We slump in the bleacher seats and turn our attention back to the game.
The Riders win, as expected, and talk after the game immediately turns toward Winter Formal that Astor Park puts on after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The dance talk is like foreplay for Jordan. She’s glowing when Val and I descend the stadium steps. Our progress is slowed by all the parents stopping to tell Jordan how much they liked her routine and how talented she is.
Jordan thrusts out her boobs a little more with each compliment. The dads stare at her with lusty hunger and she looks like she’s getting off on it.
“Nice show,” I tell Jordan as we draw even with her. She looks pretty fantastic in her form-fitting costume, and there’s a dewy glow on her cheeks left over from the exertion on the field.
Her eyes flick over me with disdain and then dismissal. She turns to her cousin. “You’re too good for this piece of trash, Val. Why don’t you come to Shea’s party with me?”
“Pass. I wouldn’t climb into your car if we were on Fury Road and the warboys were after me.”
A few kids snort with laughter behind us. That only makes Jordan angrier.
“I can’t believe we’re related.”
“I know. I wonder about it too sometimes. How someone so nice, like me, could end up with a bitch like you for a cousin.”
Jordan lunges at Val, and I stupidly step between them. Jordan’s fist hits the back of my head at the same time that Val charges forward. I bounce off them and land against the railing.
“Holy shit,” some random guy yells. “Girl fight!”
The stands empty and suddenly it’s pure chaos. Popcorn is flying everywhere. There are arms and hands and nails in my face. A strong arm lifts me down over the fence where someone else catches me and swings me out of the way. I look up to see Reed.
Easton comes up on my other side and slings his arm around my shoulder, separating me from Reed. They proceed to trade scowls.
“So are we going to the Montgomerys’ party?” Easton asks me.
“I told you, I don’t like dressing up.”
He snickers and points to my get-up. “Looks like you’re already in costume, little sis.”
Oh man. He totally has a point.
“Come on,” he coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”
I cave. “Fine. Whatever. Where’s Val?” I turn back to the stands to see that the administrators have broken up the fight.
An arm jerks me around. Reed again. “What the hell are you wearing? Whose jersey is that?” he demands.
“It’s just a secondhand—”
“Take it off.”
“What? No way.”
I look to Easton for help, but he’s frowning. “Now that I think about it, you can’t wear another school’s jersey to our games. That’s bad voodoo.”
“You won,” I remind him.
“Take it off right now,” Reed orders. His voice is muffled because he’s trying to tug his own jersey up over his head.
“Forget it. I’m not putting your jersey on.”
“Oh yes, you are.” His shoulder pads are up around his ears. “Dammit, East, help me out.”
Easton ignores him. “You need a ride, sis?”
“She’ll ride with me,” Reed says firmly. He shoves his jersey back down and his expression dares me to challenge him.
So I challenge him. “Sorry, pal, but that’s not happening.”
“Don’t call me ‘pal.’”
“Don’t give me orders.”
He gives me another order. “Val can drive your car to the party. You’re coming with me.”
“Oh my God!” I burst out. “What’s it going to take for you to get the message, Reed? We’re over.” My frustration and annoyance are reaching all-time highs. “I already have my eye on someone else.”
His nostrils flare. “Like hell you do.”
I look at the line of players standing along the track watching us, and an evil thought pops into my mind. My eyes narrow in on Wade, the quarterback. Wade’s a whore. Straight up, he had to use Reed’s Range Rover for sex one night outside the club because, according to Reed, Wade couldn’t wait to get home before banging some girl.
Smirking at Reed, I move away from the Royals, waltz right up to Wade, and launch myself at him.
His muscular arms close reflexively around me. And when I bend down to kiss him, his lips part automatically. He tastes like sweat, smells like grass, and is a pretty fantastic kisser. His tongue stays firmly in his mouth, but he can use his lips like a master.
No wonder girls leave perfectly nice clubs to have sex with him in a stranger’s car. I grip his hair and tighten my legs around his waist. He groans in response and his fingers bite into my ass.
Cheering breaks out, only to be cut off abruptly. The next thing I know, Reed is ripping me out of Wade’s arms.
“What the hell, Carlisle?” he growls.
Wade shrugs ruefully. “She jumped me. I couldn’t let her fall.”
“You don’t touch her. No one touches her.” Reed throws his helmet in some poor player’s stomach and advances on Wade, his hands fisted.
The big, blond quarterback laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t encourage her, man.”
Reed glares and then points a finger at the rest of the team. “Ella is a Royal. She belongs to me. If any of you assholes want her, you have to go through me.”
My jaw drops. “Screw you, Reed. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.” I kick him in the back of the knee, then turn to look at the line of football players. “I’m available. Who wants a go with the trashy stripper? I know tricks that even porn stars don’t.”
Eyes light up but then immediately transfer to Reed. Whatever his expression is, it causes every gaze to drop the ground. Not a single guy steps out of line.
“Cowards,” I mutter.
Then I whirl away and stomp toward Val, who’s grinning at me from the sidelines. Screw these Astor Park kids. Screw them all to hell.
16
Savannah and Shea Montgomery live in an inland mansion on the grounds of the country club. At the main gate, Val reaches across me to hand the guard a white envelope. He shines some special light on it and apparently the secret message he reads with his special country club decoder ring lets us through.
The Riders win, as expected, and talk after the game immediately turns toward Winter Formal that Astor Park puts on after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The dance talk is like foreplay for Jordan. She’s glowing when Val and I descend the stadium steps. Our progress is slowed by all the parents stopping to tell Jordan how much they liked her routine and how talented she is.
Jordan thrusts out her boobs a little more with each compliment. The dads stare at her with lusty hunger and she looks like she’s getting off on it.
“Nice show,” I tell Jordan as we draw even with her. She looks pretty fantastic in her form-fitting costume, and there’s a dewy glow on her cheeks left over from the exertion on the field.
Her eyes flick over me with disdain and then dismissal. She turns to her cousin. “You’re too good for this piece of trash, Val. Why don’t you come to Shea’s party with me?”
“Pass. I wouldn’t climb into your car if we were on Fury Road and the warboys were after me.”
A few kids snort with laughter behind us. That only makes Jordan angrier.
“I can’t believe we’re related.”
“I know. I wonder about it too sometimes. How someone so nice, like me, could end up with a bitch like you for a cousin.”
Jordan lunges at Val, and I stupidly step between them. Jordan’s fist hits the back of my head at the same time that Val charges forward. I bounce off them and land against the railing.
“Holy shit,” some random guy yells. “Girl fight!”
The stands empty and suddenly it’s pure chaos. Popcorn is flying everywhere. There are arms and hands and nails in my face. A strong arm lifts me down over the fence where someone else catches me and swings me out of the way. I look up to see Reed.
Easton comes up on my other side and slings his arm around my shoulder, separating me from Reed. They proceed to trade scowls.
“So are we going to the Montgomerys’ party?” Easton asks me.
“I told you, I don’t like dressing up.”
He snickers and points to my get-up. “Looks like you’re already in costume, little sis.”
Oh man. He totally has a point.
“Come on,” he coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”
I cave. “Fine. Whatever. Where’s Val?” I turn back to the stands to see that the administrators have broken up the fight.
An arm jerks me around. Reed again. “What the hell are you wearing? Whose jersey is that?” he demands.
“It’s just a secondhand—”
“Take it off.”
“What? No way.”
I look to Easton for help, but he’s frowning. “Now that I think about it, you can’t wear another school’s jersey to our games. That’s bad voodoo.”
“You won,” I remind him.
“Take it off right now,” Reed orders. His voice is muffled because he’s trying to tug his own jersey up over his head.
“Forget it. I’m not putting your jersey on.”
“Oh yes, you are.” His shoulder pads are up around his ears. “Dammit, East, help me out.”
Easton ignores him. “You need a ride, sis?”
“She’ll ride with me,” Reed says firmly. He shoves his jersey back down and his expression dares me to challenge him.
So I challenge him. “Sorry, pal, but that’s not happening.”
“Don’t call me ‘pal.’”
“Don’t give me orders.”
He gives me another order. “Val can drive your car to the party. You’re coming with me.”
“Oh my God!” I burst out. “What’s it going to take for you to get the message, Reed? We’re over.” My frustration and annoyance are reaching all-time highs. “I already have my eye on someone else.”
His nostrils flare. “Like hell you do.”
I look at the line of players standing along the track watching us, and an evil thought pops into my mind. My eyes narrow in on Wade, the quarterback. Wade’s a whore. Straight up, he had to use Reed’s Range Rover for sex one night outside the club because, according to Reed, Wade couldn’t wait to get home before banging some girl.
Smirking at Reed, I move away from the Royals, waltz right up to Wade, and launch myself at him.
His muscular arms close reflexively around me. And when I bend down to kiss him, his lips part automatically. He tastes like sweat, smells like grass, and is a pretty fantastic kisser. His tongue stays firmly in his mouth, but he can use his lips like a master.
No wonder girls leave perfectly nice clubs to have sex with him in a stranger’s car. I grip his hair and tighten my legs around his waist. He groans in response and his fingers bite into my ass.
Cheering breaks out, only to be cut off abruptly. The next thing I know, Reed is ripping me out of Wade’s arms.
“What the hell, Carlisle?” he growls.
Wade shrugs ruefully. “She jumped me. I couldn’t let her fall.”
“You don’t touch her. No one touches her.” Reed throws his helmet in some poor player’s stomach and advances on Wade, his hands fisted.
The big, blond quarterback laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t encourage her, man.”
Reed glares and then points a finger at the rest of the team. “Ella is a Royal. She belongs to me. If any of you assholes want her, you have to go through me.”
My jaw drops. “Screw you, Reed. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.” I kick him in the back of the knee, then turn to look at the line of football players. “I’m available. Who wants a go with the trashy stripper? I know tricks that even porn stars don’t.”
Eyes light up but then immediately transfer to Reed. Whatever his expression is, it causes every gaze to drop the ground. Not a single guy steps out of line.
“Cowards,” I mutter.
Then I whirl away and stomp toward Val, who’s grinning at me from the sidelines. Screw these Astor Park kids. Screw them all to hell.
16
Savannah and Shea Montgomery live in an inland mansion on the grounds of the country club. At the main gate, Val reaches across me to hand the guard a white envelope. He shines some special light on it and apparently the secret message he reads with his special country club decoder ring lets us through.
