One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

Both Mr. and Mrs. Payne seem subdued, a contrast to their normally boisterous demeanors, and telling from the look on my dad’s face, he isn’t impressed with the new seating arrangement.

Throughout the meal, I chat with Peyton about schedules and what we need to study tomorrow. I avoid conversation with Dalton, and it seems he’s avoiding interacting with everyone. I’m succeeding at pretending he isn’t even in the room until I hear his fork clank on his plate for the millionth time.

“Crap,” he mutters when his utensil strikes the china once again.

When I chance a glance in his direction, I notice him struggling to cut the pork chop on his plate. He does it for another minute longer before I swear if I hear his fork fall one more time, I’m going to pick it up and stab him with it.

“Here,” I snap, yanking the fork from his good hand and reaching for his knife, “let me help you.”

My words come out on a hiss between clenched teeth, and when I lean over to begin cutting, the back of my arm brushes his chest. We both tense, but at least he doesn’t spew some hateful stuff in front of my parents.

“Thank you,” he whispers when I finish, placing his knife to the side. I leave his fork on his plate, knowing dang well I don’t want to chance touching him again to hand it over. “I can’t wait to get this cast off. I feel useless with it on.”

I straighten in my chair, pushing my glasses up my nose and manage a side glance to see if his face betrays his statement. He’s not sneering at me or giving me a heated glare that says he remembers what happened and is only lying in wait to explode my life. He would be the type of guy to pull some stuff like that.

“You’re welcome,” I respond when I don’t see any of the past hatred in his eyes.

After the weirdest dinner on the face of the earth, I offer to do the dishes while everyone else retreats to the living room. I’m avoiding everyone, and I have been since I was released from the hospital. I’ve only spoken with Frankie a handful of times because I can’t get Dalton’s words out of my head. Deep down, I don’t believe Frankie had anything to do with Vaughn’s little prank, but I can’t talk to her without wanting to tell her the truth about what happened that night.

Not one single person saw me climb behind the wheel of his car, so that means everyone in town is under the impression that Dalton was driving. My lie of omission has spiraled out of control, and I haven’t been able to think of a way to confess and survive the fallout.

Once the dishes are done, I take the back exit out of the kitchen, so I don’t have to face the people in the den, but once again, my plans are foiled. Dalton is leaning against the wall in the hallway, and at first, I wonder if he’s trying to avoid everyone as well.

“Hey,” I say as I try to walk past him.

“Piper,” he whispers, and the single word from his mouth makes my legs turn to stone.

I haven’t heard him use my real name in years. I’ve been Mary to him and every other person in my school for as long as I can remember.

Before I can convince my legs to start working again, Dalton is standing in front of me. When I take a step back to avoid contact, I hit the wall, and he just keeps coming. Two steps are all it takes before his body is pressed against mine. I turn my head to the side, tears already burning my eyes. I thought I had a little longer before we were going to hash out what happened that night.

Air rushes past his nose as he inhales. His breath is warm on my shoulder when he releases the breath. His casted arm hangs at his side, but his elbow is bent enough that I feel his fingertip brush my hip.

“Fuck,” he mumbles when he breathes me in for a second time. “Please tell me you’re mine.”

My entire body is shaking. This has to be another one of his sick games. This is Dalton Payne, and there are no boundaries for his cruelty.

The heat of his body and the gravel in his voice are unfamiliar. My pulse skyrockets with his proximity, but I can’t find the words I need to speak right now. Terrified like a mistreated dog, I just stand there and shake, praying with each second that passes that I’ll eventually make it to my room unscathed.

He presses against me harder, the erection straining in his jeans an unspoken threat against my stomach.