Beautiful Brute (Court University 3)

On the highway, the wind cut through Jax’s hair, sending those tousled locks flying. Cinnamon spice and his male essence flew through the wind every second we traveled, my windows down, and I grumbled.

“It’s not Christian music,” I stated, knowing he was making fun of my music now like he’d done my bike. Was nothing safe from this guy? I sat up. “It’s folk.”

A slow eyebrow lifted. “Okay, well. I’m changing it.”

The music switched to hip-hop before I could protest, and after, Jax stretched that large body of his back into my seat. He tucked his hands under his arms. The aviators still covered his eyes, but I was still well aware of the fact that he circulated that gaze of his around my ride. His head angled up. “And what the fuck is this car?”

And now, he was going for my baby. My jaw shifted. “What of it?”

“What of it?” Sitting up, he flicked my fuzzy dice. “Will this bucket of bolts actually make it to campus? The last time I’ve seen one of these was in The Brady Bunch.”

Since that was one of my favorite shows, I said nothing, then got nothing but his arrogant smirk. He dropped an arm on the dash, looking at me. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?”

A nod before he was flashing me those stunning greens. They literally looped his pupils like druzy quartz when he popped his aviators into his hair. “The whole perfect politician’s daughter bullshit. Between you and your mother, I swear to God I’m choking on that shit. You both for real with that?”

Stiffening, I rubbed my hands on the wheel, my heart beating its drum in my entire chest. I had no idea if he was speaking to me this way because he truly wondered or he was just mean.

Something told me it was the latter.

My stepbrother obviously wanted to test me, but I wouldn’t let him speak that way about my mom. He’d also called her a whore before, which continued to travel along the line of this guy and his psychoticism.

“Don’t say that about my mom,” I said, leveling my voice. It was all I could do not to lash out at him or drive us off the road. “We’re not perfect, and I’m definitely not.”

I wished I was. Because if I did, my life would be completely different right now. For starters, I wouldn’t have him in my life.

But I guessed, I wouldn’t have Rick Fairchild either.

Life was a toss up, wasn’t it? A cruel game of give and take. Had I been perfect, I wouldn’t have my adoptive father.

I guess basically over me and my response Jaxen crossed his aviators back over his eyes. He no longer stared at me, as he tossed his head back and bumped it to hip-hop. But considering we had at least an hour drive and maybe even an interaction or two when we did get to school, I wanted to squash this. I didn’t want to be his friend.

But I didn’t have to be his enemy either.

“Can we talk?” I asked, braving myself. I gripped the wheel. “About the other day.”

“What about it?” The guy hadn’t even looked at me, head back like he was going to sleep.

I huffed. “Look. We obviously didn’t get off to the right start.”

A slow smile lifted. “Oh, I got off just fine, Girl Scout,” he paused, tilting his face toward me. “And last I checked, you did too.”

A heart race, a slam as it worked its way up into my throat. That was what I was talking about, exactly what I was talking about. He was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sickeningly sweet to my family, doing chores and crap, then the next thing I knew, verbally assaulting me. Not to mention, how he’d physically attacked me, forcing me off my bike and…

Making love to me.

It’d been so nice when he’d been that way. When he’d been Brett and so sweet.

It was all a lie, Cleo. A lie.

“I don’t know what I did to you.” Silence on his end. I swallowed. “And we don’t have to b

e friends, but we can get along. At least, for my dad.”

“Your dad,” he mocked me, his voice cold. “You want us to get along for your dad.”

So much spite in his voice when he said that. I shook my head. “Our dad then.”