Very Bad Things (Briarwood Academy 1)

“I think he’s afraid of losing someone, like he lost mom and dad,” Sebastian said quietly. “It hurts when you love someone and then they disappear. I was ten when they died, but Leo . . . it affected him the most. Losing them both on the same day was devastating. It’s hard to recover from that.” He looked down at the grass. “I had Leo, you know, but who did he have? Nobody.”

I thought of my own family and how they’re never around.

“I think he’s afraid to love again,” he said.

“He seems to be doing fine at the moment,” I said, scowling at Leo and Tiffany.

“Holy shit. Are you jealous of Tiffany?”

I whipped my head around to glare at him. “What? No, of course not. That’s crazy talk. He’s seven years older than me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But, you can’t always choose who your heart wants,” he said.

“True,” I said, remembering Drew.

“Come on, let’s go talk to Cuba,” he said, standing and putting out a hand for me. I grasped it, and he tugged, grimacing like I was too heavy.

“Ass,” I said, smacking him on the arm when I got up. Maybe it was weird that we’d settled so fast into a friendship, but I wasn’t questioning it. I needed friends.

He leered, teasing me back. “Wanna kiss it?”

We laughed together like we’d known each other for weeks instead of just one day. We made our way across the park and over to where Cuba was standing near the ice cream stand. On the way, one of the girls who’d been watching them play football earlier yelled for Sebastian to come over to them.

He grinned at me sheepishly. “Think you can handle Cuba on your own? Looks like my fans wanna talk to me,” he said, his body already pointed in their direction, like a golden retriever who’d spotted its prey.

“I know Cuba. Go be with your groupies,” I said with a chuckle, pushing him toward them.

He shrugged at me and sauntered over to them.

I looked back at Cuba who stood watching me, making me glad I’d worn my Burberry cuffed shorts and matching blue shirt. Even though we’d had a class together last year, I felt nervous about talking to him, wondering what we’d say to each other. I knew I had a reputation as being standoffish. But it wasn’t because I was snobby; it was because I didn’t want anyone to know the truth about me.

I studied Cuba as I approached, realizing he could help me mark meaningless sex off my list. Leo had let me down, but with Cuba’s well-known promiscuous nature, I may have just hit the sex jackpot.

“Nora Blakely. The girl that went off at registration,” Cuba stated with a big grin as I stopped in front of him.

I grinned. “Hollywood Hudson. The guy who tried to cheat off me in Euro history last year.”

He guffawed. “Shit, you saw me? I tried to be sneaky.”

“Kinda hard to miss when a six-foot-two lineman is looking over your shoulder, trying to peek at your answers. You’re lucky I didn’t report you,” I joked.

He chuckled. “You’re not gonna give me a lecture are you? If you are, let’s go find you a whip first. I like a girl in charge.”

“Uh . . . uh, why don’t you just buy me an ice cream instead, and we’ll skip the lecture bit,” I mumbled out, faltering. Shit. I sucked at flirting. I needed some vodka.

“Alright, what flavor do you want?” he said, handing me his football so he could pull out his wallet.

“Chocolate is my favorite,” I said, purposely running my eyes over his brown skin. He had a golden tan from the sun, but I decided there was also definite Latino in his family background, too. His mother had died last year, but I seemed to remember she was Brazilian?

He paused and raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Today it is,” I said, smiling up at him. “What’s yours?”

He laughed, his eyes gleaming at me. “It’s gonna sound dumb if I say vanilla, so I won’t, but truthfully—I like all kinds of ice cream, sweetheart. It’s my favorite dessert,” he said, giving me a lingering look with his warm, almost yellowish eyes. I got transfixed for a moment at the unusual color, fascinated about the genetics behind it. Where had he gotten that rare hue? As he turned to go get the ice cream, I made a mental note to drag out my Biology 101 book when I got home and brush up on my genetics. Yes. Science interested me.

A few minutes later, he came back with a waffle cone that had two heaps of chocolate on top. It looked amazing and delicious, and I practically tackled him for it.

I couldn’t hide my glee when I took the first wonderful bite, my lips sinking into the cold creaminess. “Oh, Cuba, so good. Thank you,” I moaned, as my tongue wrapped around the yummy cone.

He fidgeted, his hands gripping the football he’d taken back a little tighter. “That good, huh?”

“Uh-huh, you have no idea. Mother never allows sweets in the house. She’s too scared she’ll gain a pound . . . or I will,” I said in between licks. I looked up from the cone. “Here,” I said, holding it up to him, wanting to share this glorious thing, “take some of mine. Best thing ever, I promise.”

He leaned down and licked the ice cream, never taking his strange eyes off me, making me shiver. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s good, but I’d rather watch you eat it.”

Well. I mean, were all guys this easy? Leo hadn’t been. He’d cut me off quick.