That Crazy Kind of Love

It was my turn now.

And that’s what I wanted to do. Because the truth was, I didn’t have much else going for me.

Chapter Three

Harlow

I’d been sitting on one of the chairs off to the side in the common area, a little outcropping hiding me, but I’d seen the interaction between Braxton and his friends and Aiden. I felt the cold air come from Aiden even from this distance. If they hadn’t been stopped by the teacher, I had no doubt there would’ve been a brutal fight that took place, and my money would’ve been on Aiden. He was bigger than any of the guys at school, not just taller but more muscular. He also looked like he didn’t give a shit about an outcome.

And I knew that made someone dangerous.

As I watched him go upstairs, I felt something shift inside me, this tingling starting in my hands and feet, spreading throughout my limbs, and settling in the center of my body. I was interested in him, curious. I wanted to know more about Aiden. I resolved to take that leap and talk to him, to find out who he was, what he liked and disliked.

The worst thing that could happen was he was closed off, shut down, and didn’t want to share anything about himself. And that was okay. A part of me was like that too.

But there was this pull inside me, one that wanted to explore more of who he was. And the damn thing wouldn’t shut up. I was going to go with it, give it free reign, and see where it took me.

He looked like he could use a friend. I knew I could too. There weren’t too many genuine, honest people I surrounded myself with. A lot of them were fake, superficial. But when I looked at Aiden, I could see he was one of those genuine ones, that he didn’t have a lot of bullshit he spewed. He probably said things and made no apologies for being honest.

And I liked that. I wanted a person like that in my life.

I grabbed my books and shoved them in my backpack before standing and heading to the library. I had study hall this period, so I made my way down the long corridor, took the stairs to the lower level, and just as I rounded the corner, I nearly ran right into Braxton. He grabbed my arms to steady me, this slow grin spreading across his face.

I didn’t miss the way he dipped his gaze down to my chest. The V-neck T-shirt I wore would’ve showed a slight hint of the tops of my breasts from his angle, and given the fact that I knew Braxton had been trying to get in my pants all this year, he was probably having one hell of a look at the moment.

I quickly took a step back and muttered an apology for nearly slamming into him.

I could feel that he didn’t want to let go right away, but he reluctantly did, shoving his hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket, that grin still on his face.

The truth was, I didn’t like Braxton. Not at all. He was cocky in the worst kind of way, slept with just about every female in school that was junior year and above, and had this air about him that he was better than everyone else. He was rich, which meant on his sixteenth birthday—two years ago—his father had bought him a BMW. And Braxton threw parties every other weekend at his parents’ lake house.

And he made sure everyone and their mom knew just how loaded he and his family were.

He was obnoxious, and no amount of me turning him down clued him in that I just wasn’t interested. In fact, I almost felt like it made him try even harder.

He placed his hand on the wall a few inches above my head, caging me in on one side. I really didn’t have time for this, but before I could move away or tell him that, he leaned in close. I smelled his expensive cologne, and it was a scent that made my stomach clinch in disgust.

“Harlow, when are you going to come to one of my parties?” His voice was sweet and coaxing. No doubt he used this tone to get what he wanted. But it was the fake kind, the kind that would give you a cavity.

I was about to tell him never, that parties weren’t really my scene, but he started talking before I could even get a word out, clearly not interested in me actually answering his question.

“I’m having one after the game next weekend. You should come. Bring whoever you want.”

The very idea of going to one of Braxton’s parties filled me with distaste.

“I’m not sure,” I said instead. I didn’t like confrontation, and Braxton could be very aggressive in the way he spoke and in his mannerisms.