Page 12 of Wicked Scandal

When I get to Big John’s, I immediately spot my crew crowded around a large corner booth—Rome, Elodie, Aiden, Luke, and his fuck buddy Olivia.

The waitress, Sam, who’s a senior at Willow Creek, walks toward them, balancing two large pizzas, one in each hand. Before she can even set them down, hands start flying toward them, grabbing slices.

As I approach, Sam spins around, bumping right into me. When she looks up, the shock on her face quickly fades and a smile spreads. “I’m so sorry, Wilder. I didn't see you there.” She runs her hand down my side, giving my bicep a gentle squeeze.

I step around her and slide into the booth. “No worries.”

Recently, a rumor has made rounds that Sam has a thing for me. She’s hung out with our group a few times, but she’s fucked pretty much every upperclassman at Willow Creek. I try to be friendly with her, but I don’t reciprocate any touches because I don’t want to lead her on. The truth is, I’m not interested, but I don’t want to be that guy that hurts a girl's feelings by being a jerk. Unlike my brother and his friends.

Sam lingers quietly for a second, her hands clasped in front of her, and she sways back and forth with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Diet cola,” I tell her with a pressed smile as I shift my attention to the pizza.

“Just in time,” I sing as I grab a grease-filled piece, topped with only pepperoni and cheese. Folding it in half, I bite off the triangular end and turn my head slowly to see Sam still standing there.

“How’s it taste?” she asks. It’s sort of cringy the way she’s watching me like she wants to take a bite out of me.

With a full mouth, I say, “Really damn good.”

“Bet it would be better if he had his cola to wash it down with,” Rome blurts out. “Just saying.”

“Dude,” I huff at him with a snarl while Elodie swats his shoulder.

“Be nice,” Elodie scoffs. Fortunately, there’s one other person at this table with a sense of decency.

I’m not into Sam, but I’m not an asshole like Rome and Luke. Neither of them has a filter and nine times out of ten, I wanna slap the fuck out of them when they speak to anyone who’s not part of our group.

“Actually,” Sam says, her tone proving she doesn’t give a shit about Rome’s jab at her, “I was sort of hoping to ask you something.”

Her eyes are on me and I can feel my cheeks flush with heat because whatever she’s about to ask me, I’d rather her not do right here in front of my asshole friends. No matter what her question is, Rome and Luke will find a way to make a joke out of it and I really don’t wanna embarrass her.

Dropping my pizza down on an empty paper plate, I slide out of the booth and get to my feet. I brush my hands together, wiping away the flour from the crust. With a nod of my head, I gesture for Sam to follow me, away from them.

As I’m weaving through the tables toward the back wall, I stop walking when I spot Mrs. Jenkins. She’s still wearing the same turtleneck dress she had on in class. I find it odd that she’s been dressing so modest lately. It’s damn near summer and she’s wearing a turtleneck with long sleeves and leggings.

Seated at a high-top round table, her husband sits across from her.He’s eating a sub while she pokes at a salad. There’s something off with her—a sadness I’ve seen a few times before. Those times I chalked it up to stress, or just a typical bad day. We all have them. But this doesn’t feel the same.

Her eyes are downcast as she continues to poke at her salad, yet she doesn’t take a bite. Her other arm holds tightly to her stomach and it has me wondering if she’s pregnant and maybe the salad is making her nauseous.

That doesn't explain the anguish in her eyes, though. She doesn't even lift her head to look at Mayor Jenkins while he sits straight with his shoulders drawn back as his eyes roam the restaurant. I bet he’s searching for people to try and sway. Anyone who will listen to him talk himself up. He’s such a fucking douchebag.

“Wilder,” Sam says sharply.

My eyes snap to hers. “What?”

She chuckles. “Are we going to talk right here in the middle of the restaurant?”

“Sorry. I got distracted.” I keep walking to the back of the restaurant, and once we’re away from the crowded area, I press my back to the wall. “What’s up?”

She rolls her lips together, grinning from ear to ear. “Will you…go to prom with me?”

My eyebrows shoot to my forehead. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That was blunt. Nothing like laying it right out there.

I draw my fingers around my mouth, trying to think of a quick response that won’t have her running away in tears. “Prom, huh?”

“I know it’s short notice with prom being in just a couple weeks, and I know you don’t have a date.” She puts her hand on my forearm, her tone shifting to a more tender tone. “Not because you couldn’t get one, but I heard you didn’t want one this year and…well, I thought maybe I could change your mind.”

She’s right. I don’t have a date, and it’s because I don’t want one. I’m not into any girls at our school and it doesn’t feel right to go with one just because of the pressure to have a date for these things. I’d rather go with a group of friends who I actually want to hang out with.

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