Very Wicked Things (Briarwood Academy 2)

Soaking wet from the rain, she stood there proudly, wearing a faded blue mini skirt with bright pink polka dotted patterned tights underneath. It clashed, but damn, her legs looked good. Her drenched top fit snug across her breasts, a sleeveless tee shirt with a faded skull on the front. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and a fringe of dark bangs rested on her forehead. She’d gotten some blue highlights, and I used my peripheral vision to check them out.

Not to my taste at all. I liked her hair just brown.

Tall black boots encased her legs. Not leather, but some kind of cheap, shiny material, probably pleather or vinyl. Her heels were about three inches high, which baffled me. When you’re five-seven, you didn’t need the extra pumping up, but she did it anyway, making her tower over all the other girls and most guys. And didn’t those shoes kill her ballerina feet?

I didn’t get why she wore them.

But maybe I did.

By magazine standards, she would never be called beautiful, yet there was something edgy about her that sucked me in. Perhaps her angular and lean body, with arms cut just enough to get your attention, yet soft enough to be feminine. Perhaps her mouth. Always painted red and pouty, it had a full upper lip and an extra full lower one, and the way it curved when she smiled made you feel like it was only for you. Her mouth never curved for me.

What? Get a grip, I told myself. I sounded ridiculous.

Back in August, when I’d first realized we were locker neighbors, I should’ve gone straight to the front office and demanded a new locker. They would have given me one if I’d pushed. My name carried weight around here, especially since my mother had been on the school board for years. Yeah. Maybe I’d go today and claim irreconcilable differences. Ha. I don’t know why I hadn’t already. I had to get away from her. Having her so close to me every day was a disaster waiting to happen.

Dropping my book, I expelled an exasperated breath and bent over to pick it up.

And because I’d already deemed the day as off, my eyes betrayed me, getting tangled up on the way her boots wrapped snuggly around her calves. I mean, her body was hot, a true work of art.

And, I’d blame the boots later for what happened next.

You see, something fractured in my head, making me almost, I don’t know, deranged as I took her in. Three hundred and something days ago, I’d had my hands all over that perfect ass of hers. I’d been hard for her constantly.

And yet, the night I’d taken her virginity had been our last night together.

Because I’d kicked her to the curb. Hard.

And, I’d made a promise to myself a year ago when we broke up that she was off limits, and that I’d do whatever it took to stay away from her. Sometimes that meant kissing girls right in front of her, and it sure as hell meant not letting our eyes meet.

Plainly stated, I just wanted to forget about her and move the fuck on.

Yeah, then why did I now find myself still kneeling on the ground, my eyes eating her up, devouring what I’d denied them for an entire year? I had to shake my head at my stupidity, recalling another time I’d been on my knees for her, when I’d begged her to go out with me.

And now, like it was in slow motion and acted of its own accord, my wayward hand reached out and stroked her leg above her boot. Her skin was cool and wet from the rain, but that didn’t stop me.

And because she froze, I lingered, drifting up to her upper thigh to just under the hemline of her skirt. My hand slowly inched its way closer to her underwear. Maybe, just maybe, I could pull her to me and put my mouth—she flinched away from me. Chest heaving, my hand dropped. I paused, trying to get myself under control with all the blood rushing to my crotch.

Already on the road to hell, I rose up off the ground and let my gaze keep on its path of perfect destruction, blinking at the sliver of bare midriff where a dandelion charm dangled from her belly button piercing. I’d had my tongue there, I thought. Lighting fingers flashed and jerked down her shirt, hiding my view. Not caring, my eyes continued their journey, past her swiftly rising chest, over her plump lips and straight into glittering eyes. Eyes the color of an angry sea, her gaze trapped mine, reminding me what a bastard I was.

I’d come this far, so I didn’t stop, watching her jawline tighten and her nose flare. Disgust radiated off her face. She’d never forgive me for my sins. Not a girl like her. She had hope for the future; she believed in shit like following your dreams and finding love.

She was the complete opposite of me.

I grew roots in that spot by the lockers, and as people passed, I barely noticed, caught up in the images that flickered through my head like a movie, pictures of us intertwined and naked in my Porsche, pictures of me breaking her heart in the quad.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally chunked those images in the trash.

Must ignore her and the sweat that had popped out on my face.

That period of my life was over.

Yet, I’m sorry teetered on the edge of my lips, but never spilled out.

Because if I told her I was sorry, I was inviting her back in.

I stood there, feeling straight-up stupid, and waited for her to lose her temper and go off on me for touching her. I shouldn’t have done it.

Did her heart thud as hard as mine?

Did she ever think about me and wonder what could have been?

A bell rang, shattering the illusion that we were alone. With a Herculean effort, I broke the connection between our gazes, picked my runaway book off the floor, and turned back to stare into my locker.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my heart was pounding.