A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

When I go to draw a breath, I taste salt on my lips.

I taste water. My tears. I taste my broken heart.

It doesn’t taste broken though, not really. A broken heart tastes sour and bitter. This tastes sweet, like sugar.

Like cupcakes.

Like him.

And I would’ve analyzed it more, what this means, how my broken heart can change in taste, but the guy who’s responsible for all of this isn’t done yet.

He has more declarations to make. He has more ways to make me ache for him.

“And she’s not quitting school. Not on my watch.”

It’s Monday and I’m at St. Mary’s.

It’s not that Monday though.

The Monday that I thought I was going to talk to the principal and quit school. That Monday was going to be my last day at school, but it somehow became a normal Monday.

A Monday like any other.

Meaning, I didn’t talk to the principal and I didn’t quit school.

It’s a week after that Monday and I’m still here.

I’m still going to St. Mary’s. I’m still with my friends. Whom, to be very honest, I was going to miss the most. If I had quit.

It’s the end of the day and all my girls are standing out in the courtyard at a special spot. The reason that we, or rather they have chosen this spot is because they want to look at the black metal gates that mark the entrance to the grounds.

Because they’re all watching something through those bars.

Or someone.

“All right, so don’t kill me,” Salem begins, her eyes focused on that someone, “but your guy is really hot. Like really, really.”

“He’s not my guy. Also can I tell Arrow that you said that though?” I tease her.

Blushing, she elbows my arm. “Ha. Ha. Funny.”

I chuckle.

So remember the scandal from a couple of weeks back that I said was the biggest scandal at St. Mary’s? And how we were all hoping that Arrow would come around and declare his love for Salem?

He did.

Just a few days ago actually — I’m glad I was here when she told the story — and according to Salem, it was pretty epic. And it was.

The guy wrote her a poem.

I mean, of course it was epic, and now she’s always blushing and smiling.

Like she’s doing right now.

“Stop, he’s not hot,” Poe goes, swatting Salem’s arm, her eyes fixed on that someone too.

“Are you kidding me?” Salem swats her arm back. “He totally is. Look at how that suit jacket fits him. It’s like he’s going to burst out of it at any moment. And if you focus really hard, you could actually see his abs through that shirt.”

“That’s why hot is a very tame word for him. Duh. Callie’s guy is like…” She clicks her fingers as it occurs to her. “He’s a DILF. He’s a total DILF.”

Smiling, Wyn nods. Her eyes are somehow away from her sketchbook for once. “That’s our Poe. Always so classy.”

“What, he’s going to have a baby, isn’t he? He’s Callie’s baby daddy. Of course he’s a DILF.”

“But do you really have to say that?” Wyn asks. “Do you really have to use that word?”

“Um, yes. I’m honoring him. I’m paying a compliment.” She turns to me then. “Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother?”

I shake my head at them. “Again, he’s not my guy. He’s not my anything.”

“Oh right, of course. You just happen to be having a baby together.” Poe rolls her eyes at me. “And he just happens to be waiting for you at the end of the day.”

Now it’s my turn to swat her arm. “And second, stop drooling over him.”

Salem chuckles. “Not your guy. Suuuure.”

Salem and Poe high five and Wyn laughs.

Even though I purse my lips at them, I don’t blame them for admiring him.

He does look gorgeous. And you can see his abs through his shirt.

But the thing that gets me the most is his hair.

It’s really grown out in the past couple of months. So instead of looking all civilized and tamed in the gray suit with white dress shirt, those long, unruly strands make him look the opposite.

They fall over his forehead and get tangled up in his starched collar and make him look like the reckless, wild beast that everyone used to call him at Bardstown High.

The Wild Mustang.

The one with wolf eyes and vampire skin.

The boy that every mom wants her daughter to stay away from. The boy that every dad wants to run off his porch when he comes calling for his baby girl.

Even though he’s not playing anymore, he still embodies that nickname, and the reason he’s here, standing outside of the black gates, leaning against his white Mustang, is because he’s come for me.

He’s come to pick me up after school. He’s been coming to pick me up from school for the whole past week actually.