I occasionally acknowledge his presence by flipping him off. The deep-seated black look he always has on display every time he forces these exasperating collisions almost has me believing he hates the very sight of me. But for whatever ludicrous reason, Finn can’t find it in himself to stay away, ending up tormenting me instead, with those clear, blue eyes fixed in his usual smoldering glare.
I seriously don’t get why the hell I’ve suddenly become so goddamned fascinating to Richfield’s pride and joy star quarterback. His stalking behavior is all sorts of confusing, and frankly, messing with my head more than I would like it to be.
I mean, why me?
What’s so fucking thrilling about chasing my ass around campus when half the female population of this school would be on their knees in a hot minute if he so much as snapped his fingers in their direction? He and I both know that I’m not necessarily his type. I mean, let’s be real, we are total opposites of each other. He’s the captain of the football team while I’m the girl who has never even so much as seen a game in her whole life.
He’s all-American perfection.
I’m the poster child for this country’s rejects.
He’s old Asheville money and privilege.
I’m the Southie eyesore that people steer clear from.
He’s caviar dreams and champagne wishes.
I’m the trailer trash his momma probably warned him about.
I doubt it can get any further apart on the social spectrum than the two of us.
So what’s his deal?
Unless Finn somehow filled his quota on debutant vajayjays and wants to take a ride on the wild side by slumming it up with a Southie for a change, I’m stumped as to what he wants from me. Especially because he’s gone to a lot of trouble to know where I am at all times. Guys like Finn don’t make that type of effort for just anyone. He’s the type of asshole who expects girls to chase him, not the other way around.
So what gives?
And how the hell did he get his hands on my class schedule in the first place? It’s the only explanation I have for him to suddenly have a GPS tracker on me, showing him exactly where I am at any given moment. During all my years at college, I’ve probably only seen Finn Walker a handful of times. Now, out of the blue, he just happens to pop up and run into me three to four times a day.
Yeah, I’m not buying it. Finn isn’t that lucky. Pretty boy makes his own luck, of that I’m certain. I’d bet my poor excuse for a paycheck that the entitled jock got his hands on my class schedule, either by pulling some strings or shelling out some cash for it. No matter how he got it, I feel like Finn is my constant shadow now, one I can’t seem to escape from.
Worst of all, he is totally unapologetic about his stalking tendencies. He makes no effort to hide himself from me, nor does he act like it’s a total coincidence. It’s happened more times than I can count, and honestly, I’m getting sick and tired of this cat and mouse game of his.
“Fuck off,” I announce as a way of greeting when I take the final step that puts me face to face with my new nemesis. Or I should say face-to-chest since Finn is fucking huge compared to my small frame.
“Good morning to you too, Stone. You’re late.” He smirks arrogantly, proving once again the fucker knows my ins and outs around Richfield.
But the cocky grin on his face starts to slip as his eyes begin to roam my body. I stand just a little bit straighter so he can have his fill, getting a sick satisfaction when I watch his scowl deepen, and his brows pinch together in aggravation.
Ever since Finn let out of the bag that my choice in clothing was not to his taste, I take an extra bit of care to be my usual savage self. Today, I’ve got on my favorite black, ripped jeans that hug my curves like a second skin, and my black army boots with silver skulls drawn on its side by yours truly. My boots are probably my favorite piece out of the whole ensemble, but it’s my frayed Sex Pistol’s top that has Finn flustered and jaw ticking.
“What? See something you don’t like?” I tease when his focus lingers a bit too long on my cleavage.
Pretty boy