7. Zepp

SEVEN

zepp

LEAH: They took my cat's rhinestone collar. Like WTAF is wrong with people?

Hendrix was the one who took that. Surprisingly, the guy at the pawnshop had given us seven bucks for it. Leah had been texting me non-stop. Like I gave a shit about her problems. Hell, I was the reason for half of them, she just didn't know it. Sure, we may have taken her grandmother's pearl necklace, but in the grand scheme of things, her family wasn't hurting. They were out a few heirlooms and diamond necklaces that probably hadn't seen the light of day in the better half of a decade, and Hendrix and I got to keep a roof over our heads.

Me: Why are you bitching to me about this stuff? Don't you have a boyfriend?

LEAH: Me and Max aren't dating!!!!!

They never were dating when Leah wanted dick worth a damn…

I closed the texts without responding and shoved my phone to the side of the desk when Mr. Weaver passed out exams. I read over the first question and bubbled in C . Halfway through the test, my name crackled over the intercom system.

"Zeppelin Hunt. You're needed in the principal's office."

Tossing my pencil down, I glared around the room. The other student's eyes shifted away when I pushed up from my chair. If one of those pricks had the balls to snitch on me for selling weed, I was going to kill them.

I stopped outside Principal Brown's office, and Monroe's muffled voice drifted from the other side of the door.

"Some rich lady says a redhead robbed her, and you figured, ‘it must be some trash kid from Dayton High. I'll go looking for a redhead there.'"

I waited to see what would follow, but all that came was silence. I pushed down on the handle. Monroe didn't bother to look up when the lock clicked, and I stepped into Brown's office.

As expected, Brown's disapproving gaze met mine. What wasn't expected was Officer Jacobs standing in the corner, sleeves tight-rolled over his half-muscled arms in all his dipshit glory. The guy had had it out for us ever since Hendrix popped his daughter's cherry in the back seat of his patrol car. I was sure this just made his day.

I leaned a shoulder against the wall and shot Monroe a stern glare while I played out how this was about to go down. If I had my guess, she had probably said I made her do it. Told them she hadn't stolen a thing—which would be true. The only problem was that it was her word against mine. There would be no proof. I had been in every room in Leah's house, on purpose, so any fingerprints of mine, Leah would have to answer for that. There weren't any security cameras, so the police would be hard-pressed to find evidence outside of Mrs. Anderson's identifying Monroe in a lineup.

"Ask him." Monroe jerked her chin toward me.

"Miss James," Jacobs sighed. "Using that shithead as an alibi doesn't make you look any less guilty."

Forget that Jacobs called me a shithead. Monroe had used me as an alibi? I had to stop myself from looking at her. Because an alibi was the last thing I had expected since getting me locked up in juvie would have bought her freedom.

Monroe drummed her fingers over the arm of the stiff chair. "But looking guilty doesn't stand up in court, does it?" A smug smile flashed across her face like she'd won. "And unless you're arresting me, I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to interrogate me on school grounds."

Jacob's nostrils flared. "That can be arr—"

"Mr. Hunt," Brown interjected, his attention swinging over the stack of student records on his desk to me. "Miss James said she was with you Monday night. Is that true?"

I raked my teeth over my lip, then dragged my gaze over Monroe's legs. "Yeah. She was."

Officer Jacob's pulled out his dipshit notepad, pen in hand like he was some amateur detective. "Between what times?"

"Well, let's see." I moved behind her chair, placing my hands on the wooden back. "I had my cock in her from about ten until midnight. But she was at my house until Tuesday morning when she gave me a blowjob in the shower."

Brown coughed before loosening his tie like it was a noose ready to hang him, while Monroe reached behind her, looping her fingers through mine. "Baby," her hold tightened until her nails sliced into the back of my hand, "why don't you stop talking now?"

Jacobs rolled his eyes on a huff. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Feel free to swab her for my DNA," I offered with a shrug.

He glanced at Brown. "The lady said a redhead who looked on the poor side was picked up by a dark-headed guy."

Brown frowned, tapping a pen over his desk. "I understand, but that isn't exactly evidence, Dan."

"My come would be, though, right?"

Brown let out another choked cough, grabbing at his already loose tie as he leafed through papers, his cheeks gradually growing to nuclear reactor red. "Miss James. Mr. Hunt, you may leave."

Kicking back from her chair, I made a sweeping motion toward the door with my arm. Monroe shoved up, going through the doorway first. I watched her ass then shot a stern glare at Jacobs before I stepped into the empty secretary's office. The second I was outside Brown's office, Monroe punched me in the gut, eyes flaming. "Feel free to swab her?"

"Just trying to sell it." I brushed past her, then the latch to Brown's door clicked.

"...not a word of it," Jacobs said. "Thank you for your time anyway, Ed." A shiny loafer crossed the threshold. Jacobs had enough experience with me to know I was a liar, which sent a spark of panic through me.

I took Monroe by the waist, shoving her against a filing cabinet, aiming to make the idea that we were fuck buddies more solid in Jacobs's mind. She grabbed at my shoulders, ready to push me off, but I squeezed her waist hard enough to make her breath catch. "You better moan and act like you want this," I buried my face against her neck, kissing and biting.

Her tense body relaxed a little, her hands snaked down my back, and she let out a very convincing groan. It didn't matter that she was acting, my dick still went rock hard at the breathy sound, begging for five minutes in a locked room with her. And that was problematic. I hated the idea of her but loved it at the same time.

Another muted groan made its way up her throat. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to pick her up and wrap her thighs around my waist and give Brown and Jacobs a show they'd beat one out to for days. Not to mention, give Monroe something to take home and think about.

I could feel someone standing beside us. When I pulled away from Monroe's throat, I locked eyes with Jacobs. "Gotta problem?" I asked, my hands still on Monroe.

With a tic of his jaw, he walked into the hall. But I caught the bastard stopped at the office window. Monroe went to pull away, but I held onto her tight, planting my lips back on her throat. "He's still watching." The coconut, girly scent of her shampoo made my hormones drunk, and I couldn't help but press my hips against hers a little, just for the pressure.

Her fingers fisted at my shirt. "Is he gone yet?"

I took a quick glance over her shoulder. Jacobs had started down the hall, but I was enjoying myself too much. "No." I sank my teeth into her neck and sucked, imagining what a deep, purple hickey would look like on her throat, her tits. Her breath caught again, fingers flattening over my chest.

Oh, she was into it. Definitely into it.

The change-of-class bell rang. I debated slipping my hand over the curve of her ass. She would slap me for it, but it would be worth it. The bang of lockers and scuff of shoes crept in from the cracked doorway. But Monroe was still right there, pressed against me. Breath all ragged, her palms still on my chest. It wasn't until a few students pounded fists against the office window that she shoved me away, and the look of absolute mortification on her face was damn near priceless. Maybe she had the same problem as me: she wanted me just as much as she hated me.

I adjusted my dick in my jeans while giving her a long once over. "Wouldn't take much. Would it?"

"That's a big leap." She patted my cheek. "I'll grind on you if it keeps me out of juvie. Beyond that, I'd rather take a run and jump at a wasp's nest." She turned on her heel, red hair flying behind her when she went to make her grand exit from the office, pretending like she wasn't the least bit fazed.

But she knew it, and I knew it. I was absolutely going to fuck that girl.

Hendrix jumped up, slapping his hand over the top of the cafeteria doorway. "Jacobs is a dick." Hendrix stopped beside Wolf and Bellamy in the line, taking a tray before he thumbed back at me. "He got called to Brown's office."

"What for?" Wolf watched one of the freshmen girls strut past, blowing a kiss to her. "Blowjob in the girls' restroom?" he asked me over the clang of silverware and plastic trays.

"No. Jacobs had Monroe in there."

"Jacobs? What the…"

Bellamy shook his head. "We should have known better than to use a redhead."

"What's wrong with a redhead?" Hendrix piled rolls onto his plate then swiped two cartons of chocolate milk.

Bellamy grabbed utensils from the wall caddy. "How many redheads do you see, dumbass?"

"Oh. Right." Hendrix glared over his shoulder at me. "That's your fault, man."

"She's not the only redhead in Dayton and Barrington," I said.

"Nah, but she's the only hot one," Wolf chuckled, taking a plate of cheese fries that smelled like dirty dishwater. When he looked over at me, the smile faded from his face. "Chill out, dude. I'm not trying to hit on your chick."

"Fuck off, Wolf."

Hendrix cackled, then launched a fry at my forehead. "Zepp and Monroe sittin' in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G," he sang.

I shoved him hard enough that he stumbled, sending a few of his rolls tumbling to the floor. I loaded my tray down with greasy food, then paid the cashier and headed into the crowded lunchroom. Most of the tables were full. Students sat shoulder to shoulder, laughing and talking. We passed our usual spot, and my brother groaned.

"Sarah Fletcher was giving me the eyes, man. Why do we have to go sit with the angry ginger and the weirdo?"

Ignoring him, I dropped my tray to the table beside Monroe. "Miss me?" I sank to the stool, and the rest of the guys fell into empty seats around the two girls.

"If only I got the chance."

"Ah, come on, Roe." I rubbed a finger along the high collar of her shirt, and she shoved me away. "We're practically a couple now. Haven't you heard?"

"I have a boyfriend. So no, we're not."

A boyfriend? She wasn't dating anyone from Dayton, which left Barrington. And pissing off one of those pricks was always welcomed.

"Who? Harford?" Hendrix snorted before cramming a roll into his mouth.

I didn't believe for one second that she was dating Harford. Monroe was hot, but Max dated girls like Leah. Girls his uppity parents would approve of because social status mattered in places like Barrington. Monroe wasn't dating him. Fucking him? Sure, and the thought of it made a spark of jealousy ignite inside me.

"Gonna be a shame when the rich boy breaks up with you for bumping uglies with my brother," Hendrix said.

Monroe dropped her napkin to her plate with a roll of her eyes. "I'd rather screw a cactus, so unlikely." Like the idea of her and me together, in a bed, was that farfetched.

"Not what the rumors are saying, bae ."

"I don't want anyone thinking I'm sleeping with you," she said.

"People are going to think what they think, and I don't really give a shit." I tossed a fry into my mouth.

"You're a dick." Grabbing her tray, she pushed to her feet and headed to the garbage, her friend following suit. "Maybe I'll have the quarterback pick me up. Make a show of choosing a Barrington prick over you."

Or just make the Barrington prick look like a dumbass for thinking he had a loyal girl when she was, from the looks of it, screwing me. No matter how Monroe tried to spin it, it would be her and the quarterback who looked like idiots—not me. Monroe chucked her food—tray included—into the garbage can, then left the cafeteria.

Hendrix watched, shaking his head before stuffing another roll in his mouth. "Harford? What a waste of some good tits."

It was past eleven that night when Wolf left my house to go home. Hendrix and I sat on the couch playing Call of Duty . After I kicked his ass three times, he chucked the controller to the carpet and went to bed, sulking like a toddler who had shit himself. I fell back onto the lumpy sofa, staring at the ceiling and listening to the constant hum of traffic that happened late at night in a neighborhood full of drug dealers and pimps. My phone flashed with a text.

LEAH: Can I come over?

Before I had typed out No, the little response bubbles danced over the screen.

LEAH: Max saw texts from you.

LEAH: He got mad and lost it.

If he had lost his shit over texts, it wasn't my texts, but hers. Half of the time, I didn't respond to her. The other half, I was a condescending asshole.

LEAH: Please let me come stay at yours.

ME: Have you ever slept in my bed?

The answer to that was no. Girls didn't sleep in my bed.

ME: That's not changing tonight

LEAH: I thought he was going to hit me .

I stared at that text. Max was a rich bastard. An entitled prick who was most likely raised by a set of entitled pricks. My mom had messed around with a few of the men from Barrington when I was little, and they had treated her like shit. Yelling and cussing, calling her names. Because as far as they were concerned, she was beneath them. I could see Max being just like those assholes, but then again, Leah was spoiled and manipulative. I wouldn't put it past her to lie about Max almost hitting her to try to gain some pity.

ME: Sounds like you have shit taste in guys

LEAH: Your an asshole.

ME: *you are

Then I sent a thumbs up and settled back, scrolling through my phone. I ran across the text to Monroe from the night when she didn't get my beer. And down the rabbit hole, I went.

I searched her name on social media. Nothing came up, but I found the weirdo's page. Amongst the Jack Skellington images and the Edgar Allen Poe quotes were a few pictures of her and Monroe. And they were both actually smiling, and damn, Monroe wasn't just hot when she smiled, she was downright beautiful.

I followed the tag in Jade's images, and the only photos on Monroe's account: a picture of a sunset over an interstate, and one of some mangy-looking orange tabby cat. The girl had two Instagram pictures that weren't even selfies. No way in hell she would fall for Max Harford, she seemed too good for that bullshit. Or maybe I just wanted to believe she was.

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Frank's Famous Chicken, the hole-in-the-wall fast food place that straddled the city limits of Dayton and Barrington. The place reeked of grease and Clorox, but their chicken biscuits were only a buck apiece.

Bellamy plucked a hash brown off of Wolf's trey. "Did you study for Weaver's test?" The asshole was looking at me, like I studied for anything.

"Is that a serious question?" I didn't bother to look up from my food.

"How the hell have you not failed yet?"

Because I had a good memory, and as long as I halfway listened when I pretended to sleep in class, I could do well enough to pass. "Hell if I know."

The bell over the door dinged. Hendrix let out a howl. "You gotta be kidding me." He nudged my side, jerking his chin in the direction of the group that had just walked in: Harford and a few of the other letterman-jacketed rich kids. "What the hell are they doing on this side of the tracks?"

From the way Harford and his dipshit friends glared across the restaurant at our table while they waited to order, I assumed it was to stir up a fight. If those Barrington dicks wanted to start one, I'd be more than happy to oblige.

Hendrix rubbed his palms together with a wide, sadistic grin reminiscent of The Joker's. "I bet one quick pop to his mouth," Hendrix threw a fast jab at the air, "and Richie Rich would be crying like a little bitch."

They gathered their trays and filed into a booth on the opposite side of Frank's. Two seconds later, three of the four were over at our table, staring down at us.

Max squared his shoulders, the guys surrounding him, puffing out their scrawny chests. "Hear you're trying to talk to my girl, Hunt?"

It wasn't just that he still wanted Leah when he knew she'd been jonesing for my dick that made me laugh, but top that with the fact that he thought he stood a chance against me in a fight—that was ridiculous.

I pushed to my feet, towering over him, and waiting for the chance to tackle him to the ground. "Leah doesn't do much talking when my dick's in her mouth."

His nostrils flared, a splotchy-red flooding his face. "Not Leah, dumbass. Monroe."

A shred of shock rippled through me, muscles going rigid. And Max must have seen it because his lips quirked. I balled my fist, ready to land a punch on his face, but froze when Jacobs and two other police officers strolled in. Jacobs stopped a few feet away, and Harford acknowledged the shithead with a wave.

The second Jacobs stepped out of earshot, Harford inched closer. I couldn't throw a punch with Jacobs' in here, and Harford knew it.

"Oh, what? Hurt your feelings that your white-trash slut wants a little taste of money?"

Anger rattled through me like a volcanic eruption, my fists begging to collide with the side of his face.

"The thing is, Hunt. She was completely worthless to me, just a way to get off. At least until I realized she was supposed to be yours. Now, every time you kiss her, you're sucking on my dick."

The word worthless played on a loop until my chest grew tight enough that I struggled for a decent breath.

"Don't do it, Zepp," Bellamy's voice broke through the enraged trance I was spiraling down. "Jacobs' will haul your ass outta here."

"I swear to God, Harford." Jaw tensed, I moved closer, bringing our face centimeters apart. "Let me see you out in public, and I will kill you."

I caught the way he flinched, the flicker of worry that flashed through his eyes before he quickly masked it.

"Zepp…" There was a warning in Bellamy's tone. I took a step back, and Jacobs was watching.

Harford glanced around the table, snagging a hash brown from Hendrix's tray. "Fuck you, Hunt. And your trashy whore." Harford started off, and Hendrix kicked at his shin. Max tumbled forward, then face planted the grimy floor. On a growl, he shoved to his feet, dusting bits of food from his jeans.

Jacobs stepped between us. "There a problem here?" He looked at Max and the Barrington guys, ignoring us.

"No, sir. Just talking about the game in a few weeks."

Jacobs patted Max on the back. "With you playing, you guys have got the championship in the bag."

Max flashed us a fake-ass smile. "See you guys around." Then he and his crew went back to their table like the privileged little shits they were.

Jacobs shuffled a little closer to our booth, looping his thumbs through the belt loops on his uniform. "One screw-up from you kids, and I swear, I'll have you in juvie faster than you can wipe your poor ass." He gave a final glare to my brother before moving back to the counter and grabbing his order.

Wolf grabbed a piece of chicken and chucked it at Hendrix's forehead. "Just had to go stick your dick in the police officer's daughter, didn't you? You dick. Like we need any more heat on us."

Hendrix lobbed some ice back across the table. "Shut up, man. She had big titties."

They kept arguing, and my blood pressure continued to spike. I had never wanted to throw my fist into someone's face as bad as I did Harford's, and the longer I sat in the same restaurant as him, the harder that urge was to ignore.

I was still pissed when we got to school. I didn't think I could let that little encounter with Harford slide. By the time I got into my first class, I was agitated enough that I needed a cigarette. I made it fifteen minutes into some dumb lecture about the Industrial Revolution before I got up to take a piss—and have a cigarette.

I rounded the corner to the bathroom, wading through the thick cloud of smoke filling the small room. Whatever cheap weed that guy was smoking smelled like shit. I unfastened my fly and stood at the urinal, shaking it off when the guy behind the closed stall door said, "Nice panties."

Smoking weed and fucking? Not a bad combination. I moved to the sink, then heard Monroe tell the guy to stop looking.

An unsettled feeling took root in my gut. Harford. Now some other dickhead at Dayton? Without thought, I kicked the door off its hinges, sending it crashing against the metal divider.

Monroe screamed, and I expected her to be bent over with some guy behind her, but she wasn't. Instead, she sat perched on the edge of the toilet seat, one leg crossed over the other, while she clutched her chest.

One of the football players stood, plastered against the other divider, joint in hand, his wide eyes glazed. "What the hell, Hunt?" He made a small step forward, and I tilted my head, inviting whatever he wanted to bring.

After that morning, I was ready for a brawl. But then, he froze, his bravery evidently short-lived.

"It's fine, Chase." Monroe stood, giving a dismissive wave toward the door. "Just go."

His gaze pinged between Monroe and me.

"He won't hurt me," Monroe assured him.

He stubbed out the joint on the divider wall, eyes locked on mine when he shifted past me.

"If you were hoping for a quickie, I'm good," she said.

The restroom door shut behind Chase, and I pressed Monroe against the divider until the metal corners creaked. Anger morphed to lust. A magic trick only her warm body against mine could pull off. "Seemed pretty into it yesterday."

"I'm a good performer."

As hard as her fake moans had me, I could only imagine what the real ones would do. "Oh, I bet you are." I traced my finger over the collar of the turtleneck she wore, moving my mouth closer to her neck. "You know what else I bet? That you're gonna look so good when I make you come."

She went tense.

"Three months," I said. I inched the neck of her sweater down. "Try not to give in to me." An ugly, green bruise peeked out from the collar of her shirt, and my stomach bottomed out. I yanked the fabric down farther, and she fought to tug it back up.

"Take your shirt off."

"No." Her jaw tightened. "I'm not screwing you."

But we both knew that wasn't why I wanted her shirt off. If I had to bet, there were more bruises on her. Leah's text popped to mind, followed by Max's smartass grin. I grabbed her sweater, so focused on her that I didn't catch her hand rear back until I felt the sting on my cheek. Gritting my teeth, I fisted the material and pressed my nose to hers. "Take. It. Off."

Her arms came over her chest. A hateful glare danced in her eyes, but I could see something else underneath it she was fighting.

My blood boiled, sizzled, and popped through my veins like an angry hit of heroin. "Take off the goddamn shirt. Before I tear it off of you."

"Just leave it, Zepp." Her shoulders fell, like a little of the fight had left her.

Part of me knew I should leave it alone, that there were some parts of our lives meant to stay in the darkness, but I wanted to prove myself wrong. I wanted to find nothing underneath that shirt but pale skin. Balling the material in my fist, I slowly lifted it past her navel to her ribs, revealing a smattering of ugly, fading bruises. For a moment, all I could see was my mother. All I could hear were the lies she told to cover up the abuse. As shit as our lives were, this was the part of it I refused to accept.

"Who?" I said through gritted teeth. "The fucking Barrington quarterback?"

She tugged the sweater from my hand, hiding the marks from my view. "No. Just let it go." Her gaze met mine, hard and unreadable. "You know how this shit works. We're just surviving, right?" An undercurrent of defeat hid within her sarcastic tone. And the shittiest thing about that statement—she was right.

All of us here, we were only surviving, just trying to make it to the next day and possibly find a little bit of enjoyment from a quick high or a good fuck. Because a few seconds of bliss was honestly as good as it got for us.

With one breath, all trace of vulnerability disappeared, and in its place materialized something untouchable. A wry smile pulled at Monroe's lips, and she patted my cheek. "Don't go soft on me, Hunt," she said before slipping out of the stall.

For the rest of the afternoon, the image of her bruised body stayed at the forefront of my mind, the word survival playing on a loop. I sat in the back of Weaver's class, head down like always, but instead of sleeping, I was thinking. About her. About Max, and how I wanted to smash in his face.

By the time I had finished up with detention, I had pretty much plotted Harford's death. Wolf was in the parking lot, throwing his football gear into the bed of his truck when I came out of the school.

"What'd you have detention for?"

I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it before fastening my backpack to my bike. "Smoking on campus."

"Lame." An engine revved on the highway, rock music blaring. I glanced over the deserted parking lot as an electric-blue, vintage Corvette Stingray barreled around the school's entrance. It fishtailed when it took a turn into the lot, then raced around to the side of the school.

"Who the hell has a car like that in Dayton?" Wolf asked.

"Nobody."

Monroe jogged out of the building to the passenger door of the Vette then climbed inside. The car sped past, slowing in front of us long enough for me to catch sight of Max Harford with his shit-eating grin before he peeled out onto the highway.

That was when I decided I would let that stupid rumor about Monroe and me spread; that I'd dump gasoline on it and set fire to it because if people thought she was mine, he wouldn't be able to touch her.