Alpha Bully (Wolf Ridge High 1)

Disappointment flickers over her face before she hides it. She rubs her tattoo. There’s a trace of grief in her scent that I don’t quite understand.

“Next week, though, I’m getting you alone,” I promise. “I’m going to punish you for wearing these shorts. You don’t put them on again except on dates with me. Got it?”

She rolls her eyes and gives my arm a shove. “I don’t take orders from you.” It’s a show. She’s excited. My whole body’s attuned to hers now. The disappointment is gone, replaced by the light reverberation of giddiness.

Good.

She wants it as badly as I do.

Now all I have to do is make it through the full moon.

The rest of this shit I can figure out later.

I step out of her car and catch sight of someone else in the parking lot, walking to a familiar red Honda Civic.

Adriana.

And she definitely sees me getting out of Bailey’s car.

Fuck.

Double fuck.

Hopefully she keeps her mouth shut.

Somehow, though, I know she won’t.

Bailey

I stay after school to talk to the counselor about my college essays. When I walk out to my car, I find a plastic grocery bag of papers tucked under the windshield wiper of New Start.

I take the plastic bag out and open it. Inside is the stack of newspaper articles. I look around, even though it’s highly unlikely the person who left these is still here. Was it Brumgard? Or Cole?

I pull my phone out of my backpack and check my texts. My heartbeat speeds up when I see there’s a new message from Cole.

Of course it was him.

Left the newspaper articles on your car.

I look toward the football field. I’ve purposely been parking in front of it—like an idiot—to catch glimpses of him. The team spills out onto the field, taking a few laps around it as warm up. I spot Cole right away. I’m good at picking him out now. The broad shoulders, lean build.

It always feels like he’s staring right at me when I see him from a distance. Even now, I would swear he’s clocking me as he runs. I stand there watching for a moment until he runs by the fence close to me. He doesn’t take the turn, just plows straight into the fence, bending it from the force.

“Jesus, Cole. What the hell are you doing, man?” his buddy Wilde says before he looks up and sees me. “Oh.” It's a low, disapproving syllable. He leaves without another comment.

“You’re lucky there’s a fence between you and me right now,” Cole says, fingers twining in the metal loops. This is his form of flirting in public—throwing out subtle threats that others will take as bullying, but I register as sexual aggression.

“Am I?” The hardest thing for me is not responding. Acting bored, or even feigning discomfort, when really I want to let him pounce on me instead of that fence. Paw me with those large hands. Lick and bite me like a half-feral beast.

I'm disappointed he's going to be busy this coming weekend. Saturday is Catrina's birthday. If I ever truly needed punishment, it would be then.

He points a finger at me now as he slowly retreats and starts jogging backwards. “Better watch yourself, Pink.”

“Oh I’m ready,” I call back and his face splits into that lopsided grin I find so damn attractive.

Warm and giddy, I climb in my car, which I hate myself for loving.

I guess it wasn’t just fear keeping me from driving before. I made some silent vow to Catrina and not driving was the hardship I had to endure to make sure I never hurt someone again. To make sure I remember every day why I don’t drive.

But Cole’s in charge of my penance now. He made me drive. It’s on him. At least there’s no ice here, no snow or slippery roads to cause another accident.

At home I go through the articles. It doesn’t look like Brumgard bothered to read or grade them. Some of them are useable. Some are absolute garbage. I pick up Cole’s and read.

It’s good.

Really good.

It’s an interview with his friend Wilde about what it’s like to be captain of the football team. I expect a bunch of cliché or cocky shit, but instead Cole captures some vulnerability and earnestness. Wilde apparently works on team building on and off the field. He suffers from imposter syndrome; he doesn’t use that term, but that’s essentially the gist of it. He talks about all the shoes he has to fill from past generations, including his own father, who was also a football star at the school. It’s a thoughtful, interesting feature article and I have to believe Cole did a good job on it for me.

I pick up my phone and text him. I’m impressed. Best article in the stack. Thank you.

He texts me back, I can be Straight A’s too.