The Bet (North Woods University 1)

“Look, Lacey…” I start, pushing from the table.

“It’s Layla, actually,” she sneers, displeasure appearing in her eyes.

“Uhh, yeah sorry, anyway…I’ve got shit to do. I’ll text you later?” I shove all my shit into my backpack and start down the stairs, refusing to let her even talk. As soon as I step outside the classroom, I see her.

Jules. My heart. My fucking best friend.

Her eyes connect with mine, a smile pulls at her pink lips, and she takes a step forward. I tighten my hold on my backpack, every muscle inside my body tightening.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck does she think she’s doing?

Chapter Two

Jules

My heart beats so furiously inside my chest I think it’s going to break free from my body and run down the hallway. It’s been three years…three long years since the day he took my heart and ran it through the proverbial blender. I take a step forward, my feet moving all on their own.

He’s so different now, bigger, taller, so much taller that I have to look up at him. My eyes roam over his body, it’s toned and muscled, just like an athlete’s. My mouth waters at the sight.

The ripped blue jeans and a white t-shirt he’s wearing do nothing to hide his chiseled body. His dark russet brown hair is still as unruly as ever, going in every which way. The only thing that seems to not have changed is his dark green eyes that are currently piercing mine, a furious fire flickering in their depths. He holds his head high, an arrogance oozing from within.

There’s a scowl on his face, and instead of looking happy to see me, he looks angry, impossibly angry. He still can’t be angry over me moving away, can he be? No, there is no way. The Remington I knew never held a grudge.

Still, I remember the things he said that night the last time I had seen him. Even then, I never believed that he meant the words he said. How could he? We had been friends since grade school, you couldn’t just forget about someone…you couldn’t just start hating them for something that wasn’t really their fault.

My body reacts to his presence just as it always did when we were kids and I find myself taking a step forward, and then another until I’m in front of him wrapping my slim arms around his middle.

“Remmy,” I sigh, feeling a little too happy to see him. For a split second, everything is right in the world again. My father isn’t dead. My mother is happy. Remington and I are friends again. I lean against him, closing my eyes, and letting his warmth seep into my bones, into every pore on my body.

He still smells the same, like soap and mint. His body, though harder, still feels the same too, and I smile against his chest. I can’t believe he is really here. I didn’t expect to see him, not today, and maybe not ever again.

Then the moment passes, and I’m dragged back to reality when someone pulls me off of him. My eyes fly open and I realize that no one has pulled me off of him, but instead that he is pushing me away. My mouth opens and I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when I see the anger reflecting in his eyes.

His fingers wrap around my upper arm, his grip hard as steel as he starts down the hall while dragging me behind him. I can barely keep up with his fast pace, his height making his steps bigger than mine. Apparently, I’m not the only one confused because everyone we pass looks just as shocked and flabbergasted about what’s happening as I am.

We round the corner and he opens the first door we pass, pushing me inside of the room. I stumble over my feet and grip onto a table to balance myself when he releases me with a shove. My heart is in my throat, and my lungs burn, refusing to fill with air. I look around the empty classroom, wondering what the hell is going on when he opens his mouth and starts yelling at me.

“What the hell do you think you are doing? You can’t just waltz in here pretending you know me,” he seethes, his words feel like a dull knife slicing through my chest.

Pretending to know him? I don’t understand what he means, nor do I understand why he is so angry, so hateful. We used to be best friends, certainly, he remembers that, right? Was there some accident while I was gone? Did he get hurt and hit his head? Does he not remember who I am?

“Don’t fucking talk to me, don’t wave at me, don’t even breathe in my direction and definitely don’t call me Remmy! My name’s Remington. No one calls me Remmy anymore, especially not you,” he barks, exhaling a ragged breath, his gaze darkening.