Chapter 11

eleven

HENDRIX

It had been a week since I had kissed Lola in Kyle's bathroom, excuse me, in Sack-Of-Shit Kyle's bathroom. Even though she wasn't riding his dick, he still helped her lie to me. She was still staying at his house. Showering in his shower with her Country Peach soap. And what a long, shitty week it had been because I could no longer deny that I wasn't over her.

I stared up at the bright light of the 7-11, finally acknowledging I'd become my worst nightmare—a weakling, mesmerized by the dancing snakes of my Medusa, and I hated myself for it.

My heart may as well be a litter box for her to crap on, left, right, and center, and that had to change. And change it would, tonight at our party. I'd take the first distraction who batted eyes at me and get her to suck that Medusa venom straight out of the fresh bite.

Wolf shoved open the 7-11 door. "We've only got enough cash for a case."

And a case wouldn't be enough for Bell's going away party. My attention drifted to the new, unknowing young clerk who stood behind it, smiling at me and popping her gum.

That was a set of thirsty eyes, which meant, like hell, we were only getting one case of beer or using my shitty fake ID.

I skirted down the candy aisle after Wolf. "Man, how many cases do you think you can get out in two minutes?"

"What?"

"I'm going to distract that clerk." I jerked my chin toward the front of the convenience store. "You steal the beer."

"What? No!" He frowned, glancing around the shelves of lollipops. "I'll distract her."

"She was giving me thirsty eyes. She doesn't want your stumpy ass." I pointed at the beer fridge. "You get it."

"So I can go to jail?"

"You aren't going to jail for stealing beer unless you get caught."

He glanced up at the ceiling, looking for cameras.

"One possible night in the slammer, dickweed, for the chance at free beer."

God, I didn't have patience for this. People would be at my house in two hours, and this nervous cumstain was looking for cameras.

I swore to God I was surrounded by a bunch of pussies. Bellamy whined about being late to see Drew. Wolf whined about stealing beer.

"Are you even Dayton, Wolf?" I asked, lifting a brow before I started down the aisle to the register.

I stepped out from behind a display of Kit-Kats, my player smile in full force, swagger in each step, but the closer I got to the counter, that Lola venom started to sting. Her perfect face popped to mind, and the idea of even flirting with this girl…

I mumbled, "Litter box," then glanced to the surveillance mirror in the corner.

Wolf was already halfway down the aisle with two cases of beer tucked under his armpits, a bumpy outline around his waist where he'd evidently crammed more cans down his pants.

All I had to do was move in a little closer, twirl a piece of her hair around my finger, and tell her how hot I thought she was. Simple. Easy. Definitely worth the free beer.

I leaned over the counter. Medusa . This was complete and utter bullshit. If I didn't man the hell up, the second that bell jingled, Wolf was screwed.

Clenching my jaw, I dragged my gaze over the clerk's orange and purple work shirt. Distraction came in many forms, and while flirting had been my go-to, I was also a magician when it came to confusing the hell out of someone…

"Orange is really your color," I said, and she smiled. All I had to say was that it brought out the color of her eyes or some other terrible pick-up line. But I couldn't even muster the ability to do that. So, what did I settle on? "And I really have a thing for Oompa Loompas."

That smile dropped like a turd from a rhino. Then the bell over the door dinged.

Shit! Just as her attention swung toward the front, I jumped in the opposite direction of the door and threw up my arms. "Oompa Loompa, doompity da. If you have a pussy, you will go far. You can…ride a…co-o-o-ck, too. Like the Oompa Loompa, duppity do." I utilized jazz hands for the grand finale, and while she was definitely distracted…What in the actual hell had Lola Stevens reduced me to? A jazz-hand-flinging, Willy Wonka-singing ballbag instead of a motherfucking player.

I shot out of the door, booking it to the pumps.

Wolf glanced over the roof of his truck. One of his bushy eyebrows lifted. "Did I just see you…" He threw his hands up and wiggled his fingers on a cackle. "That whiffle ball bat injury really screwed you up, dude."

Those assholes blamed that whiffle ball bat for everything. This had nothing to do with a few concussions and everything to do with Lola Stevens.

"Shut up, man." I reached for the side door just as Ethan Taylor's bright-yellow Z28 Camaro screeched into the gas station. Lights bounced over the passenger side door as it opened, and Max Harford, King Golden Dick of Barrington, climbed out.

They only came to this side of town to use a shitty fake ID or to start crap with us. And the last time they had done that… it hadn't ended too well for any of those date-rapey shitheads.

Max's gaze landed on us, and he froze.

"Hear your girl's back in town, Hunt." Ethan rounded the front of his car, a cocky grin in place.

The little cocksucker must have felt a false sense of safety in a public place. Lucky for me, unlucky for him, this was Dayton. No one gave a shit about a little fistfight.

"And I hear Lola's a little loose," he said.

I didn't even realize I'd moved away from Wolf's truck until I had Ethan by the nape of his neck, smashing his face into the pump.

"Dude…" Wolf snatched me away, and Ethan crumpled to the oil-stained concrete. "We're on a busy street."

I kicked Ethan's side, then spat on him. "Just so you know, I wipe my ass with that jersey of yours that I stole last year."

I started toward Wolf's truck, glancing at Harford still cowering behind the passenger-side door of the sports car. Guess he didn't want a second helping of the ass beating he took last year.

Wolf laid into me on the way back to the house. Officer Jacobs was looking for any reason to arrest any of us and while even I could admit my beating Ethan's ass on the corner of a busy highway wasn't the smartest decision, when it came to Lola, there was no reining in my temper. Never had been.

The first punch I threw was in kindergarten. Some snot-nosed little boy had pulled down her sweatpants when she was bent over the toy box. Blood went all over the nap mats, and half the class cried. From then on, most of them were scared of me, which meant not only did they leave me alone, but they also left her alone, too.

Wolf's headlights shined over the house when he turned into my drive. God, he was still going at me about jail when he cut the engine.

"Lucky for us, Barrington dicks are too pussy to turn us in," I said.

"What about when they're not?"

I kicked open the door. Thick heat crept into the truck before I got out and went to the back to grab the beer. "Zepp hospitalized Harford, and they all said it was gang violence from some unknown gang. None of them mentioned our names. I mean, how many times have we beat their asses, Wolf?"

His shadow rounded the truck. "How many times have they thrown the first punch?" He snatched the rest of the beer from the back, then started up the dark drive. "Every time we've messed them up, there's been a reason. Some rich dick running his mouth isn't a reason a cop would care about. Them date raping girls is. Them coming onto our property with bats is. Them throwing the first punch is. Every other time we've doled out a beat down, they did something they damn well knew could hold up in court."

Holds up in court. Like most courts would favor us over Barrington. I moved around him on the porch steps to open the door. "Nothing holds up in court with Barrington money."

"Maybe not, but if you don't think their uppity-as-hell parents reem their gold-rimmed assholes for it..." He made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. "Shaming their rich daddies could put their inheritance at risk." Then he shoved a few cases into the fridge before straightening and looking over the dented door at me. "And what is a Barrington prick without his inheritance?"

Nothing. And in their eyes, that would almost be as bad as being Dayton. Maybe we weren't as untouchable as I thought when it came to Barrington.

Two hours later, bass pumped through the stereo, rattling the single-pane windows while girls in short skirts and cut-off shorts danced in beat with the music. Students from Dayton packed the living room, and a few girls from Barrington—thanks to Bellamy's girlfriend—who he was currently banging in the spare room.

"Hey, Hendrix…" Virginia Ford, one of the blond volleyball players, popped out of the crowd, latching onto my wrist. "Is that a new tat?" She batted her fake, drug-store lashes, pressing her tits to my stomach as she swept a fingernail over the first tattoo I'd gotten on my arm.

"I think Wolf said something about being backed up." I swatted her hand away. "Maybe you can go slob on his knob."

She should have slapped me, but some girls wanted that crap. They wanted a little bit of hate, a touch of degradation. And what had I done over the past two years? Lapped that shit up like it was gold-plated champagne.

I shoved Virginia away when she reached for my belt. "Not interested," I said, then cut between two girls making out in their bras and headed upstairs to the bathroom. Of course, someone was in there. I banged over the wood. "I swear to God if anyone is in their fucking."

When they didn't answer, I went to my room, fell back on the bed, and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Lola had stuck up there when we were ten. I should have taken them down already. I just couldn't bring myself to. Just like I couldn't bring myself to cut off her bracelets.

Lola and I had raised ourselves and learned how to survive on our own because the adults around us were so fucked out of their heads on drugs that the only thing that mattered was that next high, not meals or baths or setting an alarm to get us up for school. We'd formed a bond out of desperation and survival, one that taught us love—when we had no clue what that word meant—and there was no erasing that. No taking it down or cutting it off…

The bathroom door clicked open.

Just as I pushed off the bed, Virginia staggered around the corner of the banister and into my room. She threw herself onto the bed, trying to wrangle off her top.

"Get your drunk ass out." I grabbed her by the waist, hauled her to her feet, and dragged her into the hall. "Stay out of my room."

"I feel sick."

I shoved her into the bathroom just before she gagged. Vomit hit the sink.

"Oh, God…" I slammed the door behind me as Bellamy and Drew came out of the spare room.

I glared at her. "You better clean your Paris Hilton stench off my sheets. I'm trying to rent out that room."

"Your house is a shithole, and you think my stench is going to be the problem?"

"My house is a palace in Dayton. Rich people's shit is nothing but a tacky eyesore." I glared at her. "Just like you."

Bellamy swiped a hand over his face. "Why do you even start with him, Drew?"

"I don't know. I kind of like it. Speaking of which... Heard your ex-girlfriend is over at Bennett's house party."

Lola at a Barrington party… A worm of jealousy wriggled through my chest. "I don't give a shit."

Then I went back downstairs to fake-enjoy my friend's going away party.