probablyforthefirsttimeinhislife.“Youwereagoodteacher.That’swhyInevergave
youshit.Itwasn’tyourfaultwewereabunchofprivilegedassholes.”

Iplacedmyhandonhisarm.Hedranksomemore.
Yourpainismine,andIwanttoshoulderit,becauseIcan.Becausethat’swhatIdo.Icarrymy

painallthetime.Letmetakeawayyours,mytouchbeggedhim.

“I told Mom to shut her trap numerous times. Not because I wanted to defend you but because

gossiping about you was feeding a monster inside me. Talking about you only made it harder for me to
ignoreyou.Sofuckinghot…”Henoddedhisheadandbithisfulllip,eyesstillclosed.“WhenIheard
howyouhadtodropoutofJulliard,Iwantedtodieforyou.Ihadafeelingteachingwasn’tyourcalling.I
kept thinking about eighteen-year-old you. My age. Your heart broken by bad luck, shattered by an
accidentthat’dleftmorethanaphysicalscar.”

I shifted on my small couch. It felt smaller with every word he said. My gaze traveled down to my

hands.Iwasflattered.Iwashorrified.Butmostofall,Iwasconfused.“Youwerethinkingaboutmefor
thewholeyear?”

Hesnortedasadlaugh.
“Morethanthinking.Sixweeksafterschoolstarted,Ihadahugefightwithmymom.CoachRowland

wasgivingTrentshitaboutbreakinghisankle.Likeheplannedtogethurtandfuck-uphiswholefootball
future.WefinallystoodupforTrentagainstCoach,butMomdefendedRowland.Myfightwithherleftme
sofrustratedIgaveintomyweaknessforyou.Ifollowedyoutoyourapartment,triedtostealaprivate
peekthroughyourbedroomwindow.Idon’tknowwhyIdidthat.ItwaslikedrinkingfuckingEmergen-C.
Ijustwantedtotaketheedgeoff.”

Jaime opened his eyes, his blues challenging me. “You were the perfect sin to commit, Melody.

Beggingtobetaken.UntouchedbytherestofTodosSantos’sposingandentitlement.Igothooked.From
that day on, I followed you everywhere like an eager puppy. To the supermarket, the gas station…the
fucking park every morning before practice, where I watched you doing yoga positions and tried not to
rubaquickoneoutbehindatree.Ifollowedyouonblinddates,andwhenIrealizedyou’dnevermetthe
idiotsbefore,IalsofoundyourdatingaccountandopenedaprofileunderafakenamejustsoIcouldstalk
youbetter.”

MyhandshookasIslappeditovermymouth.NoneofthissoundedliketheguyI’ddated.Imean,

screwed.No,wait,dated.Definitelydated.Inthelasttenminutes,thisrelationshiphadmovedfasterthan
asprinteratanall-you-can-eatpastabuffet.

Anotherswig.Anotherdeepbreathe.Anotherthorninmyheart.
Jaimewastreadingclosertoshitfacedterritorywitheverytruththatrolledoutofhismouth.

“I’mlistening,”Iprompted,afraidthathe’dclamuponme.
“Threemonthsago,IcaughtmymothercheatingonmyfatherwithCoachRowland.Inmybed.”
Iwheezed.Wewererunningbarefootinaminefieldofemotions,andJaimehadjustexplodedanIED

undermylegs.

Jaime’s dad had never bothered to hop on the gossip train traveling through Todos Santos. I didn’t

knowmuchabouthim.Onlythathewasknownasaphilanthropistwhoworkedwithseveralbigcharities,
andthatdespitehisprivilegedlineage,hewasn’ttoointerestedinglitzandglamor.

“Idon’tknowwhichpartwasworse.ThatsheletCoachemotionallyabuseTrentforyearsorthatshe

wasfuckingthebastardinmybed.I’dliketobelievethelocationwasjustconvenient.Mybedalways
smelledlikesexanywayandwasnevermade.”Hiseyesglistenedwithpain.

Iwrappedmyhandsaroundhisneck.
Jaimespokeintomyhair,hischinpressedtomyshoulder.“Fuckingsomeonewhoshehatedsounded

likegoodtherapy.SoIstartedplanning,andyouandIbegantalkingmoreonthatdatingsite.Youopened
uptome.Toldmewhatyoulikedanddisliked.Yourtasteinmusic.Favoritemovies.Dreamvacations,
layer after layer peeled. And when it was time to strike—I set up a date. I was the loser guy who still
livedwithhismomattwenty-six.”

Bastard.
Ilaughed.Helaughed.ThenIgrewsilentandstartedcrying.DamnPMS.Hewipedmycheeksand

offeredmethetequila.Isnatcheditfromhimandtookaswig.Everythingwasamess.

“You’rearealasshole,Jaime.”
Jaimerubbedhishead,mussinghisgloriousman-bun.“Thetextmessageyougotwhenyoubackedout

of your parking space? Planned. The reason you bumped into me? I set you up, Mel. The text was a
deliberatedistraction.Atrap.Butyouknowwhattheworstpartis?”

Ishookmyhead,feelingmytears,hotandangry,runningdownmyface.
Hestaredatmethroughred-rimmedeyes.Hedidn’tshedtears,butIknewthathewasholdingthem

back.“Somewherebetweenthequestofwantingtofuckyouandsecretlyrebellingagainstmymom,Ifell
in love with you. It wasn’t a beautiful process. Hell…” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It
wasn’tevenromantic.Butithappened.Becauseyou’restrongbutvulnerable.Wittyasfuckbutnotbitter
ordeliberatelymean.BecauseIhadtochaseyourasstonailyoudown,andyoustillkeepmeonmytoes.
Butifwe’regoingtokeepgoingonlikethis,whereIhavetoconvinceyoutogivemethetimeoftheday
whileyoulookoveryourshoulder,constantlytryingtoshakemeoff,IneedtobailoutofthisbeforeIget
hurt.”

He took my cheeks and dragged my face to meet his. “Men with big cocks have fragile hearts. You

knowthesaying:bigcock,bigheart.Well,I’mproofit’strue.”

Iletoutabreathlesschuckle.Ournosesbrushed,andIsuckedinabreath.Amomentofsilenceticked

by.

“So…areyoumine,Melody?”
WasI?Yeah.Withoutashadowofadoubt,Iwas.God,werewereallygoingtodothis?
Inodded,sniffingmyrunnynose.“Nooneelse’s.”Ipursedmylips,alreadytastingthesaltinessofthe

griefthataccompaniedthisstatement.

Ourlipscrushedtogether,needyanddemanding.Iwasn’tmad.Iwasn’tfreakedout.Forthefirsttime

inagesIwasjust…content.

AforeignfeelingIwantedmoreof.AdrugIwouldlatergetaddictedto.
“Youneedtogobacktodancing,”Jaimesaidthroughnoisy,sloppykisses.“Yourleg’sfinenow.”
“I’m twenty-six.” I sniffed, more tears falling, but we were still kissing. “That’s one-hundred-and-

eighty-twoindogyearsand,like,two-hundred-and-twoinballerinayears.”

“Thensettleforsomethingoutsideofaballetcompany,granny.Teach.”

Finally, I pulled away from his face, sucking in a breath. I tapped my lower lip. “The dance studio

hereisownedbyafriendofyourmother.”

“SofindastudioinSanDiego.It’sonlyathirty-minutedrive.Youcanfulfillyourdreamandstilllive

closetome.”

Whoa,what?Thiscaughtmeoffguard.Myeyebrowsknitted,andIsearchedhisface.“Jaime,you’re

movingtoTexas.You’regoingtocollegethere.Youhaveagreatfutureplanned.”

Heheldmygaze,ignoringmywordscompletely.“YoucouldeventeachballetinLA.Viciousisgoing

tocollegethere.Ifhecangetin,socanI.”

Iwonderedifhewasdrunkorjustcrazy.Hesoundedlikeboth.“Viciousisn’tthegreatestrolemodel.

He’sjusttakingalittlebreakuntilheburnsthistowndown.YouandIbothknowthat.”

Jaime shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Even if he does, I’d help him light the match. The

HotHolessticktogether.That’swhoweare.”Helacedhisfingersthroughmine.

“You’renotstayinghere,”Istated.Eventhough,selfishly,Ididn’twanthimtomoveaway.Moreover,

theverythoughtofhimlivinginTexas,farawayfromme,mademyskincrawl.

“Bull.Shit.I’mstayingwheretheonlypeopleIcareaboutare.You.Vicious.Trent.Deanmighteven

bestayingifViciousdoesn’tkillhim…”Hebrokeoff.

“InDefy?”Iprodded.
“Notthat.It’smorecomplicated.”
Ishookmyhead.AsmuchasIlikedhavinghimaround,itwasinhisbestinteresttoleave.Thisplace

was hell. The city of saints was filled with nothing but sinners. He’d already been corrupted but not
beyondrepair.

“No.”Imademyvoicefirmer,tryingtousethatauthoritativeteachertonemyparentsweresogoodat.

“Yousaidyoulovedme.Ifyoudo,thenpromiseme,you’llleaveherebeforeyougethurt.Andnomore
Defy.”Peoplehaveprobablyalreadybeenhurt,Ithought.“Goaway,James.”

“Can’t.”Hebroughtmyhandstohislips,kissingmyknucklesonebyone.“I’mnotleavingyouhere

oranywhereelse.Hey,IneverwantedtogotocollegeinTexasanyway.Youknowhowdangerousitisto
lookthisgoodonacampusthatbig?Icouldgetfuckingroofied,Ms.G.”

Hewinked.Ilaughed,butitdiedquickly.
“Thenatleastpromisemeyou’llkeepViciousawayfromMillie?”Isighed.Iwantedhersafe,forthe

samereasonIwantedmetobesafe.Shewasmymini-me.BeforeIwasbroken,anyway.

“He’llneverstayawayfromher.”Jaime’sexpressiongrewtight.“Forone,hewantstoruinher.And

two?Shelivestooclose.HerparentsworkfortheSpencers.”

I’d suspected she was the complication he mentioned, and now he’d confirmed it. She was a good

distractionforustoo.Thiswasn’ttherighttimetotalkaboutourplansasacouple.Jaimewastoodrunk.
Tooemotionaltothinkclearly.

Webothwere.
Butdeepdown,mytruthswerealreadystartingtodigtheirwayoutofmylayersofindifference.And

theytoldmeitwasn’taboutthealcohol,orthelatehour,ortheinconvenienttalksaboutthefuture.

Itwasaboutus.Itwasus.

HENEXTDAY,

WOKE

updifferent.

Idon’tknowhowithappened,butitdid,anditwasallJaime’sfault.Thatemptinessthatswirledin

mygutlikeastorm,refusingtocalmdowndespitemybestefforts?Itwasn’ttherethenextday.

After the accident that ended my studying at Julliard, I thought I’d never escape that empty feeling.

Surely,whenyourfuturecareeranddreamsconsumedyou,chasedyouaround,likebittermemoriesthat
nipped at your skin every time you saw a picture of a ballerina or heard about a traveling company in
town,youcouldn’tcomebackfromitandfindsomethingelsetofillthevoid.

Thatvoid.
Logically,I’dassumedthatIwasprobablygoingtomeetaguy.Getmarried.Startalife.Istillhad

thingstodoandaccomplish,andsomeofthemmightevenbefun.Ithoughtthatmaybe,I’dfindmycalling
elsewhere. Not teaching high school Lit, but maybe with my kids? I could probably be a good mom. A
soccermom.Livethroughmychildren.

Butthenextmorning,whenIwokeupinthearmsofmystudent,hedidn’tfeellikemystudent.Hefelt

likemymentor.Likeamanwhoknowsthewaytothatslippery,elusivethingcalledhappiness.

Notjustphysically.Thewayhishardmusclesandlongbodyenvelopedme.Thefactthathewasso

tallandwide,mademefeelprotectedandcherished.Itwashiswarmth—nottheonefromhisskin,the
onefromwhohewas—thatfilledmewithsomethingthatwasn’temptiness.

“Thisisthepartwhereyourunawayfromthis,Mel,”hewhisperedintomyear,hismorningvoice

gruff and his morning wood hard against my lower back. We were spooning, and I couldn’t smell his
morningbreath,butIbetitwasn’tasbadastheaverageperson’s.Theguywasjustannoyinglyperfect.

“Run,Ms.Greene.Asfastasyou’dlike.I’mgoingtocatchyou,andI’mgoingtohavefunshowing

youthatthere’snoescapefromthis.”

I rolled around to face him, the space between us warm from sleeping together in my new place. I

grinned,asmilethatwasn’tcontrolledorcalculated.

Heyankedmyhandfromunderthecoversandpressedmyfingerstohisfulllips.“Shit,Ms.Greene

gotbrave.”

“I’m about to get braver and offer you breakfast.” I didn’t know what I was saying or why I was

sayingit,butIknewIdidn’twanthimgone.Notyet.

“Youliterallyhavenothingotherthanalcohol.”Jaimelaughedathroatylaugh,thetypethatleftyour

mouthafteryou’dhadalongnightofsleep.

“I’llgooutandgetsomegroceries.Youwaithere.”Igavehimhalfashrug.
“Orhere’sabetteridea.I’lltakeyououttoalocaldiner.Nowwhatdoyouthink?”Hegrabbedmy

waistandjerkedmeintohishotbody,pressinghiserectionbetweenmythighs.

Isighed,myteethsinkingintomybottomlipuntilIalmostbled.HowcouldIbesosexuallyfrustrated

everytimehewasn’tinsideme?We’dobviouslyhadalotofsex.

“Ithinkyou’reinsane.Peoplecouldspotus.”
“We’llgosomewhereoutsideoftown.Maybebythehighway.Stopbeingsoparanoid.TodosSantos

is full of old, rich white people. They don’t venture farther than the city limits without a good reason.

They’retooscaredoftheunwashedmassesintheoutsideworld.”

Iletoutasmallchuckle.Hewasright,ofcourse.
“We’replayingadangerousgamehere,Jaime,”Iwarned.
“Idon’tknowanyotherwaytoplayit.”

Anothermonthtickedby.MyrelationshipwithJaimebecamealarminglyintimate.Hemovedmostofhis
stufftomyplaceandslept-overninetypercentofthetime.Icouldn’ttellhimnoafterhe’dconfidedinme
abouthismomandCoachRowland.Ididn’tknowmanypeoplewho’dbeeagertosleeponthesamebed
theirmomusedtocheatonherhusband.Butwhilewewereenjoyingmoresex,morephonecalls,more
pizzanights,andmoretalksaboutouruncertainfuture,more,more,more—itwasbecomingevidentthat
wewerestartingtoraisepeople’seyebrows.

Vicious caught us red-handed, making out while hidden behind Jaime’s SUV at Liberty Park after a

midnight walk. (We only went out together when everyone else was fast asleep). Vicious didn’t look
surprised. Just offered us his usual scowl, growling about how we grossed him out and moved on,
probablylookingforavictimtomurderthatnight.Hekepthismouthshut.

Butotherpeopledidn’t.Atschool,girlsweregettingrestless.Jaimewouldn’tgivethemthetimeof

day, and while he made up something about a girlfriend who lived in LA, nobody believed him. This
HotHoleinasteadyrelationship?Alongdistanceone,too?Pfft.Yeah,right.

One day, a cheerleader named Kadence went as far as following Jaime back to my apartment and

reportedbacktothemassesthathe’drentedhisownplace.Iwasjustgladthatshedidn’tknowtheplace
wasmineandthatschoolwasgoingtobeoverinfewweeks.

Butitwasalltoogoodtobetrue.Thelastweekofschool,Ifoundthatout.
Itstartedwiththeinnocentsoundofatextmessagepinginginthedark,followedbyanannouncement.
“I’mgoingout,”Jaimesaid.
Itwashalfpastmidnight,andwewerebothsnuggledupinbed.Hismomthoughthehadmovedin

withVicious,andSpencerconfirmedthelie.Shockingly,hisfatherandstepmotherdid,too.Thiskiddid
ruleeverythingaroundhim,hisparentsincluded.

“Whereto?”Ibreathedmoreofhimintome,stillclutchinghiswaist.Hegotup,satonthebed,and

firedoffatextmessage,avoidingeyecontact.

“Don’t.”Hisvoicewasrough.Clipped.
Iscootedupinbed,frowning.“Jaime,what’sup?”
He groaned, pulling on a white tee over his bare chest. No matter how many times I’ve seen him

naked, it always made me feel a little sad when he covered those great abs. “Nothing’s up. Last time I
checked,it’snotagainstthelawtogohangoutwithyourfriends.”

Hehadyettolookatme.
“Yeah.”Igrabbedhisarm,promptinghimtolookatme.“Butitisagainstthelawtodohalftheshit

Viciousmakesyouguysdo.Soitismybusiness.”

“Actually”—he shook out of my touch, turning around and smiling tightly—“that’s exactly why you

aren’tgoingtogetshitfromme.It’donlydragyouintoapileofcrapI’mnotwillingtopullyouinto.I’ll
bebacklater.”Hekissedmytemple.“Ifyouneedanything,text.”

“You’vebeenDefied,”Isaiddryly.

Heignoredme,squattingdownandtyinghisshoelaces.
“Viciouswantsyoutodosomethingforhim,huh?”
“Don’tworry.”
Likehell.“I’mnothingbutworried,”Igritted.
Petrified would be a better word to describe my feelings in that moment. Vicious always came up

withstupidshit,andtheHotHolesalwaysplayedhisdangerousgames.

Watching him walk away stirred something in me I thought didn’t exist anymore. Anger. Rage.

Curiosity. I was tired of being led. Into relationships. Into situations. Tired of accepting everything that
washandedtome—mybrokendream,brokenleg,half-assedcareerandthejobIhated.

Isatinbed,alert.IheardthesilentengineoftheRangeRoverpurringoutside,andthatwasmycue.
IslippedintomydentedFordandfollowedhisvehicleallthewaytothebeach.

HEREWASNOWAY

Iwouldbeabletohidemycarinthedesertedparkingareaoverlookingthemarina,so

IparkedatagasstationonMainStreet,nearthewater,andboltedstraightintoaconveniencestore.Its
windowsfacedwhereJaimehadparkedhisRangeRover.AbellchimedabovemyheadasIenteredthe
desertedstore,andfaintIndianmusicgreetedmefromastatickyradio.Abeautifulgirlwithlongblack
hairsmiledfrombehindthecashregister,hergazereturningtoherbook.Hidinginsidetheconvenience
store allowed me to watch him without being caught. Considering Jaime was no stranger to stalking, I
triedtodownplaymyactions,internallyjustifyingmyself.

Myboyfriendleftinthemiddleofthenightwithoutanyexplanation.Ideserveanswers.
IwatchedJaime’slargebodythroughtheglassdoor,joggingacrosstheparkinglot,asheapproached

TrentandDeanontheedgeofthepiersatthemarina.Theyslappedeachother’sbacks,talkinganimatedly
beforeJaimebrokethecircle.ThentheystrodeupthewoodenpierswhereallthefamousyachtsofTodos
Santosweredocked.

Thepennydroppedandwithit,myheart.Itwasn’taDefyfight.Itwasretaliation.Itwascookingup

revengeandmakingbadpeoplepay.

Rowland.
TheRowlandshadarestaurantonabig-assboat,oneofthemostluxuriousinSoCal,dockedalong

one of the piers. It was their pride, joy, and main source of income. Hence, it was the sweet spot the
HotHolesprobablywantedtocrushandeliminatefromtheearth.

Stormingoutoftheconveniencestore,Irantowardthemarinafastenoughtoleaveatrailofsmoke

behind.

Iwasn’tcompletelyopposedtoJaimestayinginTodosSantos.Theselfish(AKAthebiggest)partof

mypersonalitywantedhimtostickaround.Ilovedhimandwantedtomakegorgeousbabieswithhim.(I
wasn’tcrazyenoughtoutterthisaloud.Thenagain,hewasmystalker,soCrazywasalanguagewewere
both fluent in.) But it was a whole different ball game—letting him do something insane that could
permanentlyscrewuphislife.EvenBaronSpencerandhispeepsweren’tabovethelawwhenitcameto
seriouscrimes.

AndVicioustookhisrevengevery.Fucking.Seriously.
Iranacrosstheskaters’rampoverlookingthemarinaandcreptupthepierbetweentwogiantyachts.

OneofthembelongedtotheSpencers—Marie,afterVicious’slatemother—andtheotherbelongedtoa
SauditycoonwhohadasummerhouseinTodosSantosbutneveractuallybotheredtodropby.Itallowed
meagoodangleontheboys,who,justasIsuspected,stoppedinfrontofLaBelle,theRowlands’boat
andexclusiverestaurant.

Trent fisted a five-gallon gasoline can while Dean spoke on the phone, his voice inaudible to me.

Jaimeproducedhiscellandlookedtobetypingupatext.Afewmomentslater,mycellvibratedinmy
pocket.Luckily,I’dsilenceditbeforeIgothere.

Jaime:
Crashing@Vic’s2nite.Don’twaitup.

Furyflowedthroughmyveins,sizzlingandconsuming.Iknewwhytheyweredoingit.Jaimehated

CoachRowlandforfuckinghismom.TrenthatedCoachRowlandforlaughingwhenhebrokehisankle
during football season and his son for breaking it a second time. Vicious…he just hated everyone in
general.AndDean?Deanlookedlikehelovedeverythingandeveryoneinlife,theplayerwiththebig,
genuinesmile,butIsawhim.Sawbelowtheperfect,shinyexterior.AndwhatIsawwasn’tpretty.Notby
alongshot.

Regardless to how each of them viewed the retaliation, the HotHoles were like brothers. The re-

injury to Trent’s ankle—like my fall in the subway—was the final kiss of death to his football career.
Someonehadtopayforgreasingthelockerroomfloor.

TheRowlands’moneywastheprice.
The HotHoles waited on the pier beside La Belle until Vicious appeared at the top of the stairs

leadingdownfromtheparkinglottothemarina.

Hewasn’talone.
TobyRowland—gagged,boundbythewristsandsweatinglikeaslutinanSTDclinic—wasstanding

nexttohim.Therewasakidney-shapedurinestainoverhisgroin.Hedidn’tstruggle,justglaredatthe
ground,weepingsilently.

Vicious was in full asshole mode that night. He descended the stairs behind Rowland, pushing him

onestairatatime,beaminglikeagroomonhisweddingday.Themarinawaswelllit,soitwasn’thard
tocatchhimcrackinghisneck,hisbicepsflexinginanticipation.

“Look who’s decided to join us.” His voice was low, taunting. It sent chills down my spine. I

sometimeswonderedifVicious’sparentsconceivedhimonHitler’stombstoneorifhismomhadafreak
accident involving poison and voodoo while she was pregnant. He was too scary for a teenager. Too
dangerousforsomeonewhogrewupinpretentiousluxury.Toodeadforalivinghuman.

RowlandandViciousstoppedatthelaststair,whereViciouspushedhimheadfirsttofalltothepier.

Tobywincedintothegaginhismouth,coughing.JaimeandDeanpickedhimupandtoretheclothfrom
hisface.

“Oh, man, your mouth is bleeding. Here, let me help.” Jaime’s hand reached toward Toby’s face

beforeheswunghisarmback,throwingapunchfromhellrightintohisnose.

Toby’sheadflewbackward,landingagainstVicious’schest.
ViciousclaspedToby’sarms,hissingintohisearalmosterotically,“Don’tworry,Igotyou.Iwon’t

letthemhurtyou.No.I’mplanningtodoallthehurtingmyself.”

Trentsteppedforwardandblockedmyviewwithhisbroadback.AllIsawwasthethreeHotHoles’

backs.ViciousandTobywerewell-hiddenbehindtheotherguys.

IheardTobycryingandwhimpering,clompinghisfeet,begging,wailing,tryingtobreakfree.Then

Deansteppedaside,allowingmeafirstglimpseatRowland’snewface.

Bloated.
Bleeding.
Destroyed.
Seeingthewelts—smellingtheblood—inperson,feltsomuchworsethanlookingatitonaMonday

morning.ThefourHotHolesweresotroubled.Eachhadtheirownreasontobe.IknewwhatateJaime…
butIdidn’tknowwhytheothersweresohell-bentonfeedingandconsumingsomuchpain.

JaimewasnowgraspingToby’shairwhilehewasonhisknees.Vicioussloucheddowntositona

step,lightingacigarettenonchalantlyandpointinghisZippoatLaBelle.Hisknucklesdrippedblood,and
hispalecheekswereflushedpink.Yetwhenheopenedhismouth,calmnessflowedoutwitheveryword.

“Niceboatyourparentshave.Howmanyyearshavetheyputintothatfloatingbanquetroom?Mom

usedtosayyourpastatastedlikestaleballs.”

Tobysighedindefeat,barelyshakinghishead,whileDeanandTrentlaughed.
“Okay,you’reright.Shedidn’treallysaythat.Shewouldn’thaveknownwhatstaleballstastelike.

Butyourmomdoes,right?Rowlandisanastypieceoffuck.”

IwassureIsawJaime’sfacetwitch,butmaybeitwasbecauseIwasprivytohissecret.
“Lastwordsbeforeweburnthisbeautydown?”Viciouspuffedsmoke,toyingwithhislighter.
“Please,”Tobysniffedandcoughed.“Just…please.”
“Youruinedmycareer,”Trentsaidthroughaclenchedjaw,fiststightening.“Anddidn’tgivemethe

optiontobegformylegbeforeyougreasedthelockerroomfloor.Wasityourdad’sidea?Ordidhejust
looktheotherway?”

“Sos-s-s-sorry.”Toby’swordsweredrenchedwithredsaliva.
Viciousstoodup,slappingTrent’sshoulder.“Thekidsaysthathe’ssorry.Doesthatcutit?”
Trent shook his head slowly, eyes trained on Toby. Vicious swiveled to Rowland and shrugged.

“Apparently,sorryisn’tgonnadoit.Guesswe’rebacktoplanA.”

TrenttookalongstridetowardLaBelle,unscrewedthecaponthefive-galloncan,andclimbedthe

stepsleadinguptotheyachtandtherestaurantinside.Thestenchofgasolinefilledtheair.Viciousstill
playedwithhisZippo,thumbingitteasingly.

Light.
Out.
Light.
Out.
Light…
Normallythemarinawaspatrolledregularly.IhadnodoubttheHotHoleshadsomethingtodowith

theabsenceofsecurity.Trentpouredgasolinefromtherestaurant’sentrydooralongthewoodendeckand
backdownthestepstothemarinainafuse-likeline.Afterhethrewtheemptygascanintothewater,he
walkedtoVicious’ssideandplantedahandonhisshoulderwithalittlenod.ThiswasBaronSpencer’s
cue.

“Goodbye,LaBelle.You’llbemissed…butnotbyus.”Viciouschuckleddarkly,flippingthelitZippo

towardthetrailofgasoline.

Awhooshofflameserupted.Fireracedupthestepsandacrossthedecktotherestaurantdoor.
“Let’sgo!”
The boys turned around, holding Toby like a prisoner in both arms, and dragged him back to the

parkinglot.Theymadesurehisfacewastowardthemarinasohecouldseethedestructionofhisfamily’s
mostpreciouspossession.Flamesleapedhigh,andblacksmokeengulfedtheyachtinachokinghug.

Ihadtoescape.Toturnaroundandrunaway.
Why didn’t you stop them, Mel? I knew the answer to that one. The retaliation was justified. The

RowlandsdeservedtheHotHoles’wrath.

Runningupthestairs,hysteriatakingovermybodyastheheatofthefirelickedatmylegs,Iheardthe

clank of something dropping behind me. I didn’t have time to pick it up. Not even to turn around and
checkwhatitwas.Ifledthesceneandboltedbacktomyapartment.

Ilockedthedoor.Twice.Tookinventory:keys,phone,andpurse.
Theywereallthere.
Isighedinreliefanddraggedmybodydown,mybackagainstthedoor.
Safe.Fornow.
ButthenitoccurredtomethatIdidn’tcareaboutmysafety.NotasmuchasIcaredabouthis.
Iwasn’tsupposedtoknowwherehewasthatnight,butIcouldn’thelpbuttexthim,justtocheckthat

he’sokay.

Me:
Areyouguyshavingfun?

Jaime:
Youbetweare.ButIcan’tstopthinkingaboutyou.

Me:
Isthatwhyyouleftwithoutexplaining?

Jaime:
Yes,Mel.That’sexactlywhyIleftwithoutexplaining.BecauseIthinkaboutyoubeforeIthink

aboutmyself.Alwaysrememberthat,LittleBallerina.Always.

“M

REENE.

YOFFICE.

.”

PrincipalFollowhill’sfacewasthunderabouttocrack,andIknewshe’dbeunleashingashit-storm

onmetheminuteIsteppedintoheroffice.Itdidn’tmatter.ItwasonlyyesterdaythatI’dwitnessedherson
—myboyfriend—committingaseriouscrime.Thiswasthelastweekofschool,andI’dalreadystarted
applyingforpositionsatnearbyschoolsfornextyear.Shehadnopowerovermeanymore.

OrsoIthought.
Iwalkedintoherofficeandclosedthedoor,silentlytakingaseat.
“Straight to the point?” She leaned over her table, legs crossed. “Give me one good reason why I

shouldn’tcallthecopsandhaveyouarrestedrighthereonthepremises.”

Myheartstopped,justlikethat.What?
“Excuseme?”Myeyebrowsshotup.Mypulsevibratedbetweenmyears.
Followhill tapped her shiny fingernail on her desk and shot me an insincere smile. “Let me refresh

your memory—big fire. Burnt yacht. A devastated family. All happened yesterday. Now, again, Ms.
Greene…”Sheleanedclosertome,whispering,“Givemeonegoodreasonnottocallourbelovedpolice
chief?”

Itookadeepbreath,closingmyeyestogainstrength.“Reasonnumberone?BecauseIdidn’tdoshit.”
“Mr.Rowlandandhisson,Toby,don’tseemtothinkso.TheysayyousetfiretoLaBellelastnight.

Wanting to get back at the school’s staff before you leave here. The family’s restaurant is ruined.” She
cockedherheadsideways,asmugsmilespreadingonherface.

Panic exploded in my veins, and my head became a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts. I had so

muchtosayandnothingatalltoutter,allatthesametime,soIsettledfor,“Huh?”

“I was skeptical, too, at first. I said why would she? But then there was evidence.” She slid her

draweropen,producinganecklace.Mynecklace.Shit.That’swhatIdroppedwhenIranawaylastnight.
Thesilveranchorglitteredbetweenherfingers.

Shetossedittome,shakingherhead.“Andamotive,too.Isupposeyou’veheardCoachRowland’s

sister,Chelsea,isgoingtotakeyourpositionnextyear.”

Actually,Ihadnoidea,andIcan’tsayIcaredmuch,either.Atthispoint,Iwouldn’thavestayedin

thejobevenifshe’dofferedmeaseven-digitsalary.

“Isthatallyougot?”Imurmured,foldingmyarmsovermychest.“Peoplearestillallowedtotakea

strollinyourtown’spreciousmarina.Doesn’tmakethemguiltyofburningdownrandomyachts.”

“Tobygaveittomethismorning.Heswearshesawyoudoingit.”
I’d had it. I bolted up out of my chair and stared her down. “You know exactly who did it.” Rage

consumedeveryinchofmybody,andIbangedmyfistagainstherdesk.“AndIgetthefeelingyouknow
why,too.Thisisblackmail.”Mylipstwitched.“Twiceinonesemester,”Iadded.

PrincipalFollowhillstoodupslowly,staringmeintheeye.“YouthinkIdon’tknowyou’resleeping

with my son? Eyeing his fortune, his money, his future?” Her tone was low, and her intent was clear.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m letting you anywhere near my house and my money. Let him go to
college,youlittleslut.Sethimfree.”

OurchestsweresocloseIcouldhearherbreaths.Theroomwaswarm,butIwascold.Nothingfelt

right.Nothing.

“Heisfree,”Isneered,shakingmyhead.“Hechoseme.”
“Thendon’tgivehimtheoption,”shegritted,furymakingthemusclesonherfacetic.
“Why?Becauseyousaidso?”Ourfaceswerealmosttouching,toocloseformyliking,butIdidn’t

backdown.Ourchestsbrushed,andIhatedthescentofherChanelNo.5andexpensivecosmeticsinmy
nostrils.

“Because I have a lot of power in this town. Because what you’re doing is wrong,” she bit out,

finishing on a whisper, “because no one can know this ever happened. Not to a family like the
Followhills.”

Iwastemptedtosaysheshouldremindherselfoftheirreputationnexttimeshejumpedintobedwith

oneofherstaff,butthatwasJaime’ssecrettotell,notmine.Iwouldneveroutwhatheknew.

“Notscaredofyouorofgettingkickedoutoftown,”Iretorted,onlyhalfdoingittopushbackather.

“Jaimewaseighteen.Thiswasn’tillegal.”

“Butit’sstillforbidden,”sheyelled,throwingherhandsintheair.Iturnedandmovedforthedoor.

Shejerkedmebythearm,makingmeslamtoahalt.“Yourteachingcareerwillbeover,andI’llmake
certaintheLaBellearsonstickstoyou.”

Herhandwrappedaroundmyelbow.“Mydealisoffthetabletheminuteyoustepoutofthisoffice.

I’llcallthepolice,Melody,andweallknowwhotheyworkfor.”

Yes.TheSpencers,whowouldstopatnothingtocovertheirson’sass.JustlikePrincipalFollowhill.
“Youdothat.”Ishookheraway,fakesmileandbravadoplasteredonmyface.“Seehowitturnsout.”
Ipivotedagain,boltingtothedoor,butJaime’smom—myboyfriend’smom—yankedmebackintoher

officeandshutitwithabangIwassureitwasaudibletoeveryoneinthehallway.

“Christ,whatthehelliswrongwithyou?I’mgivingyouawayout.Justleavemysonalone,andI’ll

takecareoftheLaBellemess.”

“Idon’tcarewhatyoudoaboutthatboat,”Ihissedintoherface.Mylipsweretremblingandmynose

stung.TherewasnothingIwantedmorethantoscreamandtearherofficeapart.Ihadtostaycollectedfor
Jaime’ssakeandthefutureofmycareeroutsideofAllSaintsHigh.“It’snotmymess.Jaimecourtedme.
Hell,Jaimemanipulatedme.Maybehedoeshaveabitofhismominhimafterall.Butthebottomlineis
we’retogether,andthere’snothingyoucandoaboutit.”

ThosewerethelastwordsItoldherbeforeImanagedtofreemyselffromhergraspandgetthehell

outofthere.

Andthosewordswouldbitemeintheasslaterthatday.

“F

UCK,”

AIME MUTTERED, HIS ARM

extended above my shoulder, propped on the wall I was leaning

against.Heranhisotherhandthroughhishair,frustrated.

Inodded,tryingtoregulatemybreaths.Hedidn’thavetimetobemad,andheknewit.Rubbinghis

faceandshakinghishead,hisgazemovedbetweenmeandtheschoolbuilding.Weweretuckedbehind
theconcessionstandatthefootfallfield,nearthestudentparkinglot.

“Whatthefuck,man?Youfollowedme?”
“Hey, you knew where I lived, worked out, what I eat for breakfast, and my insurance carrier, all

beforeweevenkissed.”Iarchedaneyebrow,remindinghimthatwewereasbadaseachother.Atleast
whenitcametooneanother.“She’sgotmynecklace,andTobysaysitwasme.”

“Ofcoursehedoes.”Jaimejerkedmetohim,squeezingmeintoapainfulhug.“He’dneverratusout.

Theball-lesslittledick.Yournecklacewasconvenient.Ifheknewwhatyoumeanttome,hewould’ve
foundanothersorry-asstoblame.”

“Your mother doesn’t make idle threats. She’s got connections everywhere. And the Rowlands are

powerful,too.I’manoone.”

“Nottrue.You’remysomeone.”Hebrushedhisknucklesagainstmytemple.
“I’mnotgoingtojail,”Istressed.
Heshookhishead.“Overmydeadbody,LittleBallerina.Letmetalktomymom.”
“I’mnotsurethat’sagoodidea.”
“I’mnotsureIfuckingcare.”
Heleftme,headingtohismother’soffice.Atfirst,Istayedrootedinplace,watchinghisbroadback

disappearbehindthedoubledoorsoftheschoolbuilding.Myfingerstravelledtomynakedcollarbone,
lookingformyanchor,butitwasn’tthere.

Jaimewasmyanchornow.Ihadnoonetotrustbuthim.
Afewminutesafterheleft,Iwalkedtotheteacher’slotandwaitedbymycar,chewingonmynails.I

wassupposedtoteachaclassbuthadbeenexcusedfortherestoftheday.Ihatedwaitingfortheverdict,
forJaimetotryandpersuadehismomnottoframemeforsomethingweallknewIdidn’tdo.

Tenminutesafterhewalkedintoheroffice,mycellphonebuzzed.
“Joinus,”hecommanded,inatoneIcouldn’tdecode.
Idid.
MykneeswobbledandmybreathsputteredasIwalkedthehallwaysofAllSaintsforwhatIhada

feelingwouldbethelasttime.IknockedonFollowhill’sdoorandmarchedin.

“Come.”Jaimepattedaspotontheburgundyleathersofabesidehim,hiseyeshardonhismom.He

wassittinginfrontofher,anditlookedlikeherdeskwastheonlythingkeepingthemfrompouncingat
eachother.Theairwasthickwithrevulsion.

Jaime’sexpressionwasfrustratinglyblank.WhenItriedtoreadhismother’sface,Ididn’tseeloveor

compassion, either. Just disappointment…and urgency. Urgency to keep a legacy, to protect her family
name.Tokeepthepride,money,andalotofothertastelessshitinorder.

Myinsides lurched, andfor the firsttime, I realized Iwasn’t the onlyone who’d suffered destiny’s

wounds.

JustbecauseJaimedidn’tactlikehe’dbeenrippedtoshredsdidn’tmeanhewasanyhappierthanI

was.No.Wewerebothdefective,chipped,andprogrammedtofightback.Sculptedbyourfate.Scarred
bywhowewere.

Iwasadancertrappedinateacher’slife.
Hewasafreemanimprisonedinhisparents’ridiculousdemandsandgreatexpectations.
I slouched next to Jaime, blinking away some of my shock. Fuck my life. Principal Miranda

Followhillwastheoneinthewrong.ButIdidfeelshameforcavingintothisaffairwithherson.

ShameoverwhoIfellinlovewith.
Because that was the problem with society. It cared too much about who you fell in love with but

neveraboutthewhy.Thewhymatters.Thewhoisirrelevant(butthebandwasgreat,sothere’sthat).

“We’vereachedanagreement.”Mrs.Followhill’sfacetightenedintoathin-lippedsmile.
Thisdidn’tsoundgood.Inodded.Barely.
“AndIthinkeveryoneshallbenefitfromthislittlearrangement.”
Anotherbeatofsilence.
“AreyouplanningonannouncingitattheLAColiseum?Spititout.”Iwasnolongerabletohidemy

truefeelingsforthewoman.

Jaimesnickeredbesideme,grabbingmyhandandsqueezing,hiswarmthseepingintome.
Mrs.Followhillscowled,unimpressedbymysass.“JaimeisgoingtomovetoTexasforcollege.In

fact,here-confirmedhisattendanceminutesagoonthephonewithhisdean.Youwillbeletgoafterthis
schoolyear.Yourcontractwillnotberenewed.Youwillnotseeeachotheranymore.Inexchange,Iwill
overlookthenecklacefoundatthemarina.”

Hergrinwasvictorious.
YetallIsawwasblack.
MyhandslidfromJaime’s.Determinednottosayanything,Ifoughtthefeelingofhumiliation.He’d

basicallyrefusedtofightforus,acceptingherdemandtogotoTexasashe’dalwaysplanned.Isimply
shrugged.Whetherhehadshittynegotiationskillsorhesimplydidn’tcareaboutmeandwasjustusingme
didn’tmatter.Hisendgamewasthesame.Andguesswhowastheloser?Yup,me.

Jaime could have easily told his mother the truth. His mother protects him. From anything. I wasn’t

naïveenoughtobelieveitwasoutoflove.Itwasoutofprestigeandothermeaninglessthingsshecared
about.Sure,shewouldgivehimhell,butshewouldalsogivehimawayout.

Hecompromisedme.
Afterhetoldmehewantedtoprotectme.
“Are you—have you spoken to the dean?” I jerked my head to look him in the eye. He sucked his

cheeksinwithaheavysigh,nodding.

“Yeah.I’mmovingtoAustin.”
“Soundsgoodtome.”
“Itdoes,huh?”Mrs.Followhilllookedskeptical.Maybeevenalittledisappointedwithmycalmness.

Hereyesglintedwithire,herlipsthinandpressedtogether.

Youcan’twinifIdon’tletyou,Ithoughtbitterly.AndI’mnot.I’mnotlettingyouseemebreak.
“Yup.Imean,school’salmostover.Itwasanicefling.”Mylipscurvedintoasmile,andIfeltJaime

tensingbesideme.Ihadafeelingtherewasalothewantedtoexplain.Iwouldn’tgivehimthechance
though.

Ihatedhim.
Ihatedme.
Wedeservedthisheartache.
Ifelthisfingerstryingtoreconnectwithmineandfoldedmyarmsovermychest,leaningback.I’d

sufferedenoughwhiplashfromhismother.Iwasnotgoingtobehumiliatedtwicebygettingdumpedby
herteenageson,listeningtosome“It’snotyou,it’sme”bullshit.

“Guessit’stimetosaygoodbye.Iwon’tmissAllSaintsverymuch.AndIdefinitelywon’tmissyou,

Mrs.Followhill.Forawealthywoman,yoursocialskillsareactuallyquitepoor.”

Translation:You’reabitchfromhell,andIcan’tbelieveIactuallythoughtyoursonwouldgrowup

tobeanydifferent.Heobviouslytakesafteryou,evenifhemademebelievethathewasanythingbut.

Withthat,Istoodup.Jaime’sgazefollowedme,butIdidn’trisklookingathim.Theconfusiononhis

facewasobvious,evenifoureyeshadn’tmet.Forthefirsttime,I’dhurtaFollowhillinsteadofhavinga
Followhillhurtme.Itmademefeellightersomehow,andthatmademefeelguilty.

DidIwantJaimetofeelbad?Why?
“Melody.”Jaime’svoicewasthickanddark.Ishookmyhead.
“Letherleave,sweetheart,”PrincipalFollowhillinstructed,restingherpalmonhisback.
Hestood,pushinghischairbackabruptly.
Ineededtogetoutofthere.“Yeah.”Ithrewmybagovermyshoulder,collectingmycellphoneand

keys.“We’redonehere.”

I made my way out, leaving the boy-man who broke my heart and his bitchy mother behind me. He

wasmovingtoTexas.Ishouldn’thavebeensodisappointed.Ipushedhiminthisdirection.Andhismom
didn’tleaveusmuchchoice.ButIwashurt,soI’dstabbedhimbackwithmywords.

Jaimedidn’tfollowme.
We’dbothfuckedupandhadnothingtosaytoeachother.
That day, I cried for all the years I hadn’t cried. Buckets of tears. They were salty and sad and

desperate.

Theyalltastedweird.
Theyalltastedlikehim.

AIMEDIDN’TCOMETOOUR

apartmentthatday.Hedidn’tcall.Notsurprising,consideringI’dreducedhim

to a short fling. After continuously pushing him away. After telling him he should move to Texas. After
bitchingabouthisbestfriend.

Iwasn’tagoodgirlfriend.
Nurturing wasn’t my nature. I was sewn together with tattered patches of consuming ambition and

shattereddreams.Upuntilnow,Ihadbeenstupidlyproudofthat.ProudthatIdidn’tletmundanethings
likeloveoramanconsumeme.

But now, when my heart hurt like it was butchered into miniscule pieces, I realized what I was

missingouton.Eventhepainfeltsweeterunderthehazeoflove.

Thenextday,IshoweduptoteachLit,andIwasconsideringsuicidebyhalfwayintomythirdclass

oftheday.ThewarninghadbeenliftedbyJaime,andmystudentsnolongerplayednicewithme.They
laughed,screamed,andtalkedback.Evenmorethanbefore,itseemed.Mylasthourwastheworst.Dean
andMillieweresilent,butTrentRexrothwenttheextramileandfingeredKeeley,whosatnexttohim,
underhisdesk,allwhilekeepingastraightfaceandtalkingaboutthefutureoftheRaiderswithVicious
extra-loudly.

AskingTrenttoputhishandswhereIcouldseethemonlydrewmoreattentiontohimandthechickhe

was making out with, and I heard snickers when I turned my back to produce a book from my bag,
probablybecauseheshovedhistongueintoherthroattheminuteheleftmylineofsight.

Itwashell,anditwasexactlywhereIdeservedtobe.
Jaime wasn’t in class, even though it was the last time I would have taught him. It only confirmed

whatIalreadyknew:Trentdidwhathedidonpurpose,andonJaime’sbehalf.

Theyallhatedme.
Myheartsankindisappointment.Itriedtoconcentrateonteaching,butmymindkeptdriftingtohim.
I’dfuckedup.
Ididn’t even givehim the chanceto explain after themeeting with hismom. Just naturally assumed

he’dbetrayedme.ButitwasJaime.Jaimeneverbetrayedanyone.Hestoodbythosehecaredabout.Even
byVicious…

Vicious.
Whenthebellrang,Irosefrommyseat,piercingJaime’sBFFwithmyeyes.
“Baron.”Isignaledhimtocomecloser.
HesnortedbutdidasIasked.Theclassroomhadalreadyemptied,leavingjustthetwoofussizing

eachotherupsuspiciously.

“Where’sJaime?”Iasked,rubbingmytiredeyes.Ididn’tsleepmuchlastnight.
“The fuck do you care?” He tucked a cigarette between his lips, lighting it in class casually. “You

keeptabsonallyourflings?”hemumbled,thecigarettebetweenhislips.

Someonewasbitter.
“Ineedtotalktohim,”Isaid,ignoringthejab.
“AmIstoppingyou?”

“Tellmewhereheis.”
Heshrugged.“I’mnothisgoddamnedsecretary.Callhim.”
“Hewon’tpickup,”Icriedinannoyance.
Viciousslidhisthumbacrosshischeekwiththehandthatheldhiscigarette,deepinthought.“Yeah,

hewon’t.”Hisvoicewaschillinglyflat.“He’satmyhouse.Sulkinglikealittlebitch.I’dinviteyouover
tocheerhimup,butI’mnotsureifyouwannagivehimalippyrantforsavingyourassorablowjobfor
fuckingup.”

“I need to talk to him.” The urgency in my voice scared me. The need to make this right was

overwhelming.Ijustwantedustoworkthisout.

“I’mnothim.”Vicious’slifelesseyesheldmine,suckingmein.“Idon’tdoforgiveness,soifyouhurt

himagain,theoutcomewillbedevastating.Toyou.”

Gulp.“Ijustwanttofixthis,Baron.”
“MynameisVicious,”hegrowled.
Goddammit.Thiskid.
“Letmeseehim.Ipromise,myintentionsaregood.”
TheHotHoles’brotherhoodwasalmosttouching,ifitweren’tforthefactthattheseboyshadwaytoo

muchpower.Overme.Overthistown.Overeveryone.

Vicioustiltedhisheadtothedoor,andIfollowedhimtohisbroodingstoneandbrickmansion,my

FordstalkinghisMercedes.

It was the longest journey I ever had to take, other than my flight back home from New York and

Julliard.

Butitwastheshortesttriptoinsanity.Mylovewasmadness.
AndIwasreadytofightforit.

EWASINTHEPOOL

.Inthegoddamnfuckingpool.Doinglaps.Hislong,leansculptedbodyshootinglike

an arrow from one end to the other. I stood over the edge, not sure if I wanted to jump his bones,
apologize, or yell at him. When he raised his head from the azure waterline, dark blond locks raining
waterdropsoverhisperfectface,mythighsclenched.

“Youlookheartbroken,”Iassessedsarcastically.
He rested his arms on the tiles and flashed me his straight teeth. But this wasn’t a smile, it was a

warning.“Andyoulooklikeananimaloutofitsnaturalhabitat.Missedmethatmuch,Ms.G?”

“Youdidn’tcometoschooltoday.”Myvoicewasgrave.
“So?Schoolyearispracticallyover,andit’snotlikeyougiveashit.I’mjustafling,remember?Your

words.”

Touché.
WhenIarrivedhere,Iwasn’tabovebegging.ButnowthatIwasinfrontofhim,atVicious’shouse,

anoverwhelmingneedtoprotectmyselftookoveragain.Icouldn’taskhimwhathisgamewasyesterday
whenwewereathismother’soffice.

“So,you’reallpackedforTexas?”Ichangedthesubject.He’smovingawaytocollege, I reminded

myself.Thisisover.

Helaughed,pushinghimselfupwardandrisingfromthepool.Hissculptedbodyshoneunderthesun,

makinghimlooklikeaCalvinKleinad.Hestoodnexttome,soclosethescentofchlorinewaftedinto
mynostrils.

“Notyet.”Hetookastepinmydirection.Istumbledback.Hetookanotherstepcloser,ignoringme.
“I need to buy another suitcase.” His hand disappeared inside my curls. This time I leaned into his

touch.Suchaloser.Alreadyagoneragain.

“Ithoughtmentraveledlight.”Iswallowed.
“Wedo,butI’msureyou’llbetakingallkindsofgirlyshitwithyouwhenyoumoveinwithme.”
Dumbfounded,Inarrowedmyeyesathim,fightingagrin.
“Jaime,”Iwarned.Fromwhat,Iwasn’tsure.Ididn’twantittobeaprank.Irealizedassoonashe

saidthewordsthatIwantedexactlywhathe’djustsaid.Alot.Anewbeginning.AwayfromAllSaints
High.Withhim.

Itdidn’tmakesense.Itwaswrong.Itwasgoingtoliftashit-tonofeyebrows.Acollegekidmovingto

another state with his twenty-six-year-old teacher? It had disaster written all over it. But I wanted this
disaster.Iwantedtobatheinitandloveitandliveit.Tomakethisdisastermychaoticreality.

“Mel,”heanswered,smiling.“Truthordare?”
“Truth.”Ibitmylowerlip,peekingathimfromundermylashes.IfVicioussawthis,hewouldhave

probablypuked.

Mybreathswerecominginshallowpants.Myheartwasinmythroat.Ihadn’tfeltthisalivesincethe

lasttimeIwasonstage.Iwasgoingtosayit,andfucktheworldandwhatit’dthinkaboutme.

Iplacedmyhandsontopofhis,stillnestledinmyhair,holdingmestill.“Thetruthis…Iloveyou.”
There was a hint of a satisfied smile, but it was quick. Like I was still in trouble. I felt like the

scoldedstudent.

Henodded,hiswethairdrippingonmyfaceashehookedanarmaroundmyneckandjerkedmeinto

hisface.“See?Wasthatsohard?Stillinonepiece,aren’tyou,babygirl?”Heraisedaneyebrowatmein
asmart-assexpression,anditwassexyasfuck.“Iloveyou,too,Mel.Fuckingcrazyaboutyou,actually.
Nowpackup.”Hebitmylipplayfully,smackingmyassattheexactsametime.

“Excuseme?”Ilaughed.“What?Where?How?When?School’snotevenoveryet.”
Therewerefourmoredaysleftofschool.AndIstillhadn’tsaidyestomovingtoawholeotherstate

withhim.

“Yeah, but you have a job interview at a ballet academy in Austin tomorrow. Don’t wanna be late,

yeah?Badfirstimpressionandall.”

Jaime knew. He knew I pocketed this dream in the back of my jeans, but still danced every day in

front of the mirror. That I carried it in my heart like a little souvenir, and that I wanted the memory to
becomesomethingreal,nowmorethanever.

Justthen,ahornhonkedinthedistance,andIheardViciousgritbehindhisfancyMercedessteering

wheel.“Tellhertomoveherass,orI’msendingyoubothtotheairportinacab.”

Thesehighschoolkids.
Theyhadplanneditallalong.
TheyoutsmartedMrs.Followhillandme.
Ilaughed,collapsingintomyboyfriend’sarms.“Damnyou.”

Twoyearslater…

“Y

OUFORGOTTHEMILK

.”

“Youforgotyourunderwear.”
Ifrown,pushingdownmyblacktights.“I’mwearingunderwear.”
“Exactly.”Jaimepushesmetobedinoneeffortlessmovement.
I collapse onto our flimsy mattress. He follows, crushing on top of me, covering my face and neck

withwet,hotkisses.Breathlessgigglesescapemymouthwhilehisfingerspushmytightsaway.

“I’llbuysomeonmywaybackfrommyshift,”Jaimegrowlsintomyribcage.
Myshirtisalreadytossedaside,andheissuckingonmynipplesohardmyskullpricklesinpleasure.

Isighandrakemyfingersthroughhistousledblondhair.He’sbeentakingshiftsatalocalStarbucksafter
class.Hisparentscuthimoffafterweannouncedweweremovingintogether.Toughluck.Withmywork
attheballetacademy,hisschoolandStarbucksjob,andeverythingelseonourplate,wehaveverylittle
timetogivetwoshitsaboutwhatotherpeoplethinkorsay.

“Canyougetsomefruitaswell?We’reoutofbananas.”
“There’sonebananayoucaneatwheneveryouwant,andit’srighthere.”Hetakesmyhand,guidingit

tohiscock.

I roll my eyes. Yup, still a typical twenty-year-old. I’m twenty-eight now, and you’d think I’d be

obsessing over marriage and babies. But I’m not. All I think about is him. How it worked out so
fabulously.It’sourbeautifulchaos,andwewouldn’thaveitanyotherway.

“Imighttakeabitelater,”Itease.
Hewinces.“Fine,I’llgetyouyourstupidfruit,woman.”
His tongue travels down from my stomach to my now bare pussy, and he halts, his nose rubbing

circlesagainstmyclit.“Oh,Ithinkyouhavesomethinghere.Likeascratchoraspotorsomething.”His
handdivesbetweenmylegs,andwhenitrisesbackup,there’sasmallblackvelvetboxinhishand.

Istopbreathingaltogether.
Helickshislips,offeringalazysmile.“Iprobablyshouldwarnyou,it’snotanengagementring.I’m

waiting to turn twenty-one so the trust fund my grandparents have under my name will kick in. I’ll be
richer and Starbucks-free. You deserve something incredible. But in the meantime, here’s something to
makeyourememberyourhighschoolflingfromtwoyearsago.”

Withshakyfingers,Iopenthevelvetboxandinsiderestsanecklace.Withacharm.Agoldenanchor.

Thisanchorsymbolizingsomanythings.

Theburntyachtthatrippedusapart.
Thenecklacethatbroughtusbacktogether.
ThemissingpieceIleftbehind.
Myeyesglideup,piercinghimwithuncontainedlove.I’msoinlove.Socompletelyout-of-my-mind

crazyaboutthisboywhogrewuptobeamanandhasgivenupsomanythingstobewithme.College
partylife.Football.Thingsthatwerehisveryessenceofbeingtwoyearsago.

“Helpme?”Imotionwiththenecklacebetweenmyfingers.

Hegruntsatmyrequestforhimtoungluehistonguefrommyinnerthigh,butrisestofaceme.Taking

thenecklacefrommyhand,hebrushesmyhairaside.

“Truthordare?”heasksoutofnowhere.
“Truth.Bravepeoplealwayschoosethetruth.”Igrin.
“Isittruethatyou’llalwaysbemine?”Helowershismouthtomyear,hiswarmbreathticklingmy

skin.

“It’satruth.Andsometimes,whenyoupissmeoff,it’sadare.Butit’smylife,andyou’reapartofit.

Alwaysandforever,”Isay.

“Alwaysandforever,”herepeats,andIholdontomyanchor,squeezingit—andmyreal-lifeanchor

—hard.

The angst. The fear. The part where I let myself go and fall in love with who should’ve been the

wrongpersonbutwhoturnedouttoberight,soright…it’sallbehindusnow.

Intheend,itwasworthit.Everysmallpieceofwhomadeuswhowearetoday.
Stronger.
Happier.
Wholer.

SixYearsLater…

Jaime

“Whytheanchor?”

Iprobablyshouldhaveaskedthateightyearsago,whenwefirstmet,butIjustcouldn’tbringmyself

toit.Iconsidereditpillowtalk,andIwasfeelingprettyfuckingfrightenedasitwasaboutstalkingmyLit
teacher.

I’m watching my wife, Melody Followhill, intently, as she rests her feet on top of the coffee table

whileleaningbackonournewcouch.Thesofaandthetablearetheonlypiecesoffurnitureinournew
Kensingtonapartment—or‘flat’,astheycallithereinLondon.IsaidI’dtakehertoEurope,andIdid.
ThefactIknockedheruphereisjustabonus.

You’rewelcome,Mel.
“Whytheanchor?”sheparrotsme,grinningassherubsherthirty-six-weekbelly,staringatitlovingly

asifshecanalreadyseeournewborndaughter.“Becausesometimes,it’snicetofeellikethere’ssomeone
whocansaveyou.”

“Who gave you that necklace?” I shoot. The urgency of my questions startles me. I’ve lasted eight

yearswithoutaskingherthat,andsuddenly,that’sallIwanttoknowabout.Melodyleansintome,placing
herheadonmychest.Ibrushherbrownhairfromherfaceandkisshertemple.Whenshetalks,warmth
fillsmychest.

“I bought it for myself. I was at JFK airport, just about to board the plane back to California after

breakingmyleg.Iwantedsomethingtobelievein.Morelike–someonetobelievein.Ihadnoone.My
parentsweresupportiveandsadforme,buttheydidn’tunderstand.Notreally.Myfriendswerescattered
allaroundthecountry,chasingtheirowncollegedreams,creatingnew,sweetmemories.AndthereIwas.
Alone. I needed someone. I saw this necklace at a store. I don’t even remember the name. They sold
hoodies saying “I Love New York” for ridiculous prices. It cost me a lot, but I remember thinking to
myself–Ineedthis.I’mgoingtogetthis.”

Ilookdown,staringathereyes,andI’mamazed.Amazedthatthiswomanismine.Afterallwe’ve

beenthrough—andmaybepreciselybecauseofthat.

Sheisfunnyandstrong.Sofuckingtalented,sarcasticandsmart.Butatthesametime,sheisreal.And

vulnerable.Andmine.God,damn,sofuckingmine.

“Youdon’tneeditanymore.”IfingertheanchornecklaceIgaveherwhenIwasincollege.“Youhave

me.”

“Ineedboth,”shesmiles,kissingmypecsthroughmyshirt.
Sheiswrong.
Shedoesn’tneedanybody.
She can conquer the world, in her sensible shoes and knee-length dresses, not giving a damn about

whatanyonethinks.

I take her hand, kiss her palm and guide it to my raging erection. I’m always hard for this woman.

Always.

“You mean the three of us?” I grin into her lips, and she clutches my jeans, a little too hard for my

liking.

“YouknowwhatIneed?”sheasks,andforsomereason,there’ssweatcoatingherbeautifulforehead.

Icockoneeyebrow.

“Ineedyoutodrivemetothehospital.Mywaterjustbroke.”
“Iknewyouwerehardforme.”Ilickherneck,andshepunchesmyarm.Hard.
“Jaime!”
“Okay,okay,I’llgrabyourbag.”
Fifteen hours later, Melody and I welcome our first daughter, Daria Sophia Followhill. My parents

areboardingaplanefromSanDiegotoseeher.They’reexcited.Mel’sparentsarecoming,too,attheend
ofthemonth.

Myfatherstilldoesn’tknowaboutmomandcoachRowland.Inevertoldhim.Therewasnevermuch

point.

Hedoesn’tloveher,andshedoesn’tlovehim.
Theyhavesomuchmoney.Somanymeans.AndhereIam,withawifeandanewbaby,stillcut-off

fromtheirfortunebecauseofthechoicesItook.

AndI’mhappy,becauseIdon’tneedmoney.Ihavemygirls,andthat’senough.
It.Is.Everything.

THEEND

AlistofpeoplewhoIamforevergratefulforandlovemorethanlifeitself:

SunnyBorek
KristinaLindsey
KarenDaleHarris
EllieMcLove
StaceyBlake
LetitiaHasser
BrittanyHale
SabrinaShalalashvilli
BeccaZsurkan
AvivitEgev
SherMason
SheenaTaylor
LinTahelCohen
AmyHalter
PaigeJennifer
IlorTsabar
VanessaSerrano
ErikaBuddPanfile
GalitHadarShmariyaho
JessicaMeade
KristenReads
KarinBoukzam
EllaFox
AvaHarrison
TanakaKangara
JuliaE.Lis
BernadettLankovitz
KerissaBlake
AndTamarHazan.

IwouldalsoliketotakethisopportunitytothankmySassySparrowsgroup,andtomyfamily,forbeing
thoughtfulandunderstanding.Truly,Icouldn’tbemoregrateful.

Tothewonderfulbloggerswhocontinuesharingandsupportingmywork.Icherishyouandyouramazing
contributiontotheindiecommunity.And,asalways,toyou,readers,fortakingachanceonme.

Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou(Ifindmyownacknowledgementsspeechquiteunderwhelming,butit’s

notasbadasTomHiddleton’sGoldenGlobesspeech,sothere’sthat),
Loveyouall,morethanyoucaneverimagine,

L.J.
xoxo

Tyed

Sparrow

BloodtoDust

SinnersofSaint:

#0.5–Defy

#1–Vicious

#2–Ruckus(comingoutSpring2017)

KEEPINTOUCH

JoinL.J.Shen’s

JoinL.J.Shen’s

Likeher

Followher

StalkHer

(warning:mainlypicturesofsushi)

AndDon’tForget

Twitter

Before you leave: here is a sneak peek to Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1). Vicious is now available, so
makesuretograbitifyoulikethefirstchapter!

Y GRANDMAMA ONCE TOLD ME

that love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different

circumstances.Thepassionisthesame.Thepainisthesame.Thatweirdthingthatbubblesinyourchest?
Same.Ididn’tbelieveheruntilImetBaronSpencerandhebecamemynightmare.

Thenmynightmarebecamemyreality.
IthoughtI’descapedhim.Iwasevenstupidenoughtothinkhe’dforgottenIeverexisted.
Butwhenhecameback,hehitharderthanIeverthoughtpossible.
Andjustlikeadomino—Ifell.

TenYearsAgo

I’donlybeeninsidethemansiononcebefore,whenmyfamilyfirstcametoTodosSantos.Thatwastwo
monthsago.Thatday,Istoodrootedinplaceonthesameironwoodflooringthatnevercreaked.

Thatfirsttime,Mamahadelbowedmyribs.“Youknowthisisthetoughestfloorintheworld?”
Shefailedtomentionitbelongedtothemanwiththetoughestheartintheworld.
I couldn’t for the life of me understand why people with so much money would spend it on such a

depressinghouse.Tenbedrooms.Thirteenbathrooms.Anindoorgymandadramaticstaircase.Thebest
amenities money could buy…and except for the tennis court and sixty-five-foot pool, they were all in
black.

Blackchokedouteverypleasantfeelingyoumightpossiblyhaveassoonasyouwalkedthroughthe

big iron-studded doors. The interior designer must’ve been a medieval vampire, judging from the cold,
lifelesscolorsandthegiantironchandeliershangingfromtheceilings.Eventhefloorwassodarkthatit
lookedlikeIwashoveringoveranabyss,afractionofasecondfromfallingintonothingness.

Aten-bedroomhouse,threepeoplelivinginit—twoofthembarelyeverthere—andtheSpencershad

decidedtohousemyfamilyintheservants’apartmentnearthegarage.Itwasbiggerthanourclapboard
rentalinRichmond,Virginia,butuntilthatmoment,ithadstillrubbedmethewrongway.

Notanymore.

EverythingabouttheSpencermansionwasdesignedtointimidate.Richandwealthy,yetpoorinso

manyways.Thesearenothappypeople,Ithought.

Istaredatmyshoes—thetatteredwhiteVansIdoodledcolorfulflowersontohidethefactthatthey

were knock-offs—and swallowed, feeling insignificant even before he had belittled me. Before I even
knewhim.

“Iwonderwhereheis?”Mamawhispered.
Aswestoodinthehallway,Ishiveredattheechothatbouncedoffthebarewalls.Shewantedtoask

ifwecouldgetpaidtwodaysearlybecauseweneededtobuymedicineformyyoungersister,Rosie.

“Ihearsomethingcomingfromthatroom.”Shepointedtoadoorontheoppositesideofthevaulted

foyer.“Yougoknock.I’llgobacktothekitchentowait.”

“Me?Whyme?”
“Because,” she said, pinning me with a stare that stabbed at my conscience, “Rosie’s sick, and his

parentsareoutoftown.You’rehisage.He’lllistentoyou.”

IdidasIwastold—notforMama,forRosie—withoutunderstandingtheconsequences.Thenextfew

minutescostmemywholesenioryearandwerethereasonwhyIwasrippedfrommyfamilyattheageof
eighteen.

ViciousthoughtIknewhissecret.
Ididn’t.
HethoughtI’dfoundoutwhathewasarguingaboutinthatroomthatday.
Ihadnoclue.
AllIrememberwastrudgingtowardthethresholdofanotherdarkdoor,myfisthoveringinchesfrom

itbeforeIheardthedeepraspofanoldman.

“Youknowthedrill,Baron.”
Aman.Asmoker,probably.
“My sister told me you’re giving her trouble again.” The man slurred his words before raising his

voiceandslappinghispalmagainstahardsurface.“I’vehadenoughofyoudisrespectingher.”

“Fuckyou.”Iheardthecomposedvoiceofayoungerman.Hesounded…amused?“Andfuckhertoo.

Wait,isthatwhyyou’rehere,Daryl?Youwantapieceofyoursistertoo?Thegoodnewsisthatshe’s
openforbusiness,ifyouhavethebucktopay.”

“Lookatthemouthonyou,youlittlecunt.”Slap.“Yourmotherwould’vebeenproud.”
Silence, and then, “Say another word about my mother, and I’ll give you a real reason to get those

dental implants you were talking about with my dad.” The younger man’s voice dripped venom, which
mademethinkhemightnotbeasyoungasMamathought.

“Stayaway,”theyoungervoicewarned.“Icanbeattheshitoutofyou,now.Asamatteroffact,I’m

prettytemptedtodoso.All.Thefucking.Time.I’mdonewithyourshit.”

“Andwhatthehellmakesyouthinkyouhaveachoice?”Theoldermanchuckleddarkly.
Ifelthisvoiceinmybones,likepoisoneatingatmyskeleton.
“Haven’tyouheard?”theyoungermangrittedout.“Iliketofight.Ilikethepain.Maybebecauseit

makesitsomucheasierformetocometotermswiththefactthatI’mgoingtokillyouoneday.AndI
will,Daryl.Oneday,Iwillkillyou.”

I gasped, too stunned to move. I heard a loud smack, then someone tumbling down, dragging some

itemswithhimashefelltothefloor.

Iwasabouttorun—thisconversationobviouslywasn’tmeantformetohear—buthecaughtmeoff

guard. Before I knew what was happening, the door swung open and I came face to face with a boy
aroundmyage.Isayaboy,buttherewasnothingboyishabouthim.

Theoldermanstoodbehindhim,pantinghard,hunchedwithhishandsflatagainstadesk.Bookswere

scatteredaroundhisfeet,andhislipwascutandbleeding.

Theroomwasalibrary.Soaringfloor-to-ceiling,walnutshelvesfullofhardbackslinedthewalls.I

feltapanginmychestbecauseIsomehowknewtherewasn’tanywayI’deverbeallowedinthereagain.

“Whatthefuck?”theteenageboyseethed.Hiseyesnarrowed.Theyfeltlikethesightofarifleaimed

atme.

Seventeen?Eighteen?Thefactthatwewereaboutthesameagesomehowmadeeverythingaboutthe

situationworse.Iduckedmyhead,mycheeksflamingwithenoughheattoburndownthewholehouse.

“Haveyoubeenlistening?”Hisjawtwitched.
Ifranticallyshookmyheadno,butthatwasalie.I’dalwaysbeenaterribleliar.
“Ididn’thearathing,Iswear.”Ichokedonmywords.“Mymamaworkshere.Iwaslookingforher.”

Anotherlie.

I’dneverbeenascaredy-cat.Iwasalwaysthebraveone.ButIdidn’tfeelsobraveatthatmoment.

Afterall,Iwasn’tsupposedtobethere,inhishouse,andIdefinitelywasn’tsupposedtobelisteningto
theirargument.

Theyoungmantookastepcloser,andItookastepback.Hiseyesweredead,buthislipswerered,

full, and very much alive. This guy is going to break my heart if I let him. The voice came from
somewhereinsidemyhead,andthethoughtstunnedmebecauseitmadenosenseatall.I’dneverfallenin
lovebefore,andIwastooanxioustoevenregisterhiseyecolororhairstyle,letalonethenotionofever
havinganyfeelingsfortheguy.

“What’s your name?” he demanded. He smelled delicious—a masculine spice of boy-man, sweet

sweat,sourhormones,andthefainttraceofcleanlaundry,oneofmymama’smanychores.

“Emilia.”Iclearedmythroatandextendedmyarm.“MyfriendscallmeMillie.Y’allcantoo.”
Hisexpressionrevealedzeroemotion.“You’refuckingdone,Emilia.”Hedrawledmyname,mocking

mySouthernaccentandnotevenacknowledgingmyhandwithaglance.

Iwithdrewitquickly,embarrassmentflamingmycheeksagain.
“Wrongfuckingplaceandwrongfuckingtime.NexttimeIfindyouanywhereinsidemyhouse,bringa

body bag because you won’t be leaving alive.” He thundered past me, his muscular arm brushing my
shoulder.

Ichokedonmybreath.Mygazeboltedtotheolderman,andoureyeslocked.Heshookhisheadand

grinnedinawaythatmademewanttofoldintomyselfanddisappear.Blooddrippedfromhislipontohis
leather boot—black like his worn MC jacket. What was he doing in a place like this, anyway? He just
staredatme,makingnomovetocleanuptheblood.

Iturnedaroundandran,feelingthebileburninginmythroat,threateningtospillover.
Needlesstosay,Rosiehadtomakedowithouthermedicinethatweekandmyparentswerepaidnota

minuteearlierthanwhentheywerescheduledto.

Thatwastwomonthsago.
Today,whenIwalkedthroughthekitchenandclimbedthestairs,Ihadnochoice.
IknockedonVicious’sbedroomdoor.Hisroomwasonthesecondfloorattheendofthewidecurved

hallway,thedoorfacingthefloatingstonestaircaseofthecave-likemansion.

I’dneverbeennearVicious’sroom,andIwishedIcouldkeepitthatway.Unfortunately,mycalculus

book had been stolen. Whoever broke into my locker had wiped it clean of my stuff and left garbage
inside. Empty soda cans, cleaning supplies, and condom wrappers spilled out the minute I opened the
lockerdoor.

Justanother not-so-clever, yeteffective, way forthe students at AllSaints High toremind me that I

was nothing but the cheap help around here. By that point, I was so used to it I barely reddened at all.
When all eyes in the hallway darted to me, snickers and chuckles rising out of every throat, I tilted my
chinupandmarchedstraighttomynextclass.

AllSaintsHighwasaschoolfullofspoiled,over-privilegedsinners.Aschoolwhereifyoufailedto

dressoractacertainway,youdidn’tbelong.RosieblendedinbetterthanIdid,thanktheLord.Butwitha
Southerndrawl,off-beatstyle,andoneofthemostpopularguysatschool—thatbeingViciousSpencer—
hatingmyguts,Ididn’tfitin.

WhatmadeitworsewasthatIdidn’twanttofitin.Thesekidsdidn’timpressme.Theyweren’tkind

orwelcomingorevenverysmart.Theydidn’tpossessanyofthequalitiesIlookedforinfriends.

ButIneededmytextbookbadlyifIeverwantedtoescapethisplace.
IknockedthreetimesonthemahoganydoorofVicious’sbedroom.Rollingmylowerlipbetweenmy

fingers,ItriedtosuckinasmuchoxygenasIcould,butitdidnothingtocalmthethrobbingpulseinmy
neck.

Pleasedon’tbethere…
Pleasedon’tbeanass…
Please…
Asoftnoiseseepedfromthecrackunderthedoor,andmybodytensed.
Giggling.
Viciousnevergiggled.Heck,hehardlyeverchuckled.Evenhissmileswerefewandfarbetween.No.

Thesoundwasundoubtedlyfemale.

Iheardhimwhisperinhisraspytonesomethinginaudiblethatmadehermoan.Myearsseared,andI

anxiouslyrubbedmyhandsontheyellowcut-offdenimshortscoveringmythighs.Outofallthescenarios
Icouldhaveimagined,thiswasbyfartheworst.

Him.
Withanothergirl.
WhoIhatedbeforeIevenknewhername.
Itdidn’tmakeanysense,yetIfeltridiculouslyangry.
Buthewasclearlythere,andIwasagirlonamission.
“Vicious?” I called out, trying to steady my voice. I straightened my spine, even though he couldn’t

seeme.“It’sMillie.Sorrytointerrupt,y’all.Ijustwantedtoborrowyourcalcbook.Mine’slost,andI
really need to get ready for that exam we have tomorrow.” God forbid you ever study for our exam
yourself,Ibreathedsilently.

Hedidn’tanswer,butIheardasharpintakeofbreath—thegirl—andtherustleoffabricandthenoise

ofazipperrolling.Down,Ihadnodoubt.

Isqueezedmyeyesshutandpressedmyforeheadagainstthecoolwoodofhisdoor.
Bite the bullet. Swallow your pride. This wouldn’t matter in a few years. Vicious and his stupid

anticswouldbeadistantmemory,thesnootytownofTodosSantosjustadust-coveredpartofmypast.

MyparentshadjumpedatthechancewhenJosephineSpencerofferedthemajob.They’ddraggedus

acrossthecountrytoCaliforniabecausethehealthcarewasbetterandwedidn’tevenneedtopayrent.
MamawastheSpencers’cook/housekeeper,andDaddywaspartgardenerandhandyman.Theprevious
live-incouplehadquit,anditwasnowonder.Prettysuremyparentsweren’tsokeenonthejobeither.
But opportunities like these were rare, and Josephine Spencer’s mama was friends with my great-aunt,
whichishowthey’dgottenthejob.

Iwasplanningongettingoutofheresoon.AssoonasIgotacceptedtothefirstout-of-statecollege

I’dappliedto,tobeexact.Inordertodoso,though,Ineededascholarship.

Forascholarship,Ineededkick-assgrades.
Andforkick-assgrades,Ineededthistextbook.
“Vicious,”Igroundouthisstupidnickname.Iknewhehatedhisrealname,andforreasonsbeyond

mygrasp,Ididn’twanttoupsethim.“I’llgrabthebookandcopytheformulasIneedrealquick.Iwon’t
borrowitlong.Please.”Igulpeddowntheballoffrustrationtwistinginmythroat.ItwasbadenoughI’d
hadmystuffstolen—again—withouthavingtoaskViciousforfavors.

The giggling escalated. The high, screechy pitch sawed through my ears. My fingers tingled to push

thedooropenandlaunchathimwithmyfists.

I heard his groan of pleasure and knew it had nothing to do with the girl he was with. He loved

tauntingme.Eversinceourfirstencounteroutsideofhislibrarytwomonthsago,he’dbeenhell-benton
remindingmethatIwasn’tgoodenough.

Notgoodenoughforhismansion.
Notgoodenoughforhisschool.
Notgoodenoughforhistown.
Worstpart?Itwasn’tafigureofspeech.Itreallywashistown.BaronSpencerJr.—dubbedVicious

forhiscold,ruthlessbehavior—wastheheirtooneofthebiggestfamily-ownedfortunesinCalifornia.
TheSpencersownedapipelinecompany,halfofdowntownTodosSantos—includingthemall—andthree
corporateofficeparks.Vicioushadenoughmoneytotakecareofthenexttengenerationsofhisfamily.

ButIdidn’t.
Myparentswereservants.Wehadtoworkforeverypenny.Ididn’texpecthimtounderstand.Trust-

fundkidsneverdid.ButIpresumedhe’datleastpretend,liketherestofthem.

Educationmatteredtome,andatthatmoment,Ifeltrobbedofit.
Becauserichpeoplehadstolenmybooks.
Because this particular rich kid wouldn’t even open the door to his room so I could borrow his

textbookrealquick.

“Vicious!”Myfrustrationgotthebetterofme,andIslammedmypalmflatagainsthisdoor.Ignoring

thethrobitsentupmywrist,Icontinued,exasperated.“C’mon!”

Iwasclosetoturningaroundandwalkingaway.EvenifitmeantIhadtotakemybikeandrideallthe

wayacrosstowntoborrowSydney’sbooks.SydneywasmyonlyfriendatAllSaintsHigh,andtheone
personIlikedinclass.

ButthenIheardViciouschuckling,andIknewthejokewasonme.“Ilovetoseeyoucrawl.Begfor

it,baby,andI’llgiveittoyou,”hesaid.

Nottothegirlinhisroom.
Tome.
Ilostit.EventhoughIknewitwaswrong.Thathewaswinning.
Ithrustthedooropenandbargedintohisroom,stranglingthehandlewithmyfist,myknuckleswhite

andburning.

My eyes darted to his king-sized bed, barely stopping to take in the gorgeous mural above it—four

white horses galloping into the darkness—or the elegant dark furniture. His bed looked like a throne,
sittinginthemiddleoftheroom,bigandhighanddrapedinsoftblacksatin.Hewasperchedontheedge
ofhismattress,agirlwhowasinmyPEclassinhislap.HernamewasGeorgiaandhergrandparents
owned half the vineyards upstate in Carmel Valley. Georgia’s long blonde hair veiled one of his broad
shouldersandherCaribbeantanlookedperfectandsmoothagainstVicious’spalecomplexion.

His dark blue eyes—so dark they were almost black—locked on mine as he continued to kiss her

ravenously—his tongue making several appearances—like she was made of cotton candy. I needed to
look away, but couldn’t. I was trapped in his gaze, completely immobilized from the eyes down, so I
archedaneyebrow,showinghimthatIdidn’tcare.

OnlyIdid.Icaredalot.
Icaredsomuch,infact,thatIcontinuedtostareatthemshamelessly.Athishollowedcheeksashe

insertedhistonguedeepintohermouth,hisburning,tauntingglareneverleavingmine,gaugingmefora
reaction.Ifeltmybodybuzzinginanunfamiliarway,fallingunderhisspell.Asweet,pungentfog.Itwas
sexual,unwelcome,yetcompletelyinescapable.Iwantedtobreakfree,butforthelifeofme,Icouldn’t.

Mygriponthedoorhandletightened,andIswallowed,myeyesdroppingtohishandashegrabbed

her waist and squeezed playfully. I squeezed my own waist through the fabric of my yellow-and-white
sunflowertop.

Whatthehellwaswrongwithme?Watchinghimkissanothergirlwasunbearable,butalsoweirdly

fascinating.

Iwantedtoseeit.
Ididn’twanttoseeit.
Eitherway,Icouldn’tunseeit.
Admittingdefeat,Iblinked,shiftingmygazetoablackRaiderscaphungovertheheadrestofhisdesk

chair.

“Yourtextbook,Vicious.Ineedit,”Irepeated.“I’mnotleavingyourroomwithoutit.”
“Getthefuckout,Help,”hesaidintoGeorgia’sgigglingmouth.
Athorntwistedinmyheart,jealousyfillingmychest.Icouldn’twrapmyheadaroundthisphysical

reaction.Thepain.Theshame.Thelust.IhatedVicious.Hewashard,heartless,andhateful.I’dheardhis
motherhaddiedwhenhewasnine,buthewaseighteennowandhadanicestepmotherwholethimdo
whateverhewanted.Josephineseemedsweetandcaring.

Hehadnoreasontobesocruel,yethewastoeveryone.Especiallytome.
“Nope.” Inside, rage pounded through me, but outside, I remained unaffected. “Calc. Textbook.” I

spokeslowly,treatinghimliketheidiothethoughtIwas.“Justtellmewhereitis.I’llleaveitatyour
doorwhenI’mdone.Easiestwaytogetridofmeandgetbacktoyour…activities.”

Georgia, who was fiddling with his zipper, her white sheath dress already unzipped from behind,

growled,pushingawayfromhischestmomentarilyandrollinghereyes.

She squeezed her lips into a disapproving pout. “Really? Mindy?”—My name was Millie and she

knewit—“Can’tyoufindanythingbettertodowithyourtime?He’salittleoutofyourleague,don’tyou
think?”

Vicious took a moment to examine me, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. He was so damn

handsome. Unfortunately. Black hair, shiny and trimmed fashionably, buzzed at the sides and longer on
top.Indigoeyes,bottomlessintheirdepth,sparklingandhardened.Bywhat,Ididn’tknow.Skinsopale
helookedlikeastunningghost.

As a painter, I often spent time admiring Vicious’s form. The angles of his face and sharp bone

structure.Allsmoothedges.Definedandclear-cut.Hewasmadetobepainted.Amasterpieceofnature.

Georgiaknewittoo.I’dheardhernottoolongagotalkingabouthiminthelockerroomafterPE.Her

friendhadsaid,“Beautifulguy.”

“Dude,butugly personality,” Georgia was quick to add. A moment of silence passed before they’d

bothsnortedoutalaugh.

“Whocares?”Georgia’sfriendhadconcluded.“I’dstilldohim.”
TheworstpartwasIcouldn’tblamethem.
Hewasbothaballerandfilthyrich—apopularguywhodressedandtalkedtherightway.Aperfect

AllSaintshero.Hedrovetherightkindofcar—Mercedes—andpossessedthatmystifyingauraofatrue
alpha.Healwayshadtheroom.Evenwhenhewascompletelysilent.

Feigningboredom,Icrossedmyarmsandleanedonehiponhisdoorframe.Istaredouthiswindow,

knowingtearswouldappearinmyeyesifIlookeddirectlyathimorGeorgia.

“Hisleague?”Imocked.“I’mnotevenplayingthesamegame.Idon’tplaydirty.”
“Youwill,onceIpushyoufarenough,”Vicioussnapped,histoneflatandhumorless.Itfeltlikehe

clawedmygutsoutandthrewthemonhispristineironwoodfloor.

Iblinkedslowly,tryingtolookblasé.“Textbook?”Iaskedforthetwo-hundredthtime.
He must’ve concluded he’d tortured me enough for one day. He cocked his head sideways to a

backpacksittingunderhisdesk.Thewindowaboveitoverlookedtheservants’apartmentwhereIlived,

allowinghimaperfectviewdirectlyintomyroom.Sofar,I’dcaughthimstaringatmetwicethroughthe
window,andIalwayswonderedwhy.

Why,why,why?
Hehatedmesomuch.Theintensityofhisglareburnedmyfaceeverytimehelookedatme,which

wasn’tasoftenasI’dlikehimto.ButbeingthesensiblegirlthatIwas,Ineverallowedmyselftodwell
onit.

ImarchedtotheGivenchyrubber-coatedbackpackhetooktoschooleverydayandblewoutairasI

flippeditopen,rummagingnoisilythroughhisthings.Iwasgladmybackwastothem,andItriedtoblock
outthemoansandsuckingnoises.

The second my hand touched the familiar white-and-blue calc book, I stilled. I stared at the cherry

blossomI’ddoodledonthespine.Ragetingledupmyspine,coursingthroughmyveins,makingmyfists
clenchandunclench.Bloodwhooshedinmyears,andmybreathingquickened.

Hebrokeintomyfriggin’locker.
Withshakingfingers,IpulledthebookoutofVicious’sbackpack.“Youstolemytextbook?”Iturned

tofacehim,everymuscleinmyfacetense.

This was an escalation. Blunt aggression. Vicious always taunted me, but he’d never humiliated me

likethisbefore.He’dstolenmythingsandstuffedmylockerfullofcondomsandusedtoiletpaper,for
Christ’ssake.

Oureyesmetandtangled.HepushedGeorgiaoffhislap,likeshewasaneagerpuppyhewasdone

playingwith,andstoodup.Itookastepforward.Wewerenosetonosenow.

“Whyareyoudoingthistome?”Ihissedout,searchinghisblank,stonyface.
“BecauseIcan,”heofferedwithasmirktohideallthepaininhiseyes.
What’seatingyou,BaronSpencer?
“Becauseit’sfun?”headded,chucklingwhilethrowingGeorgia’sjacketather.Withoutaglanceher

way,hemotionedforhertoleave.

Shewasclearlynothingmorethanaprop.Ameanstoanend.He’dwantedtohurtme.
Andhesucceeded.
Ishouldn’tcareaboutwhyheactedthisway.Itmadenodifferenceatall.ThebottomlinewasIhated

him.IhatedhimsomuchitmademesicktomystomachthatIlovedthewayhelooked,onandoffthe
field. Hated my shallowness, my foolishness, at loving the way his square, hard jaw ticked when he
fought a smile. I hated that I loved the smart, witty things that came out of his mouth when he spoke in
class.HatedthathewasacynicalrealistwhileIwasahopelessidealist,andstill,Ilovedeverythought
heutteredaloud.AndIhatedthatonceaweek,everyweek,myheartdidcrazythingsinmychestbecause
Isuspectedhemightbehim.

Ihatedhim,anditwasclearthathehatedmeback.
Ihatedhim,butIhatedGeorgiamorebecauseshewastheonehe’dkissed.
Knowing full well I couldn’t fight him—my parents worked here—I bit my tongue and stormed

toward the door. I only made it to the threshold before his callused hand wrapped around my elbow,
spinningmeinplaceandthrowingmybodyintohissteelchest.Iswallowedbackawhimper.

“Fightme,Help,”hesnarledintomyface,hisnostrilsflaringlikeawildbeast.Hislipswereclose,

so close. Still swollen from kissing another girl, red against his fair skin. “For once in your life, stand
yourfuckingground.”

Ishookoutofhistouch,clutchingmytextbooktomychestlikeitwasmyshield.Irushedoutofhis

roomanddidn’tstoptotakeabreathuntilIreachedtheservants’apartment.Swingingthedooropen,I
boltedtomyroomandlockedthedoor,ploppingdownonthebedwithaheavysigh.

Ididn’tcry.Hedidn’tdeservemytears.ButIwasangry,upsetandyes,alittlebroken.
In the distance, I heard music blasting from his room, getting louder by the second as he turned the

volume up to the max. It took me a few beats to recognize the song. “Stop Crying Your Eyes Out” by
Oasis.

Afewminuteslater,IheardGeorgia’sredautomaticCamaro—theoneViciousconstantlymadefunof

because,WhothefuckbuysanautomaticCamaro?—gundownthetree-lineddrivewayoftheestate.She
soundedangrytoo.

Viciouswasvicious.Itwastoobadthatmyhateforhimwasdippedinathinshellofsomethingthat

feltlikelove.ButIpromisedmyselfI’dcrackit,breakit,andunleashpurehatredinitsplacebeforehe
gottome.He,Ipromisedmyself,willneverbreakme.

TenYearsAgo

T WAS THE SAME OLD

shit, different weekend, at my house. I was throwing another balls-out party and

didn’tevenbothertoleavethemedia/gamingroomtohangoutwiththeassholesI’dinvited.

Iknewwhatkindofchaoswasteemingoutsidetheroom.Thesnickeringandscreaminggirlsinthe

kidney-shaped pool at the back of the house. The gurgles of the artificial waterfalls pouring out of the
Greekarchesintothewaterandtheslapofrubber,inflatedmattressesagainstbare,wetskin.Thegroans
ofcouplesfuckinginnearbyrooms.Themean-assgossipofcliquescrashingontheplushloveseatsand
sofasdownstairs.

Iheardmusic—LimpBizkit—andwhothefuckhadtheballstoplayLameBizkitatmyparty?
Icould’veheardalltheresttooifIwantedto,butIdidn’tlisten.SprawledoutonmyWingLounge

chairinfrontoftheTV,thighsopenwide,IsmokedabluntandwatchedsomeanimeJapaneseporno.

Therewasabeertomyright,butIdidn’ttouchit.
Therewasachickonherkneesbelowmyseat,onthecarpet,massagingmythighs,butIdidn’ttouch

hereither.

“Vicious,”shepurred,inchingclosertomygroin.Sheslowlyclimbedup,straddlingmylap.
Atannamelessbrunetteinacome-fuck-medress.ShelookedlikeanAliciaorLucia,maybe.Triedto

get onto the cheerleading squad last spring. Failed. My guess was this party was her first taste of
popularity.Hookingupwithme,oranyoneelseinthisroom,washershortcuttocelebritystatusatschool.

Forthatreasonalone,shewasofnointeresttome.
“Yourmediaroomisrad.Thinkwecangosomewherequieter,though?”
Itappedtheheadofmyblunt,theashfallingtoanashtrayonthearmofmychairlikeaflakeofdirty

snow.Myjawtwitched.“No.”

“ButIlikeyou.”
Bullshit.Nobodylikedme,andforgoodreason.
“Idon’tdorelationships,”Isaidonauto-pilot.
“Like,d’uh.Iknowthat,silly.Noharminhavingsomefun,though.”Shesnorted,anunattractivelaugh

thatmademehateherfortryingsohard.

Self-respectwentalongwayinmybook.
MyeyesnarrowedasImulledoverheroffer.Sure,Icouldlethersuckmydick,butIknewbetterthan

tobelieveherindifferentact.Theyallwantedsomethingmore.

“You should get out of here,” I said, for the first and last time. I wasn’t her dad. It wasn’t my

responsibilitytowarnheraboutguyslikeme.

Shepouted,linkingherarmsbehindmyneckandscootingupmythigh.Herexposedcleavagepressed

against my chest and her eyes burned with determination. “I’m not leaving here without one of you
HotHoles.”

I arched one eyebrow, exhaling smoke through my nose, my eyes hooded with boredom. “Then you

bettertryTrentorDean,’causeIain’tfuckingyoutonight,sweetheart.”

Alicia-Lucia pulled away, finally getting the hint. She sashayed to the bar with a fake smile, that

crumpled with every step she took in those high heels, and fixed herself a bullshit cocktail without
checkingwhatliquorshepouredintothetallglass.Hereyeswereshinyasshescannedtheroom,tryingto
figureoutwhichoneofmyfriends—weweretheFourHotHolesofAllSaintsHigh—waswillingtobe
hertickettopopularity.

Trentwasslouchedonthecouchtomyright,half-sitting,half-lyingasarandomchickgrindingonhis

cock,straddlinghimwithhershirtpulleddowntoherwaistandherbaretitsbouncingalmostcomically.
He put the beer bottle to his mouth and dicked around on his phone, jaded. Dean and Jaime sat on a
loveseatontheotherside,arguingaboutnextweek’sfootballgame.Neitherofthemhadtouchedthegirls
we’dsummonedintotheroom.

Jaime,Iunderstood.HewasobsessingoverourEnglishteacher,Ms.Greene.Ididn’tapproveofhis

new,fucked-upfascination,butI’dneversayawordaboutittohim.Dean,ontheotherhand?Ihadno
ideawhathisproblemwas.Whyhadn’thegrabbedanassandsprungintoactionlikehenormallydid.

“Dean, dude, where’s your piece of pussy for the night?” Trent echoed my thoughts, scrolling his

thumb over the wheel on his iPod, surfing his playlist, looking desperately uninterested in the chick he
wasfucking.

BeforeDeancouldanswerhim,Trentpushedthegirlontopofhimawaymid-thrust,pattingherhead

gentlyasshetumbledontothesofa.Hermouthwasstillopen,halfinpleasure,halfinshock.

“Sorry.Itain’thappeningformetonight.It’sthecast.”Hepointedhisbeerbottletohisbrokenankle,

smilingapologeticallyathisfuckbuddy.

Outofthefourofus,Trentwasthenicest.
ThatsaidallanyoneneededtoknowabouttheHotHoles.
Theironicthingwas,Trenthadthemostreasontobespiteful.Hewasscrewed,andheknewit.There

wasnowayhewasgettingafullridetocollegewithoutfootball.Hisgradessuckedass,andhisparents
didn’t have the money to pay for their rent, let alone his education. His injury meant he was staying in
SoCal and picking up some blue-collar work if he was lucky, slumming it up with the rest of his
neighborhoodafterspendingfouryearswithusrichTodosSantoskids.

“I’mallright,man.”Dean’ssmilewaseasy,butthecontinuoustappingofhisfootwasnot.“Actually,

Idon’twantyoutobeblindsidedbysomething.Youlisteningup?”Hegrinnednervously,straighteninghis
posture.

Justthen,thedooropenedbehindme.Whoevercameindidn’tbothertoknock.Everyoneknewthis

roomwasoff-limits.ThiswastheHotHoles’privatepartyspace.Theruleswereclear.Unlessinvited,
youdidn’tcomein.

Thegirlsintheroomallstaredinthedirectionofthedoor,butIcontinuedsmokingweedandwishing

Lucia-Aliciawouldmovethefuckawayfromthebar.Ineededafreshbeerandwasn’tinthemoodfor
talking.

“Whoa,hi.”Deanwavedtothepersonatthedoor,andIswearhiswholestupidbodysmiled.
Jaimenoddedacurthello,tensingupinhisseatandsendingmealookIwastoostonedtodecode.

Trentswiveledhishead,gruntingingreetingtoo.

“Whoever’satthedoorbetterhaveafuckingpizzaandapussymadeofgoldiftheywannastay.”I

clenchedmyteeth,finallythrowingaglanceovermyshoulder.

“Hey,y’all.”
WhenIheardhervoice,somethingweirdhappenedinmychest.
Emilia.Thehelp’sdaughter.Whyisshehere?Sheneverlefttheservants’apartmentwhenIthrewmy

parties. Plus, she hadn’t glanced in my direction since she ran out of my room with her calc book last
week.

“Who gave you permission to come here, Help?” I sucked my blunt, inhaled deeply and poured a

cloudofrancid,sweetsmokeintotheair,swivelingmychairtofaceher.

Herazureeyesglidedovermebrieflybeforelandingonsomeonebehindme.Herlipsbrokeintoa

timidgrinatthesightofthatperson.Theraucousnoiseofthepartyfaded,andallIsawwasherface.

“Hey,Dean.”HergazedroppedtoherVans.
Herlongcaramelhairwasbraidedandflungoveroneofhershoulders.Shehadonboyfriendjeans

andaDariashirtdeliberatelymismatchedwithanorangewooljacket.Hersenseofstylewasjuvenile
andhorrid,andthebackofherhandwasstillinkedwithacherryblossomtreeshe’ddrawninEnglish
Lit,sowhythefuckwasshestillhotasshit?Didn’tmatter.Ihatedheranyway.Butherapparentdevotion
totryingnottobesexy,pairedwiththefactthatsheactuallywassexy,alwaysmademehardasstone.

ItoremygazefromhertoDean.Hesmiledbackather.Agoofysmirkthatbeggedformetobreakall

ofhisteeth.

What.The.Fuck?
“Youtwobumpinguglies?”Jaimepoppedhisgum,askingthequestionIneverwould’ve,touslinghis

longblondsurferhairwithhisfist.Hedidn’tgivetwoshitsbutknewitwassomethingthat’dinterestme.

“Jesus,man.”Deangotupfromhisseat,slappingthebackofJaime’sneckandsuddenlyactinglike

somekindofadecentguy.

Iknewhimtoowellnottorecognizethathewasn’tone.He’dfuckedsomanygirlsontheverysofa

he’d just sat on that it was permanently imprinted with his DNA. We weren’t good guys. We weren’t
boyfriendmaterial,whateverthefuckthatmeant.Hell,weweren’teventryingtohideit.Andotherthan
Jaime, who was talking crazy, plotting like a cunning freshman cheerleader to get together with Ms.
Greene,wedidn’tdomonogamy.

This—andonlythis—mademedislikethewholeDeanandHelpidea.Ihadenoughfuckingdramato

dealwith.Ididn’twanttobetherewhenherheartbroke,inmyhouse.Shatteringonmyfloor.Besides,as
muchasIdislikedHelp…shewasn’tforustodestroy.ShewasjustacountrygirlfromVirginiawitha
hugesmileandanannoyingaccent.HerpersonalitywaslikeafuckingMichaelBublésong.Soeasyand
un-fucking-assuming.Imean,thegirlevensmiledatmewhenshecaughtmestaringintoherbedroomin
theservants’apartmentlikeacreep.

Howstupidcouldapersonbe?
Itwasn’therfaultIhatedher.ForeavesdroppingonmeandDarylallthoseweeksago.Forlooking

andsoundingexactlylikemystepmom,Jo.

“I’mgladyoucouldmakeit.Sorryyouhadtocomehere.Ididn’trealizeIwaslate.Thisisnoplace

foralady,”Deanjoked,grabbinghisjacketfromthearmoftheblackleathersofaandjoggingtothedoor.

Heflunghisarmoverhershoulder,andmylefteyelidticked.
Hebrushedastrandofhairthatfellfromherbraidbehindherear,andmyjawclenched.
“Hopeyou’rehungry.Iknowareallygoodseafoodplacebythemarina.”
Shegrinned.“Sure.Countmein.”
Helaughed,andmynostrilsflared.
Thentheyleft.
Theyfuckingleft.

Ituckedthebluntbackintothecornerofmymouth,swivelingbacktotheTV.Thewholeroomfell

quietandalleyesweredirectedatmeforfurtherinstructions,andwhatthefuckwaseverybodysoupset
about?

“Hey,you.”IpointedatthegirlwhoTrenthadthrownawaymid-fuck.Shewasfixingherhairinfront

ofthemirrornexttomygamingrig.Ipattedmylaptwice.“Overhere,andbringyourfriend.”Ipinnedthe
otheronewithmyeyes.ThegirlI’drejectedonlymomentsago.Goodthingshe’ddecidedtostickaround.

With a giggling girl on each leg, I took a hit of my joint, pulled the first girl’s hair so that she was

facingmeandpressedmylipstohers.Iexhaled,shotgunningthesmokeintohermouth.Shetookitallin
withanexcitedgasp.

“Moveitforward.”Ibrushedthebridgeofhernosewiththetipofmine,myeyesheavy.Shesmiled

withhermouthclosedandkissedtheothergirlonmylap,lettingthesmokeseepintohermouth.

TrentandJaimewatchedmethewholetime.
“They’reprobablyjustfuckbuddies,”Trentoffered,rubbinghishandoverhisshavedhead.“Ididn’t

hear about this shit until tonight, and Dean can keep a secret like I can keep my pants up at a Playboy-
mansionparty.”

“Yeah,” Jaime chipped in. “It’s Dean, dude. He’s never had a serious girlfriend. He’s never had a

seriousanything.”Standingup,heshoulderedintohisnavyletterjacket.“Anyway,Igottaheadout.”

Of course. To pretend to be some loser on a dating site and spend the night sexting Ms. Greene. I

swear,ifIhadn’tseenhisdickinthelockerroom,I’dassumeJaimeactuallyhadapussy.

“ButI’mtellingyou,”headded,“don’toveranalyzeit.There’snowayinhellDean’ssettlingdown.

He’ssetonNewYorkforcollege.You’restayingherewithher.Shedidn’tgetacceptedanywhere,right?”

Right.
On top of that, Help hadn’t bagged a scholarship so far. I knew that because we shared the same

mailbox,andIbrowsedthroughherenvelopestoseewherelittleEmiliaLeblancwasheadednext.Sofar,
itlookedlikeshewasn’tgoinganywhere,muchtoherdismay.

IwasgoingtoabullshitcollegeinLosAngelesacoupleofhoursaway,andshewasstayinghere.I

wouldcomebackeveryotherweekend,andshe’dstillbehere.Cateringtome.

Servingme.
Envyingme.
She was going to stay small and insignificant. Uneducated and opportunity-less. And above all

—mine.

“Ireallydon’tgiveafuck.”Ichuckled,grabbingboththegirls’asses,clutchingtheirsoftfleshasI

movedthemtowardoneanother.

“Lickeachother’stitsforme.”Mytonewasflat.Theydidastheyweretold.Itwassoeasytoget

themtodoit,itdepressedthehelloutofme.

“Sowherewerewe?”Iaskedmyfriends.
Thegirlsandtheirtongueswereatwar.Theybeggedformyattentionliketwodogsfightingfortheir

livesinanundergroundfight.Theydidnothingforme,andnaturally,Iresentedthemforthat.

“Indeepdenial,apparently.Jesus.”Jaimeshookhishead,saunteringtothedoor.HeclaspedTrent’s

shoulderonhiswayout.“Makesurethegirlsdon’tdoanythingtoostupid.”

“Youmeanlikehim?”Trentjerkedhisthumbtowardme.
Isquintedathim.Buthedidn’tcare.Hewasakidfromthehood.Nothingscaredhim,letalonemy

richmilkyass.

Therewasragebrimminginsideme.Soon,itwasgoingtooverflow.
Theyweresosuretheyknewme.SosureIwantedEmiliaLeBlanc.
“Fuckthisshit.I’mgoingdowntothepool.”Istoodupsuddenly,andthegirlscollapsed,eachofthem

landingonanarmofthechairwithasoftthud.

Oneofthemwhinedinprotest,andtheothershrieked,“Whatthehell!”
“Badhigh,”Iofferedasahalf-assedexplanation.
“Ithappens.”Thegirlwho’dfuckedTrentasecondagosmiledinunderstanding.
I wanted to beat the shit out of their dads almost as much as I wanted to screw up Daryl. Their

availabilityrepulsedme.

“Areyougonnacallme?”Alicia-Luciatuggedonmyshirt.Hopeglitteredinhereyes.
Igaveheraslowonce-over.Shelookedgood,butnotasgoodasshethought.Thenagain,shewas

eagertoplease,soprobablynottheworstlay.

I’dwarnedher.
She’drefusedtolisten.
AndIwasn’tagoodguy.
“LeaveyournumberonTrent’sphone.”Iturnedonmyheelandleft.
Inthehallway,peoplemadewayforme,gluingtheirbackstothewall,smilingandraisingtheirred

Solo cups to me, groveling like I was the fucking pope. And to them—I was. This was my kingdom.
Peoplelovedmytypeofevil.ThatwasthethingaboutCalifornia,andthat’swhyIwouldneverleave.I
lovedeverythingotherpeoplehatedaboutit.Theliars,thepretenders,themasks,andtheplastic.Iloved
how people cared about what was in your pocket and not in your fucking chest. I loved that they were
impressed by expensive cars and cheap wit. Hell, I even loved the earthquakes and bullshit vegetable
shakes.

ThesepeoplewhoIhatedweremyhome.Thisplace—myplayground.
Murmursrosefromeverycornerofthehallway.Ididn’tusuallygracethesepeoplewithmypresence,

butwhenIdid,theyknewwhy.Shitwasgoingtogodowntonight.Excitementfilledtheair.

“FellinLoveWithaGirl”byTheWhiteStripespoundedagainstthedarkwalls.
Ididn’tmakeeyecontactwithanyone.JuststaredaheadasIslicedthroughthethronguntilIreached

thestoragecellarunderthekitchen.Iclosedthedoorbehindme.Itwasquiet,dark,likeme.Ipressedmy
backagainstthedoor,squeezedmyeyesshut,andtookadeepbreathofthedampair.

Damn,thatshitDeanbroughtinwasstrong.Iwasonlyhalf-lyingwhenIsaidthestuffwasbad.
Iwalkeddeeperintotheroom,mentallyslammingthedoorontherestoftheworld.OnDarylRyker.

Josephine.Andevenonpeoplewhowereonlyhalf-villains,likeEmiliaandmydad.Myfingersbrushed
theweaponsonthewallIhadcollectedovertheyears.Ifingeredmycrowbar,dagger,baseballbat,and
leatherwhip.Itoccurredtomethatoneday,hopefullysoon,Icouldgiveupthiscollection,whichIhad
never used but owned because it made me feel safer. Mainly, having this shit meant Daryl didn’t mess
withmeanymore.

I was looking for a physical, slow-building fight. I was looking for explosive pain coming out of

nowhere.Inshort,Iwaslookingfortrouble.

When I climbed back upstairs to the outdoor pool, empty-handed, I stood over the edge. The

moonlight lit my reflection against the clear water. The pool was full of people in swim trunks and
designer bikinis. My eyes roamed the place, searching for Dean. He was the guy I wanted to fight. To
breakhissmugboy-next-doorface.ButIknewhewasoutwithHelp,andbesides,ruleswererules.Even
Icouldn’tbendthem.TheminuteIsteppedouttherewithmysleevesrolleduptomyshoulders,Iinvited
whoeverwantedtofightmetostepforward.ButIcouldn’taskanyonespecifically.Theyhadtovolunteer.
ThatwasthedangerousgameweplayedatAllSaintsHightoburntime:Defy.

Defywasfair.
Defywasbrutal.
Mostofall,Defydulledthepainandprovidedagreatexplanationformymarredskin.
Iwasn’tsurprisedwhenIheardthethumpofTrent’scastbehindme.HeknewhowfuckedupIwas

andwantedtosavethenight.

“TellDeantodumpherassorIwill,”hesaidfrombehindmyback.
Ishookmyhead,sneering.“Hecandowhateverthefuckhewants.Ifhewantstobangthathillbilly,

it’shisfuneral.”

“Vicious,”Trentwarned.
Iturnedaroundandsizedhimup.Hissmoothmochaskinshoneunderthefullmoon,andIhatedhim

forhisabilitytoenjoytheoppositesexwithsuchcarelessness.Fuckingrandomchickswasgrowingold
toofast.AndIwasn’teveneighteenyet.

“This shit with this chick is gonna drag everyone down a very dark path.” He took off his shirt,

exposinghishuge,rippedtorso.Hewasabulkybastard.

Asalways,Ikeptmyshirton.Peopleeyedusavidly,butI’dnevercaredabouttheseassholes.They

wantedtofilltheirmeaninglessexistencewithsomethingtotalkabout.Iwasonlytoohappytogiveitto
them.

Icoiledmyfist,cockingmyheadsideways.“Aw,youcareaboutme.I’mfuckingtouched,T-Rex.”I

clutchedtheleftsideofmyblackteeabovemyheart,mockinghimwithafakesmile.

Georgiaandherairheadcrewwerewatchingusintently,waitingforthemonsterinmetopounceon

oneofmybestfriends.ImarchedpastTrent,myshoulderbrushinghis,trudgingtowardthetenniscourt
wherewefoughtonmostweekends.Itwasbig,secluded,andspaciousenoughforthecrowdtotakeseats
ononesideofourmakeshiftoctagon.

“Givemeyourworst,Rexroth,”Igrowled,tryingtocalmmyselfdown.Tryingtoremindmyselfthat

TrentandJaimewereright.DeanandHelpwerejustafling.They’dbebrokenupbytheendofthemonth.
He was going to dump her—hopefully with her virginity still intact—hurt and angry and looking for a
rebound.She’dbefragile,insecure,andvindictive.

Andthat’swhenIwasgoingtostrike.
That’swhenIwasgoingtoshowhershewasnothingmorethanmyproperty.
“Comeon,T.Moveyourinjuredasstothetenniscourt.Justtrynottobleedallovermyfuckinggrass

afterwe’redone.”

BuyHere

Inthemoodforanotherstudent/teacherromance?IllicitbyAvaHarrisoncomesoutSpring2017.Hereis

asneak-peek:

Illicit

AvaHarrison

Prologue

Lynn

’VESTOPPEDWISHINGFOREXTRAORDINARY

I’ve stopped wishing for that one moment so profound that everything will change. I know it will

neverhappen,sothere’snopointindreaming.

Butlikeallthingsinlife,extraordinaryhappenswhenyouleastexpectit,andintheblinkofaneye,

everythingcanchange.

ChapterOne

Lynn

GAZE OUT INTO THE

vastoceanbeforeme.Thewaterlapsagainsttheshorelikeagracefulsongtomy

ears,quietlywhisperingamelodyIonceloved,butitdoesnothingtocalmmynerves.Wavesrollin,and
witheachpassofthewater,thesandbelowmescratchesbeneathmybarefeet.Iclosemyeyestotakein
the peace, but the visions behind my eyes are still there, and the pain of his betrayal continues to etch
awayatme.

Asusual,nothinghasgoneaccordingtomyplan.I’mnotsurewhatIexpected,butitcertainlywasn’t

whatIgot.I’veneverreallylikedhim.

Sowhydidithurtsomuch?
Lifehastaughtmehardlessons.IlearnedlongagothatIcouldneverrelyonanyonetobetherefor

me,butevenaftereverythingI’vebeenthrough,IstillneedtoknowImeansomethingtosomeone.That
someoneouttherecares.

Itcertainlyisn’tmyparents.MyfatherleftwhenIwasten,andmymom...well,mymomiscurrently

in the midst of becoming Mrs. Someone for the fourth time. I’m her perfectly created specimen. The
daughtersheflauntsatthepartiessheattends.

When I was eleven, mom was trying to land a British duke, which required extensive travel to

Europe,andalsorequiredmeaccompanyingheronthemanytripsabroad.Tothisday,I’mnotsurewhy
shedraggedmealong.Intheend,allwehadtoshowfortheexperiencewasmybeingheldbackagrade.
So,eventhoughI’malreadyeighteen,I’mstillonlyaseniorinhighschool.

Turningmyheadtolookovermyshoulder,Igazeatthehouseinthedistance.Rightupthebeachisthe

house party we decided to crash. Bridget’s older sister rented it with a bunch of her college buddies,
includingmyboyfriend,Matthew.Well,Iguessex-boyfriendnow.

BridgetandIhaddecidedatthelastminutetopackabagandcrashtheparty.Althougheveryoneat

the party was significantly older then us, we knew we’d be welcomed to party with them. It would be
everyone’slasthurrah.Icouldn’twaittogetthereandspendsometimewithMattbeforeschoolstarted,
butitturnedouthewasn’tmissingmeasmuchasImissedhim.

MyfeetwerecementedtothefloorasItookinthesightbeforeme.There,standingattheedgeof

thebed,wasmyboyfriendandablondeIdon’tknow.Icouldn’tmoveasIwatchedhimthrustinand
outofherfrombehind.Thesicklysweetsmellofsexpermeatedthroughtheroom.

IwasafraidI’dbesick.
“Matt.”
“Oh,shit,”hesaidashepulledoutofherandfacedme.“Fuck.Ididn’tknowyou’dbehere.”
“Youdidn’tknowIwouldbehere?”
He made no move to cover himself or his whore. Instead, I was forced to look at the woman he

cheatedonmewith.Modeltallwithbonesstickingoutofherhips—thecompleteoppositeofme.Her
hair was the shade of blonde only present in a bottle and she had lips that looked as if they had
recently been injected with fillers. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to Matt whose dick

wasstillhardandmouthhungopen,obviouslythinkingofawaytorespondtomyquestion.Heletout
anaudiblesighandthen—finally—reachedforasheettocovertheevidenceofhistryst.

“Listen,Lynn.I’msorryyoufoundoutthisway,butmaybeit’sforthebest.”
My stomach tightened, and anger coiled inside me. “For the best? What the fuck, Matt? We’ve

beentogetherformonths!”

“Yeah,butI’mgoingawaytocollege,andI’mnotsurehowIcangothatlongwithoutyou.Ihave

needs.”

“Needs?Youknowwhat?No.No!Youdon’tgettoputthisonmelikeit’smyfaultyou’realying,

cheatingdick.I’moutofhere.Haveanicelife.”

“Lynn—”
Istormedoutthedoor.
I take a deep breath and the smell of the ocean rushes up through my nose. It’s salty and pungent

fragranceshouldactasabalm,anelixirthatsoothesme,butI’mtoodestroyedforsomethingthatsimple
towork.Iexhaletheemotioncollectinginsideme.

AllIcandonowisprayforamiracletosavemynight.

ByAvaHarrison

ImperfectTruth

ThroughHerEyes

trans·fer·ence

AbouttheAuthor

Ava Harrison is a New Yorker, born and bred. When she’s not journaling her life, you can find her
windowshopping,cookingdinnerforherfamily,orcurleduponhercouchreadingabook.

Website:

avaharrisonauthor.com

Facebook

Twitter@avaharrison333

Instagram@AvaHarrisonAuthor

Document Outline

Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Epigraph
Dedication
Soundtrack
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Books by L.J. Shen
Vicious Sneak Peek
Sneak Peek of Illicit by Ava Harrison

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