on that I needed armor against my parents’ reputation.
The only way I could protect myself from the fire was by creating a bigger blaze. If they thought I was untouchable, they’d fear me instead of taunt me. If they thought the hard-nosed principal had my back—or had me on my back, for that matter—I would not be messed with. So I nurtured the rumors, made them grow, gave them wings, and let them fly, like butterflies from a Mason jar.
I’m smart, cunning, and understated. I don’t actually tell anyone we’re dating. I just keep going to Principal Prichard’s office, and he always opens the door because whatever we are—he likes it.
He likes it a whole freaking lot.
Halfway through my journey down the hallway, I decide to cut myself some slack and ditch my last two periods. They’re electives, anyway. Fifteen minutes later, I park my cherry-red convertible BMW by the patio fountain in front of my house and head straight upstairs to the shower. I need to wash my hair and look presentable for dinner, during which I will feign shock when my parents tell me that Penn will be staying with us. If Mom can even convince him to live under the same roof as me. Then I’ll corner the bastard and lay down the rules. Guilty or not, I run this show. Mom’s Rover is nowhere in sight, which means the house is empty. Tiptoeing in, I confirm the coast is clear, then head to the bathroom. I dump my white mini skirt on the floor and let my baby blue cropped shirt follow suit. My phone lights up on the marble counter.
Blythe: Ditching school on the first day? #savage
Gus: Nice of you to stand up for the Scully kid. Wanna slum it up with a hood rat? How about try one who’s not TAKEN.
Esme: Dude, your thighs look hella thick in that skirt. I know you’re a base, but there’s a limit. Abort mission or abort tacos. Your pick. :/
The hot water soothes the past twenty-four hours as it hits my body from four different showerheads. I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and moan. I can handle Penn. I’m the goddamn queen of All Saints High, and he’s just another random from Las Juntas. Whatever happened between us is water under the bridge.
The kind I can’t let drown me.
I step out of the shower to stand on the bathroom rug. I left my pink towel on the floor by the counter next to the door yesterday. I tramp toward it, dripping water, as the door swings open.
“Bailey!” I gasp, but instead of meeting my baby sister’s big blue eyes and tiny frame, Penn is standing in front of me, up close. His body fills the doorframe effortlessly, and he looks like a venomous kiss. Dark and sinful and irresistible. His jeans ride low on his hips, and a wallet chain hangs from his right pocket. His sleeveless black tank top has a hole where his heart is because, of course, he’s an edgy asshole like Vaughn, and his arms are big, tan, and full of veins and muscle. His cuts are purple against his moss-hued eyes. And those greens are descending my body like a whip, potentially deadly, but for now, tender. I resist the urge to flinch, knowing the painful stroke is about to hit me. He drinks it all in.
My breasts.
My stomach.
My thighs.
And that private place between them that clenches hard against nothing right now.
A slow smirk tugs at his cracked, heart-shaped lips. I cover my necklace—of all things—more embarrassed about it than anything else.
“Oh, my freaking Marx. Penn. Get the hell out!”
It’s the first time I call him by his name. Officially, I’m not supposed to know it. His face is still vacant. He is gripping the door handle, his knuckles ghostly white against his tan skin.
He picks up the pink towel, throwing it at me, and I catch it with shaky fingers, wrapping it firmly around my body and tucking the sea glass into it.
“Like what you see?” I flip my wet hair. My pride is beyond wounded. He just saw me completely naked and didn’t even acknowledge me. All my guilt and good intentions wash away and are replaced with a weird desperation to show him that he’s a peasant and I’m a queen.
“Hate,” he corrects, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. “I hate what I see, and plan on seeing very little of it. You’re Daria, I assume.”
He