Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,165

raised, the barrel pointed at April. I stand helplessly by as my friend falls toward the ground. Seeing it in still form like this gives me the chills, and I close the sketchbook quickly, tucking it against my chest.

“I’m living in a time loop,” I tell him, glancing his direction and seeing his brows furrow. “I’ve told you this before. Maybe some, distant part of you remembers?”

Barron says nothing, pausing near a plastic folding table covered in liquor bottles. He pours himself a generous amount of vodka in one, splashes in some juice, and then flicks those beautiful eyes my direction.

“A time loop, huh? Like … the same day on repeat?” he queries, and I shrug my shoulders. He doesn’t have to believe me, but I want to be honest.

“Exactly that. You’re drawing other timelines. The more days I live, the more timelines you have to draw. That’s why it’s getting harder.” I glance over my shoulder to see Raz and Calix, surrounded by girls—and a few boys—their mouths in coquettish half-smiles, lashes batting behind their masks. I narrow my eyes and glance back at Barron. He’s watching me with that intense stare of his, making me shiver.

“You’re cold,” he notes, almost clinically, but then he swings his jacket off his own shoulders and puts it over mine, leaning down to look me in the face. “If you’re right about this time loop thing, then we’ve fucked before. More than once.”

“Several times, actually,” I reply, lashes fluttering as Barron leans in and closes the gap between us, stealing my breath away and drawing it into his own lungs as he kisses me.

“You taste familiar,” he murmurs, licking my lower lip and then drawing back to his full height, rainbow Mohawk slicked back and colored orange by the roaring flames from the bonfire. “Like coming home.”

“Barron,” I warn, but I’m not-so-secretly pleased by his words, my lips curving into a smile. “I don’t expect you to believe me about the time loop thing. But I’m sort of working under an honesty is the only policy thing right now.”

“I don’t … not believe you,” he says, reaching up to rub at his chin and then shrugging those glorious shoulders of his. He could kick ass in most any sport, but then … he’s not a sportsman, is he? He’s a fucking artist. “But I’m not convinced, not yet. Maybe some more vodka would help?” Barron pours himself another generous cup as the song switches to some popular hip-hop tune that I just barely recognize. “If you plan on keeping a harem, you better go get your boys.” Barron nods his chin toward where Calix and Raz are standing, and I glance over my shoulder to see that they’re still surrounded.

I mean, Crescent Prep kids at a Devil Springs High party? Not the norm around here.

But … still.

I only ever get one night, and I’m not sharing it with anyone.

With a frown, I move over to the group and push my way through.

“Who the hell are you?” a girl in a wolf mask snarls, her expression blending into her mask so well that she looks like a feral beast.

“Who I am doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that these boys are mine.” I don’t smile to soften the blow. Instead, I just stare at her, bathed in firelight and shadows. She’s wearing a wolf’s mask, so surely, she can see that I’m marking my territory here?

“Oooh, I like this version of you Karma,” Raz says as I glance back and find his red eyes glimmering like rubies. My hip aches where I had his name tattooed, the flesh now almost disturbingly bereft of ink. Maybe one day, I’ll get his name put there for good? “You heard the girl, get lost.”

Most of the crowd dissipates with little more than barely-heard grumbles, but not the wolf girl. She squeezes her Solo cup until the plastic cracks, staring me down, like she thinks I owe her something.

“Both of them?” she spits back, and then scoffs. “You Crescent Prep bitches think you own the fucking world. Just remember: this isn’t your territory.”

Calix steps forward before I can respond, tilting the girl’s chin up so he can look down at her. She swallows, and licks her lips, nervous energy skittering across her skin like static electricity.

“Karma is not a Crescent Prep bitch.”

“I didn’t—” the girl starts, but Calix shushes her, his eyes impossible to see in the shadows. They’re just two black pits, making him