King of Denial : An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 3) Page 2

  “Damn, didn’t even flinch.” I shake my head, leaning over and unzipping my backpack before pulling out my sketchpad.

  Before I can react, Brock has wrenched it from my grasp and is flipping through the pages.

  “What the fuck? Give that back.” I lean over, trying to take it from him but he holds it out of my reach. Some pages fall out, and I shut my eyes tight as he sees what I’ve drawn spread across the ground in front of us.

  “Not having fun, hmm?” His catlike smile grows as he picks up one of the pages, looking down at the sketch I did from memory. The plump bottom lip, sassy bob, and expressive, wide eyes staring back at us. “You have a thing for Beatrice Northcutt?”

  “No.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “I don’t. She has good facial features to draw.”

  Brock opens my sketchpad back up, sifting through the pages again. “That’s funny because I don’t see anyone else that you’ve drawn in here. Are you telling me no one else here has good facial features? Have you looked at my face lately?” He points to his head, and I narrow my eyes.

  “We have the same face, dipshit.”

  “Don’t change the conversation.”

  “You are the one who said it, not me.”

  “Back to Betty—”

  “She goes by Trixie.”

  “Oh, she does? How do you know that?”

  “You know that. We’ve known her forever.”

  “And I remember we called her Betty.”

  “Yeah, to get on her nerves when we were younger. We aren’t kids anymore.”

  Brock looks up at me in the only way he can, almost reading my mind. I wouldn’t say I believe in twin telepathy, but maybe it’s real. We seem to be connected on a different level than most people.

  “Don’t kid yourself, bro. Go after what you want. We have the entire world at our fingertips.” At that, Brock stands up, throwing his arms out wide as he spins in a slow circle.

  Brock and I stayed in the clearing for the rest of the morning, and I came back for afternoon classes since I didn’t have anything else to do. But now, back at school, I stride through the halls, wandering aimlessly, thinking over Brock’s words.

  Is he right? Should I go after what I want? How can I know what I want at my age?

  Music has me pausing by a door. Glancing into the small glass square, I see it’s a studio of some sort with a lone figure standing in the middle of it. Even seeing the back of her, I recognize that short blonde hairstyle and her graceful body.

  I watch her when she’s not looking. I know that sounds creepy to say, but it’s true. She has a magnetism that draws me to her, but it seems to be one-sided, as she tends to never make eye contact with me, except when we are in class and she has to.

  She’s the only reason I’m out of bed and on time for our first class in the morning. Getting to see her face when I turn around to ask her questions that I already know the answers to, making the pink rise in her cheeks, is fucking beautiful. Lord knows I want her, but I also know that would be a mistake.

  Who wants to get tied down at my age? Who doesn’t want to sow their wild oats and experience everything life has to offer?

  Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but there’s a war inside me, going on between my brain and my heart, and I don’t know who is winning.

  I watch her rise up onto her toes in those little flat-toed shoes ballerinas wear. It looks painful, and I grimace as she does it. Her arms lengthen away from her body, fluid, even stretching out her fingers, and I can’t help but trace the contours of her body. She’s not wearing much, a tight bodysuit-type thing, leggings, and stuff around her ankles. I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s hot as fuck.

  She does a turn, spinning her head around quickly, and finds herself in the mirror again. Then, she does it four more times. I don’t know how she doesn’t fall over, but she remains upright and on her toes. It’s amazing.

  She stops suddenly, her eyes finding mine in the mirror, and I freeze at the same time she does. Her chest is heaving, and her arms drop to her sides as my hands find the straps of my book bag, holding on tight.

  My heart is screaming at me to open the door, go in, and talk to her, but something holds me back. I can’t do it. I’m not there yet. I can’t face rejection; no need to invite that into my life right now. You can’t fail if you don’t try, right?

  She turns slightly, stepping in my direction, and I lose sight of her eyes. The spell is broken, and I turn myself, taking off down the hallway before she can reach me and pull me in.

  3

  Trixie

  Freshman Year—October

  “What are you doing after school?”

  I glance up at the question, my eyes meeting Bodhi’s blue-gray ones piercing into me. It seems that’s how he looks at me whether he’s talking or not. Sometimes, I see him watching me, so I try to keep tabs on him and see if I’m an anomaly or if he observes everyone like this. The jury is still out on my conclusion.

  “Me?”

  “No, Julie-May behind you,” he says, rolling his eyes but keeping his smirk.

  “Her name is Felicity.”

  “I know. Jeez, Northcutt, play along.”

  “I don’t think Julie-May is an actual name that someone goes by.”

  “Wanna bet?” He leans a little closer, hand stuck between us. “What are the stakes?”

  “I’m not betting you on if someone is named Julie-May or not.”

  “Fine, but it could have been fun.”

  He suggestively raises his eyebrows, and my face flames.

  “No, thanks,” I scoff without thinking, and his brow furrows.

  “Oh my God, no. I didn’t mean …” He trails off, and for the first time, I think I’m seeing Bodhi Montgomery uncomfortable. “I was only saying we could have made the stakes embarrassing, like streaking through the courtyard or something.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, trying to save face and appear unoffended even though I caused this whole tense situation in the first place. “Are you trying to get me naked?”

  No. No … abort mission.

  “Why, Trixie Northcutt, are you offering?” His smirk is back, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  This Bodhi I know. This Bodhi I like.

  “No.”

  “Damn. Don’t get my hopes up like that,” he says, leaning back a little and shaking his head.

  “Oh, shut up,” I say, a laugh sneaking through. “But to answer your first question, I don’t have plans after school. Why?”

  “I want to be wild,” he says with a wink.

  He turns before I can ask what being wild entails, leaving me hanging as Mrs. Pitts starts to talk at the front of the room. My head spins, as I’m unsure of where this is going. Bodhi is being friendly. He’s friendly to everyone. The jokester. Class clown. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’m sure he asked his regular crowd, and everyone is busy. I’m a last-ditch effort. Right?

  When Mrs. Pitts turns to walk behind her desk, Bodhi throws a piece of paper behind him, and I watch it hit the top of my desk and skitter to the floor. His aim leaves a lot to be desired.

  I lean over and grab it, unfolding it as quietly as I can. I press my lips together, so I don’t smile. I glance up, relieved to see the back of his head, his eyes not on me. Another drawing, a rough sketch—this one of him and me streaking across the courtyard. Objects are strategically placed across our privates, and we are both wearing huge grins. He drew an obscene amount of abs on his torso.

  The caption underneath says, Friends don’t let friends streak alone. Meet me outside the main building at 3:01. Don’t be late.

  I snort softly—or maybe not so softly as I glance around to see other classmates looking at me.

  “Something you’d like to share with the class, Miss Northcutt?” Mrs. Pitts asks, and my head shoots up, eyes wide.

  “It was me, Mrs. Pitts. Had a funny thought. My head is a weird place,” Bodhi says, pointing at his f
orehead and smiling.

  Her eyes snap to his and soften considerably. “It’s okay, Bodhi. Try to be quiet for the remainder of class,” she says, looking at him for a beat longer before returning to our lesson.

  That little shit. Getting better treatment because … well, who knows why? Because he flirts and uses his charm? Ugh.

  I glance back down at the page, unable to keep the smile off my face this time.

  I’m standing outside the front door, frowning and checking my phone obsessively every few minutes—3:02 … 3:04 … 3:07.

  I give myself to 3:10 before I call it quits and wave the white flag. Bodhi Montgomery is going to get an earful from me in the morning if he doesn’t show.

  The door opens behind me, and I whirl, my school-issued uniform skirt flaring out and then brushing against my legs again. Bodhi casually strolls from between the doors and greets me with a quick jerk of his chin.

  “You’re late,” I say, deflecting my embarrassment at my desperate thoughts.

  “Au contraire,” he says in a breathy, high-pitched voice. “I only said you couldn’t be late.” He winks, and I glare.

  It’s like he knew I would follow the orders. But that’s nothing to be ashamed about.

  “But don’t worry. I was making plans, and they took longer than I’d thought.”

  “Plans?”

  Part of me is relieved that he wasn’t late on purpose.

  “It’s a secret, but we’ve got a full day of it, so get excited.” Bodhi grabs my hand and all but pulls me down the front steps.

  It’s Bodhi’s world right now, and I’m living in it.

  He keeps ahold of my hand as we make our way down the sidewalk. I see a few kids look our way and then stare. It’s weird, I know. I don’t know Bodhi that well. I know things about him, like he knows things about me, but I don’t know him. Maybe the idea I’ve created of him in my mind isn’t correct at all.

  “Were your other friends busy?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “I was wondering.”

  Bodhi comes to a halt and spins, facing me. He lightly grabs my upper arms and bends to look me in the face. “Why are you wondering about my friends?” The space right above his nose is creased as he stares at me.

  “I’m not wondering about your friends. I was curious why you wanted me to join your adventure today.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs a little, dropping his hands, and I feel their absence like a bolt of lightning. Searing down my arm and leaving my skin crying for more contact. He turns and grabs my hand again, making my skin happy and my mind confused. I don’t know how we’ve gone from barely interacting to spending the day together or why I’d miss his touch.

  He stops in front of a sleek, shiny royal-blue car. The metal winks in the sunlight.

  I glance up at him. “Is this your car?”

  “This is Indigo, my baby.” He reverently runs one hand down the side.

  “You are old enough to drive?” I’m confused.

  “Of course not,” he says with a laugh.

  “I’m not getting in that with you,” I say, crossing my arms and shaking my head. “I value my life.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m a great driver. And I’ll be sixteen in a few months.”

  “How many is a few months?”

  He scrunches up his face. “Like, fourteen?”

  “Next year. You’ll be sixteen next year.”

  “Correct. Now, get in.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” I plant my feet and shake my head.

  As much as I want to spend the day with him, my anxiety will not let me get in a vehicle driven by a fourteen-year-old. I don’t care if he has been driving since he was eleven. I probably shouldn’t even get in a car with a sixteen-year-old.

  “Fine. Hold on,” he says, raising one finger and typing something in his phone with his other hand.

  A car pulls up next to us within five minutes, and the window is rolled down.

  “Christina,” Bodhi says, a grin covering his face as he walks toward her car. “Care to give us a lift?”

  Christina, a senior at Almadale, leans over, glancing at me and frowning before giving her attention back to Bodhi. “Sure,” she says with a smile only for him.

  Damn it. The competition is fierce. It probably has something to do with his last name but also maybe a little to do with his face. His aura. The confidence he exudes draws girls to him like flies to garbage.

  “Get in the back, S,” Christina says to the girl riding in the passenger seat, who scrambles for the door handle. It’s weird, the way some people will fall all over themselves for other people.

  “No backbone,” is what my dad always says.

  “I raised you with backbone.” His voice echoes in my mind.

  “No need, S,” Bodhi says, his hands on top of the car as he leans down to look in the window. “Trix and I will be fine in the back.” He moves to the back door, opens it, and then turns to me. “Your carriage, milady.”

  My eyes shift from Bodhi to Christina and then back again. Well, at least she has a license. I climb in the back, sitting stiffly on my side once I scoot over, letting Bodhi in.

  “Where are you two going?” Christina asks, turning her head and only looking at Bodhi.

  I should feel slighted, but I don’t. I’m trying hard not to have any sort of feelings about this entire day.

  “It’s a surprise. You can drop us off on the main strip in town,” he says, his legs spread in that casual way that guys have, his knee knocking against mine in the back of Christina’s luxury sedan.

  I subtly shift my leg over, but his knee continues to touch mine, so I stop, content to let it happen.

  The ride is quiet. I can feel Bodhi’s eyes on me at different times, but whenever I look over at him, he’s never looking directly at me. Either he’s good at averting his gaze or I’m making things up in my head. Probably the latter.

  As soon as Christina stops on the main street of town. Bodhi has the door open and is pulling me out as we mutter quick good-byes. He’s shutting it behind us before Christina can even respond.

  “Whoa, where’s the fire?” I ask, breathless as I come to a halt and notice Bodhi isn’t looking at me. I follow his gaze, and my heart stops as I read the sign above the door. “Bodhi, no.”

  “Yes,” he says, turning to me with a grin.

  “You can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You are only fourteen.”

  “I’m almost fifteen.”

  “There’s no way they will let you—”

  “Oh, come on,” he says, grabbing my hand again and pulling me through the door underneath the sign that says, A Tattoo.

  The bell chimes above the doorway, and a girl behind the counter eyes us. I can tell that she instantly sizes me up before focusing on Bodhi. It’s insane, the pull that he has. But I guess I should know; I’m here with him.

  “What can I do for you?” she asks Bodhi, dismissing me.

  She’s chewing on a wad of gum, her short purple hair pushed behind one ear. She has to be at least eighteen, if not older. It’s a little weird how she zones in on him, but I guess Bodhi does look old for his age, and he’s wildly attractive.

  I let out a sigh, and he glances over at me for a moment.

  “Hi there … Amber,” Bodhi says, leaning to see her name tag.

  She flashes him a smile. I want to claw her eyes out.

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  “I want a piercing,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and sliding a couple of one-hundred-dollar bills across the counter.

  I now see what his plan is. Way overpay and hope they overlook the whole underage by four years thing.

  Amber’s index finger lands on the money, and she pulls it toward her while leaning forward, giving both of us a good view down the front of her shirt.

  “Sure thing,” she says, opening the register and depositing the mon
ey before hopping down from her stool and heading toward the back. “Name?”

  “Bodhi.” He turns to me. “Easy-peasy,” Bodhi says, with a wink.

  “A piercing? What are you getting pierced?”

  “What do you think I’m getting pierced?” His eyes hold me in place. I let my focus roam his face, and then I look at his ears and his lips before dropping lower. A little too low, as I am pulled back in the moment by his laughter.

  “I like what you are thinking, but that’s a no-go,” he says, shaking his head.

  I realize I was looking at his crotch. I reach up and press my hands to my cheeks.

  What is wrong with me?

  “I wasn’t,” I say, shaking my head in return.

  “I’m getting a hoop, right here,” he says, pointing to one side of his nose.

  I nod, unable to say anything. I don’t have much experience with boys—none actually. I don’t have time for them, and I’m only fourteen. There’s a whole lot of future for me to experience before I tie myself down. I’m one of the younger freshmen, and I won’t turn fifteen until March.

  “When is your birthday?” I ask, leaning one shoulder against the counter.

  “December 12. Yours?”

  “March 25.”

  “You’re a baby,” he says, smiling wide.

  I can see all of his straight white teeth, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have my tongue in his mouth. French kissing. I’ve seen it in movies but never found someone I wanted to try it with. It always looked a little … well, wet.

  “Bodhi?” Amber is back, standing in front of us, and she jerks her head behind her. “Gerry is ready for you.”

  We follow her, my eyes wide as I take in the inside of the tattoo shop. All different types of art line the walls, a few different tattooing stations are around the perimeter, and one lone guy is at the back. This must be Gerry.

  “Sit,” he barks, fiddling with some wrapped stuff on his table. He glances up at us, first me and then Bodhi, who is sinking into the chair kitty-corner to him. His eyes narrow, and he looks back at Amber. “Seriously?”