Playing with Fire

“You patronizing ass!” she spluttered.

“Wrong answer.”

“You’re such a jerk!”

“Bzzz. Wrong again.”

“Screw you!”

I was growing impatient and bored. “Is that an offer, Texas? There was no need to be that aggressive. All you needed to do was ask,” I drawled.

Texas was like the city of Troy. Her walls were high, thick, guarded, and not worth the conquest. Slipping in wasn’t an option, and fighting my way through just to get laid went against my agenda toward women.

“You will never have me, St. Claire.”

“Hold, I’ll try to get over the heartbreak.” I raised a finger and let a beat of silence pass between us. “Done. Now, if I put your ass down, will you eloquently explain why you’re acting like a badger on meth?”

She folded her arms over her chest but nodded. I let her down. Everybody was looking at us from a respectable distance. They knew better than to get close and openly eavesdrop. I refrained from pointing out we were the center of attention. If I hated an audience, Texas goddamn loathed it.

Which was why it seemed downright nuts for her to major in theater and arts.

Either way, I couldn’t run the chance of having her pass out. Something told me I wouldn’t resist the urge to step over her and walk briskly to the gym without looking back.

“Listen.” She let out a breath. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

“But you’re about to …”

She snarled my way. “I swear to God, St. Claire, if you tell someone about last night … about Grandma Savvy …”

“Say no more,” I sliced into her words again. “I won’t.”

She eyed me skeptically. “Promise?”

“I don’t promise shit. Ever. That’s a principle,” I said firmly. “I have no plans to air your dirty laundry. But I’m not going to carve it out in my forehead to pacify your ass.”

“That’s a nice visual.” She nibbled at the side of her lower lip. “You sure you’re not open to that?”

I held back a grin. She was a weirdo. A curiously infuriating one at that. With an ass worthy of a poem by one of the twenty-first century’s finest poets, Lil’ Wayne.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence. The charged kind. I glanced around, ready to be over with the conversation. “You’re still here. Why?”

She took a deep breath, sloping her chin up. The sun was directly on her face, her silhouette burning like wildfire against the sunset, and I had the chance to see as much as I could of her scar. It wasn’t just that her skin was darker around the area—somewhere between purple and pink—but the complexion was different, too. Raw and bumpy. The flesh stretched thinly across her bones, struggling to keep it all together.

She was right. That part of her wasn’t pretty.

“I’m all ears.” I leaned a shoulder against the red-bricked building of the Bush Art and Library Building.

“Stop helpin’ me. I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have my pity,” I clipped.

“There’s no other reason for you to go out of your way to be nice to me.”

“Again, I’m not being nice to you. What makes you think I’d act any different if Tess or Hailey or Lara were in your situation last night?”

I may have made up the last couple names. I didn’t know a Hailey or a Lara, though I was sure there were plenty of girls with those names attending Sher U.

Remembering chicks I rolled between the sheets by name wasn’t my virtue. Face, maybe. Ass, probably.

“You’re awful to everyone.” Her eyes burned intensely. “I want you to be awful to me, too. Otherwise, I don’t feel like your equal.”

It felt like she pinched the back of my throat. Not that I wasn’t awful to people—I know I was—but her constant crave to be normal threw me off guard.

In that moment, I wished I could smack some sense into her. Unfortunately, it was a firm red line I would never let myself cross. Because Grace Shaw sure deserved a few good spankings.

I leaned into her face, plastering my best see-if-I-give-a-shit smirk.

“Get it into your head, Texas: I’m not a good guy. I’m not here to save you. I’m not on some quest to make you get out of your shell and come out of this experience a stronger person or some other Dr. Phil bullshit. Just because I don’t kick you when you’re down doesn’t mean I’m a standup guy, and you’d be wise to remember that. That awful enough for you?”

She stared at me, her face marred with disgust. Nothing I hadn’t seen on my parents’ faces a thousand times before. Just another Friday. Which reminded me—I had a fight today and needed to get my ass in gear. I grabbed her by the arms, picked her up, moved her away from my path like she was a traffic cone, and marched to the gym.