that in my face. You said you wanted to be left alone, but here you are antagonizing me. Everyone knows I park here. I’m now going to be late because of you. Move your car, and don’t let this happen again.”
He threw his head back and laughed, his broad shoulders shaking under his blazer. When he looked at me again, the mirth fell from his features, replaced by an intense stare.
“The spots are not allocated. Much as you like to think so, you don’t own this school, princess, you don’t own this spot, and you will never own me. I don’t respond well to being ordered around.” He locked his car and stalked toward the school as the bell sounded, leaving my profanity-filled response on the tip of my tongue.
I resisted the urge to stomp my foot like the brat he thought I was. Instead, I got back into my car, drove to the back of the lot, found one of the last remaining spots, and took the walk to the entrance to calm myself.
I was already late, so I didn’t bother to rush; no sense in ruining my appearance too. His blatant disrespect in front of the entire school—everyone would walk past and see his car in my spot—made it impossible to do nothing. And my seething rage and determination to remain in control allowed me to formulate a rough plan by the time I entered the main building.
I sent a message to the girls in our group chat. “I’ve changed my mind. He needs to be taught to heel.”
If he was going to act like a disobedient puppy, pissing on things he thought he had a right to, then I would treat him like a dog.
Chapter Three
Hendrix
I frowned at the bulletin board. I knew for a fact I’d put my name down on the sign-up form on my second day at Fulton Academy, yet there was the spot, covered in white-out with some other dickhead’s name scrawled over the top.
I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to hunt down this Thomas Booth and make sure he could never walk again, let alone kick a football.
It was for the best—I’d come here to remove my own name anyway. Playing football was too close to my old life. Apparently the school was holding tryouts this late in the year because four of the players had been injured in some car accident—one was off the team permanently for breaking the coach’s strict no-alcohol-during-the-week rule. The dumbasses were getting wasted and driving around Devilbend on a Wednesday night. It was something I would’ve done—before.
Only nostalgia had made me put my name down in the first place—misplaced longing for a life I now knew was a fucking joke. I flexed my fingers and bunched them into a fist, remembering the feel of the ball as it slapped into my waiting arms. I hadn’t played in over a year, and it was all my fault. All my stupidity and carelessness and . . .
I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to focus on my surroundings, the chatting of students as they passed, the opening and closing of lockers in the distance.
The teal tie felt stiff and tight, and I tugged at it before adjusting the bag on my shoulder. I wasn’t used to the uniform yet.
A short woman with glasses and a pencil skirt hugging her generous curves stepped out of the office and reached for the form I’d just been staring daggers at. She spotted me and paused, giving me a warm smile.
“Did you want to sign up? It’s not too late.” She wiggled the form in front of my face.
“No thanks.” I kept my voice even. There was no need to take my frustration out on the nice reception lady.
I did my best to ignore the other students as I walked to my locker.
She may not have whited my name out herself, but I had no doubt Donna Mead was the person behind its removal. It didn’t matter though. I didn’t belong on their stupid football team, especially if I wasn’t welcome. You couldn’t build a team if the team didn’t get along.
I’d been at Fulton just over two weeks, and other than a few early verbal sparring matches with Donna, I’d hardly had a conversation with another person. The first few days had been a nightmare. It was a new school, all new people, the other fucking side of the country. I knew I was good-looking and