The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,32
Who knew you'd have such a hot mouth?” Spencer takes my chin in his hand and kisses me again, reaching down to grab my hand and put it over the bulge in his crotch. And then he moves his own hand like he's intending on grabbing mine.
Only … there's nothing to grab.
That, and I have a boyfriend. Back home in California, Cody's waiting for me, and I'm freaking cheating on him?!
Guilt surges up inside of me in a fierce wave, and I shove Spencer back as hard as I can with both hands. He's so not expecting it that he ends up falling on his ass, his head snapping back against the wall with a curse.
I race past him, forgetting the flour completely, and then retreat back to my room for the rest of the night.
There's no part of me that wants to pick apart what just happened. But I know that when I go to California for winter break, I'm going to have to tell Cody what happened. I have enough secrets to keep without having to worry about another one.
I'm struggling so bad with the coursework at Adamson, it's not even funny. I'm seriously in the bottom ten percent of the class. Not that I've ever been an A student—far from it—but I'm used to skating by with straight Cs.
“This is unacceptable,” Dad says, shaking his iPad menacingly in my direction. He has one of those rubber childproof covers on it with the PAW Patrol logo on the back. He grabbed it at the store, and when I tried to suggest a more appropriate case for a fifty-something year old man, he practically bit my head off and said it served its purpose, so what did I care?
Maybe he secretly watches the show? What do I know?
“I'm … sorry,” I hedge, biting my lower lip and sliding my gaze to one side. It's hard to look at him when his face gets all purple-colored like that. There are veins protruding from his neck that throb, too. It's all sort of graphic. It’s also a bit of a victory, too, considering how hard I’ve tried in the past to work him up with no results. This, at least, feels like maybe he does care. “The work here is really hard.”
“Charlotte Farren Carson,” he snaps, and that's when things get really scary. My dad doesn’t like to yell, so once that starts, you know shit is about to hit the fan. “If you don't bring these grades up, you can just kiss that trip to California goodbye.”
My mouth drops open, and my heart explodes into tiny pieces, spattering the inside of my chest with metaphorical blood. Sure, it sounds dramatic, but it feels dramatic, too.
“I'm nearly seventeen!” I choke out, thinking that's a good argument for him backing off and letting me do my own thing. Doesn't seem to help. Actually, I think it makes him worse.
“Exactly, which means you are most definitely not eighteen. If you want to run off on your eighteenth birthday and join the circus, then fine. But until then, you belong to me. When you're attending school on my dime, you will conform to my rules. Bring these grades up to a C average, or you're not going on the trip, young lady.”
Dad pushes past me and heads up the stairs, his shoes loud and clomping on the wood steps. I flip him off behind his back, gritting my teeth, and punching the wall next to the fancy woodwork that wraps the doorjamb.
It hurts like fucking hell, too, and I end up making my knuckles bleed. Cursing under my breath, I head for the bathroom. As I'm passing through the kitchen, I notice that the window above the sink is open, and outside … there's a rustling in the bushes.
I lean against the counter and peer out through the screen into the darkness.
“Who the hell is out there?” I growl in my deepest, most rumbling voice. All that does is make me sound like I have a sore throat. The rustling intensifies, and I push off the counter, shoving open the front door and pausing as the sound of shuffling feet sounds from the side of the house.
I'm not about to go after whoever it is, but now my heart is racing, and I'm wondering how much they might've heard from that conversation with my dad. Did they hear him call me Charlotte? How about young lady?