Wicked Lies Boys Tell

He pushes me away and storms from the bathroom, leaving me to stew with a raging hard-on and tornadic emotions spinning up inside me.

It almost sounded like a challenge.

A damn dare.

Fucking Penn.

He knows me better than anyone else, even after all this time, and he’s screwing with my head in a way only he knows how.

Two can play at this game, McAlister.

I saunter into class, uncaring that Coach Sullivan might give me shit for being late. But he’s not focused on my tardiness or the unruly class at the moment. No, he’s red-faced and snarling at Penn.

My hackles rise and I stop mid-step, ignoring Ivy’s glare from nearby. Penn is no longer the confident asshole he was five minutes ago. His shoulders are hunched as he takes a verbal beating from Coach.

The need to intervene becomes too much to bear and I stalk over to them, catching the tail end of Coach’s words.

“…an idiot. Nothing but a damn idiot,” Coach seethes.

Penn’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. “I’m sorry.” The despondency in his voice scratches away at me until I feel raw and pissed as hell for him.

“Are you done harassing your student?” I grind out, my eyes snaring Coach’s.

He turns to glower at me. “Take a seat, Justice.”

“Come on,” I tell Penn, grabbing his bicep and dragging him away from Coach.

Several students watch us with curiosity in their eyes. Penn and I are enemies to them. Have been for two years. Me standing up for him—hell, even talking to him for that matter—has to be gossip-worthy news to them.

A familiar cruel laugh cuts through the loud chatter of the other students. I glance over at Ivy, meeting her icy stare. Jett sits in my usual spot looking smug as fuck. I don’t give either of them a reaction, because I don’t care, and guide Penn to a table. A kid named Wendell vacates his seat and scurries across the room to sit elsewhere. He must have felt my get the fuck out of my way vibe I was throwing out. By the time Penn and I sit, Coach has composed himself somewhat and is scrawling out bullet points on the blackboard on what he’ll be lecturing over today. While his back is turned, I flick my gaze to Penn.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice low enough for just him.

His brows furrow together as he gives me a quizzical look. Moments before, we were practically at each other’s throats. Now, we’re once again having each other’s backs. It’s how we are—how we’ve always been. Our friendship has been fire and ice. A volatile clashing of emotions that somehow makes sense. We blow up and then we cool together. Like a couple of damn volcanoes.

“He took it a little better than Dad,” he murmurs.

I rake my eyes over his face, searching for any bruising from where his dad hit him. His dark hair is styled in a way that looks good on him. Brown eyes that earlier simmered with anger toward me have softened. He licks his lips, drawing my gaze down south, and I linger at them. Full, dark pink. Lips that one time pressed to mine. I’d tasted hope on those lips. And when I tore my mouth from his two years ago, I thought he’d spit hope to the dirt. But looking at them closely, and by the way he licks them in an almost nervous way, that hope still glistens on them.

Leaning in to whisper to him, I can’t help but inhale his familiar scent—a scent I’d missed for years. Everything is a mess between us, but I have my best friend back. I didn’t realize how much I’d been drifting in a numb fog. Now, every time I’m with Penn, I’m fired up. I’m burning up from the inside. He just gets inside me in a way no one else ever has.

“Don’t worry about him,” I tell him. “He’ll get the fuck over it.”

Penn’s lips quirk up on one side as he gives me a lopsided grin.

As Coach lectures, I watch Penn take notes with his left hand. He shoots me glares of annoyance any time I let out a snort. Eventually, he gives up and starts scrolling through his phone. I pull out my own phone and discreetly text under the table.

Me: Come over after school and we’ll study since your dumb ass isn’t taking notes.

The corner of his mouth twitches when he reads the text.

Penn: Are you even listening to the lecture?

Me: No. Hence why we need to study.

Penn: Sounds boring. I’m not going to college anyway now. Who cares?

Me: Liar. You’ll figure out a way to go. Unlike me, you actually care.

He darts his brown eyes my way and holds my stare for a moment before resuming typing.

Penn: Your dad will freak if you don’t go. He’ll cut you off.