Page 15 of Bad Kind of Love

Hearing a burst of laughter from behind her, I’m seconds away from attacking when a loud voice breaks in.

“Vicky, what the fuck?” Wes jumps in, appearing irate as he takes in the scene before him.

Still frozen in anger, I can't seem to ignore the need to roam my eyes over his large frame. Dressed in a dirt-stained shirt and athletic shorts, he looks like he just got done playing a game of football. His hair was disheveled and the small cut above his lip made me think it was a rough one at that.

“What?” She chuckles, taking a step closer to him. “It’s not like this place is clean anyway?”

Leering down at her as if he’s about to rip into her, I quickly jump in.

“You’re right.” I add. “Once your skank ass leaves, it’ll look immaculate.”

Her mouth instantly drops, stunned by my confession while Wes observes me with a look of admiration. I wasn’t one to lash out, but Vicky Thompson was seriously asking for it.

“Damn V…” A deep voice adds from behind Vicky. Peering over her shoulder, I notice it’s Nate, another football player, who’s holding back laughter.

“Shut up, Nate.” Vicky growls before turning her attention on me.

“You better watch yourself, O’Connor.” And with that, she turns around and tosses her cup onto the floor, purposely missing the trash. Everyone trails behind her out the door except Wes, who’s still standing at my side.

“I’m sorry about that. That was shitty of her to do.” He apologizes, running a hand through his messy hair. Going back to mopping, I shrug my shoulder.

“Not your fault she’s a bitch.” I grumble. Feeling him watch me closely sends my heart into a nervous rhythm.

“Well, apparently I suck at choosing the right friends.” He chuckles. When I don’t return the laughter, he immediately stops and coughs into his hand.

“You seem to be doing okay. Two weeks in and you're already friends with the It crowd.” I continue mopping with my head down, not risking the chance to look up and get caught in his captivating blues.

“I don’t care about any of that shit. They asked if I wanted to hang out and I said okay.” He drops his shoulders. “Beats sitting at home.”

“With Mr. Fitz?” I snorted. I wouldn’t blame him. Being stuck in a house with his brooding dad didn’t sound like the best way to spend a Saturday night. He probably teleported back to hell or was planning ways to be even more of an asshole teacher for when Monday came along.

“You know my dad?” He questions. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him sit up a little straighter.

“Yah, he’s my English teacher.” I grunt, lifting the mop and dropping it back into the bucket of soapy water. “Hate to break it to you, but he’s kind of a jerk.”

With my hands still wrapped around the handle, I peek up under my lashes to see a slight grin across his lips. “I haven’t noticed.” He jokes. “He’s complicated to say the least. Always has been.” His eyes seem distant as he stares out the window before turning his attention back to me. “What? You don’t have an emotionless dad who says fewer than three words to you at a time?” He smiles sarcastically.

“My dad’s stuck in the slammer, so sadly, I know all about that.”

His smile drops and so does the vibe in the room. “Shit.” He stammers shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s fine. He’s been there for a while now.” I awkwardly shuffle my feet. “And stop apologizing. I don’t need your pity. As you can see, I’m doing just fine.” I motion my arms around the building. “Plus, it makes you look soft.”

Before he has a chance to respond, I’m wheeling the mop away satisfied with my statement.

“Soft?” He half laughs half shouts, his voice laced with confusion. Coming to an abrupt stop, I contemplate if I want to continue our conversation.

He was a distraction and by the way I skidded my feet across the floor to acknowledge him, he was hard to ignore.

“You’re too nice.” I force out before I can even process it in my head. “The world is a shitty place filled with shitty people. The perfect recipe to get fucked over.” Looking over my shoulder, I make sure I have his eyes on me. “Being nice is a waste of time.”

“Pessimistic much?” He throws out there, holding my gaze in a standoff.

“More like a realist.” My gaze drifts from his, to the group of bystanders watching our interaction closely. “You better get going.” I nod my head towards Vicky and her friends. “Staying here talking with me much longer will surely drop your social status a few notches.” I start to move again when I hear the sound of footsteps coming up on me fast.

“You know, everyone’s been nice as shit to me, welcoming me to Westwood, offering to show me around the school, sit with them at lunch, everyone but you. You try to avoid me at all costs.” He stops in front of the mop bucket, blocking me from moving any further. Shocked, I stare at him in disbelief and bewilderment. “Why?”

Was he really asking me this right now? While I’m at work, wearing an ice cream cone on my head. How could he even take me seriously with this thing on?

---