My Sweet Bully

“Hi—” I start to say, but I’m quickly cut off.

“Are you fucking serious? Where did you get your license? A fucking cracker jack box?” The driver arches his brows as he frowns. “You didn’t even fucking look.”

“I’m sorry, did I cut you off? Because if I did, I didn’t mean to.” I’m trying to be nice, there was no need to get pissed. Accidents happen. Holding out my hand, I attempt to introduce myself. “I’m Prai—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are.” The driver runs his hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at his buddies. “But you need to know who I am.” I arch a brow, waiting for him to answer, because obviously I don’t have a damn clue who he is. “I’m James Galligan, quarterback, lead varsity pick, and two time champion of Rosedale High.” Jabbing a finger in my direction, he chirps, “And you almost fucking hit me. I was turning left at the light, didn’t you fucking see me?”

“Left? Isn’t left supposed to yield?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head. I’m no expert, but I think I remember the rules from the driver’s education class.

James lets out another scoff, rolling his eyes like I just insulted him. I see it immediately, I know exactly who this guy actually is.

He’s a spoiled douche bag, who Mommy and Daddy let run their lives, and fund his every fucking demand; and I just ruined his day. That’s it.

“Look,” I say, holding up my arms with my palms facing outward. “I said was I sorry, if that isn’t enough for you—”

“You’re right, that isn’t enough for me. I don’t know where you’re from, but let’s get one thing straight,” he snaps, taking a long step forward so his face is inches from mine. “This is my school. I make the rules, I call the shots, I say what’s enough. And your apology doesn’t fucking cut it.”

James takes another intimidating step forward, forcing me to take a step back. There’s a look in his eyes that says he wants to hit me, and I actually think he might. His hands fist at his sides as the vein in his forehead throbs.

The two guys with him are standing on either side, ready to follow their leader into the pit of assholery just to be cool. Looking around the parking lot quickly, I don’t see anyone I can call to for help.

The hesitation I feel about yelling doesn’t come from lack of an audience, it comes from lack of knowledge. Who is this guy? And why would anyone come to help the new girl?

“Get out of my face,” I bark. I’m not easily intimidated, and I’m not going to let some football jock get in my head. If I can’t depend on anyone else, I at least know I can help myself.

“Or what?” he asks, lunging forward and stepping on my toes.

I try to step backwards, but I stumble on my heels as his feet trip me up. Falling back, a strong set of arms grab me around my waist, catching me before I hit the ground.

Helping to steady me, he pushes me behind him and puffs up his chest. But his hand stays on my side, protectively securing me out of reach.

Standing tall, the stranger squares his shoulders. “What the fuck is wrong with you, James? Can’t win against a guy, so you go after a girl instead? Did your dick shrink over the summer or something? “The stranger pauses briefly, then answers his own question. “Wait, you never had a dick, so. . .”

“Fuck you, Ramon. Did your Daddy cash in some change to buy you a backbone and those clothes?”

“No, I fucked your mother, and she gave me your clothes instead.”

The two growl at each other, but the boy who stood up for me jerks his shoulders forward like he’s about to charge, and James takes a long, submissive step back.

The guy on James’s left slaps his shoulder and nods his head for them to go. Three against one seems like the better odds, but all three of them appear to be intimidated by this guy.

“I’ll be seeing you, Max, you can bet on that.” Climbing back into his car, they drive away and park in another spot in the lot.

“You all right?” he asks, turning around to face me. He reaches for my arm, touching me lightly, then quickly pulls it away.

Holy shit, it’s him.

His eyes expand wide as he takes a few steps back. Clearing his throat, his brows crinkle as I watch the recognition fall over his face. He remembers me.

How the hell could he forget you? You pointed him and his brother out to the judge!

Max grunts, disgust smearing his face as he wipes off the hand he had touched me with on his pants. Running his palms back and forth over his jeans, it’s like he’s trying to remove any remnants of me all together. Like I’m a disease and he’s been infected.