“What is wrong with you, dude? You fucking heard me. Get in. We need to roll. No bitch’s cunt is that special.” He snickers. “Especially one who doesn’t give it up.”
“Just, fuck… go.” My face heats with anger as I spit. It sucks being a fucking redhead.
Chuckie stares at me and shakes his head as he blows smoke in my face. “Suit yourself. Your dad ain’t gonna be happy.” He and Axel fist bump.
“Jesus, Edge, grow some balls and fuck some real pussy. You know what… get in and I’ll have Crystal take care of you.” He waits, the truck idling as all of my friends stare at me. I know they feel sorry for me or think I’m weak, but fuck them. They don’t understand.
Turning, I spit again and look at them. “Nah, I’m fine.”
Disgust crosses Chuckie’s face, making me question if something is wrong with me. He shakes his head as he starts to back out and then guns it through the crowded parking lot, causing kids to move and parents to honk.
Shit. He’s right. Everyone’s right I guess. I rub my hands across my face as the anger builds. My dad is going to freak. He’ll call me gay and whatever else he can throw at me. God, if Dolly would just give it up. But besides kissing and feeling her up, we never get very far.
It was a hell of a lot easier when her dad was living with one of his girlfriends. Now he’s back at Dolly’s house, which sucks. Between school and him, we can’t ever get anything started.
Shark didn’t become the VP by being stupid.
I need a cigarette. I should have bummed one off the guys. Instead I bite my nails as I wait for her.
Finally, the doors to the gym swing open and my heart starts to thud. I drop my hand and rub it on my jeans as I watch her. She’s with a group, and it’s not only her stupid cheerleading girlfriends. No, she’s walking and smiling at the fucking pathetic excuse of a quarterback from our high school. Her beautiful face beams with happiness as she laughs at something one of them says to her. As they get closer, I straighten up and Dolly looks over. She smiles and waves.
This fucking dick of a quarterback acts like his shit doesn’t stink. He’s one of those guys who makes everyone believe he’s genuine then stabs you in the back. I hate him. My fingers curl into a fist. If he lays one hand on her…
“Hey you.” Dolly stops, a small smile on her pretty, red glossed-up lips as she looks up at me.
“Took you long enough,” I snarl, causing her porcelain skin to pinken immediately.
She bites her full bottom lip and glances around at her pathetic friends. “What’s the matter?” She cocks her head, swinging her backpack on her shoulder. “I told you I would be a little late.” Her hand touches my chest and I grab her wrist to stop her.
“We need to go.”
“O-kay… Um, see you guys tomorrow.” She tosses her long dark hair over her tiny shoulder.
“Dolly, you okay?” the stupid quarterback just has to ask. Like he gives two shits.
I pull Dolly behind me as I step forward. I’m tall but this creep is too. Although he’s rich enough to go to private school, he goes to ours because the football coach and the team always win championships, so scouts visit often.
Basically, he’s slumming and I’m about to lay him out.
“Edge.” Dolly’s hand snakes down my bicep and into mine as she smiles and says, “Troy you know my boyfriend Edge, right?”
He looks at me and a sneer forms on his pretty boy face. Everything about this dick is different from me. Starting with the fact that he gets to spend 90 percent of his day with my girl because Dolly is in the magnet program for the gifted and neighborhood kids. Meanwhile, I’m with all the losers. Not that I’m complaining. Give me the thugs any day over these pathetic wastes of life.
“And you know Gabrielle and Courtney.” She raises our hands to the tall brunette and short, voluptuous blond cheerleaders who look at me. The blonde’s eyes travel all the way down my body stopping at my biker boots.
“Um, yeah… Hi.” She giggles.
I look at Dolly whose chin is held high. Her long, thick, dark hair blows in the wind as she grips my hand tighter.
“So, you’re fine… with him?” Troy looks at me as if I’m exactly what I am: a Disciple. And if he doesn’t watch himself, he might not look so pretty come Monday.
“Of course.” She nods and tries to smile, her cheeks flushed with humiliation, which almost makes me want to shake her. Why does she want this or care?
She has me, the club. Why is she constantly trying to get in with the in-crowd when she will always be nothing but biker trash?