My Sweet Bully

Shit, even the uniform I’m wearing has a disco feel, with its dark blue fabric, purple pin stripes down the seams, and the school mascot, an aardvark, waving a flag with a giant B in the middle.

I hear some hooting and laughing coming from behind me, so I turn to see what’s going on. A small group of guys are on the basketball court, talking and joking around, shoving each other playfully.

From the corner of my eye, one of the guys is bouncing a basketball, taking shots from half court and netting each one. When he turns to run back toward the other basket, I realize it’s Max.

My heart hammers in my chest as I watch him run around the court, his movements smooth and natural. He even has a little smile on his face. I didn’t know he could smile.

A jolt of lightening shoots through my body as his smile creeps a little higher, and I see an actual glimpse of lightheartedness. My eyes are drawn to his lips, to the full, kissable lips that sit beneath such cruel eyes. There’s so much darkness in those eyes for a man so young, I can’t understand it.

The look in his eyes isn’t new, I had seen it that night too. Only years of hurt can make eyes so hard. He blinks, and a flash of happiness of sparks in his eyes. He’s not a monster, I can see that. His gaze has depth, his stare has emotions, but his eyes are shrouded in such darkness, they stop me from breathing.

My stomach clenches as his calf muscles pop when he jumps up, and his biceps thicken as he throws the ball. Jogging to grab the bouncing ball, he glances back over his shoulder, and looks up the hill. Our eyes catch briefly, and I dart mine away to the clouds in the sky.

Shit, he sees me.

Damn this guy makes me nervous, but not in the way he should. Our history, brief as it may be, is tainted. I’m the girl who called him out, who swore an oath to tell the truth and that’s what I did. I told the police everything. Of course Max is going to have a sore spot about it.

“Hey,” a brown haired girl says as she steps up beside me, starting a stretch of her own. “It’s Prairie, right?” Reaching across her chest, she pulls her elbow.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod, as I balance on one foot, and pull my knee into my chest. “You’re in my math class, right?”

“Yup, that’s me, two seats to your left. I’m Amy.” She gives me a smile, and lets her eyes drift off around us. “Where you from?”

“Maryland, but we moved here over the summer. My dad decided it was time for a change.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I give her a halfhearted answer, my gaze roaming back to watch Max on the court.

I can’t take my eyes off him. Watching him is addictive. My eyes are drinking him in. His body looks hard, with muscles bulging beneath his clothes all over, rippling in ways no boy at my old school ever did.

Max Ramon is a man among boys, pure and simple.

A couple more guys join him on the court, and it looks like they’re starting a game. Amy notices me watching him, so she stops stretching, and rests her hands on her hips.

“That’s Max Ramon,” she says, her eyes following mine. Pursing her lips, she steps to my side. “But everyone just calls him Ramon.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. We met briefly over the summer.”

“Oh yeah? And how’d that go?” She’s smirking. Amy already knows the answer before I even say it.

Shrugging a shoulder, I crinkle my brows. “Not well.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs out loud. “Yeah, I figured as much. He’s kind of the bad boy around here. Max isn’t the type of guy you want to bring home to daddy, I can tell you that much.”

“What do you mean? Why not?” I ask.

You know why! Don’t be naive!

“You really need me to spell it out?” I don’t answer, blankly staring at her. “He’s a dick, that’s what I mean. And he’s always been a dick. He sat behind me in Spanish freshman year, and put gum in my hair. . .” Pausing, she adds, “Twice. In first grade he stole my juice box just to jump on it and make it explode. He beat up some kid last year because he bumped into him in the hall. Oh, and another time—”

“Okay, I get it.” Cringing, I look over at her, then back at Max. “He could have a sweet side, couldn’t he? I mean no one is bad all the time.”

Tilting her head, she arches a brow. “You can cover a jalapeño in sugar, but that don’t make it sweet.”