By the time I wrap around, I’m winded and have to push myself to finish strong. It’s been months since I laced up my running shoes. My chest is tight, and the muscles in my legs burn with fatigue. The endorphin high has hit me hard and I’m zoned out as the music blasts in my ears. From the corner of my eye, I notice a car pull alongside me. I glance at the driver and nearly stumble when my gaze locks on Kingsley. He’s wearing the aviators I recognize from the beach along with a scowl.
As much as I want to turn away and ignore him, I’m powerless to do so. Even though I can’t see his eyes, their intensity burns a hole in me.
After a handful of seconds, I realize there are three other guys crowded into the convertible with him. The blond sitting behind the driver seat makes lewd gestures with his hands as he leers. It makes me wish I’d worn looser fitting clothing. I gnash my teeth together and curl my upper lip at him. Not put off by my reaction, he grins.
The tires spin as Kingsley floors the gas and takes off. Gravel spits up from the road, spraying my legs.
“Fucker,” I mutter, keeping my gaze pinned to the red Mustang as it zips through the neighborhood.
Oh no.
Red Mustang.
No.
No.
No.
A burst of adrenaline shoots through me as I pick up speed, pushing my legs so I can keep an eye on the sports car as it screeches around a curve before whipping past my driveway.
Keep going.
Just keep going.
I hold my breath, hoping it’ll zoom past the neighboring property, but deep down, I know that won’t happen. My feet slow as I watch him zip into the driveway next to ours. I’m slammed with the realization that it was Kingsley and his friends I’ve heard partying it up.
Goddamn it!
Kingsley is my neighbor.
Ironic how I spent most of the summer wishing I could see him again. Just one more time. And now…
Now I wish I’d never met the guy.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday rolls around much too quickly. I wake with a pit the size of Texas sitting in my gut and nothing I do banishes it. My new plan of action—or inaction—is to keep my head down, my mouth shut, and hope that people forget about my existence. When I make it through the first two hours relatively unscathed, the thick knot of tension gradually loosens.
The bell rings, signaling the end of second hour and the beginning of a five-minute passing period. Mr. Demsky dismisses the class with a reminder that there will be a calculus quiz on Wednesday. A wave of groans ripple through the room as I gather up my books before hustling through the crowded hallway to third hour.
An unexpected shove from behind sends me careening forward. My arms pinwheel to break my fall as I slam into the marble tile with a grunt of pain. Students stare but keep walking. No one offers to help me or pick up my books, which are scattered throughout the hall. I’ve seen enough movies to realize this is usually when the attacker gets in a few vicious kicks to the ribs.
Even though sharp shafts of pain shoot through the palms of my hands and knees, I quickly flip over onto my backside, hoping I didn’t flash everyone my panties.
The humiliation around here is never ending.
A pair of navy-colored lace up heels come into view. My gaze moves up the matching knee-high socks, over a blue, green, and gold plaid skirt, white button-down shirt, only to find Sloane scowling at me.
Her upper lip is curled in a snarl like I’m the one who shoved her. “Stay the fuck out of my way or you’ll end up on your ass every time.”
“I wasn’t in your way,” I mutter.
When she shifts from one hip to the other, I tense and wait for her to kick me with her pointy toed shoe. For reasons I don’t understand, this girl has been nothing but hateful since the first time she laid eyes on me at Rothchild’s.
When a pair of beat up brown loafers step beside her, I stifle a groan. A one-on-one fight I can handle. Unfortunately, my odds of coming out of this intact dwindle significantly if more people join in the fray. My gaze shifts, locking on Kingsley.
Of course he’s here to partake in any kind of embarrassment or hazing that involves the Hawthornes. Humiliation burns my cheeks as he glares down at me.
Why can’t they leave me alone?
Sloane’s pink slicked lips lift into a smug smile as she loops her arm through Kingsley’s before pressing her breasts against him.
Not only do I hate this girl for being a major bitch, but it’s become painfully obvious that she and Kingsley are an item. I’ve seen them walking together in the halls and talking in the cafeteria at least half a dozen times. Even though his recent behavior should have killed everything that was kindled on the boat, it hasn’t.