Page 27 of Never His Girl

She hates me, I get it, but even knowing there’s probably no chance in hell she’ll ever speak to me again, I’m committed to trying.

All because this feels different. She’s the first girl I haven’t been able to get out of my head and … that has to mean something.

Has to.

Chapter 8

BLUE

Unknown Caller: Can we talk? Please.

Blue: Depends on who this is…

I set the phone aside and rinse remnants of soapy water from Scar’s cocoa mug just as another notification chimes. But this time, when I glance at the screen, I’m immediately sick to my stomach.

Unknown Caller: It’s West.

My hands are shaking as I pull down the menu, hovering over the ‘block’ option. I’m completely aware that I should’ve already pressed it, but it’s not as easy as I expect. So, one deep breath later, it’s done. West can no longer drop into my life whenever he pleases, and whatever chance there was for conversation, it’s gone.

What helps is envisioning the scratches and bruises my sister is currently sporting on her face and arms, thanks to him. By some small miracle, she’s fallen asleep, but before that, I didn’t manage to get a single detail out of her about today. Whoever these kids are, she’s terrified of them. So much so, she won’t even give up their names. Not a single one.

For now, Jules has agreed to see Scar to all her classes, and Shane’s not leaving her side during lunch. It’s not the top-flight security I’d love her to have, but it’s the best I can do from a distance.

Now, more than ever, I’m regretting being at CPA. Not only is my being there on the brink of meaning nothing anyway, but I know none of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed on my side of town. I’d be with Scar, I never would’ve met West, and I’d only have to face theusualBS that comes with being Blue Riley. The stuff I was already used to. The stuff I know how to handle.

North side drama is on a whole different level.

My heart leaps when the phone chimes again and, for a second, I think it’s West maybe texting from a different number, but an actual name pops up this time.

Ricky: Got a sec?

Blue: Finishing dishes. What’s up?

Ricky: Come out back when you’re done.

The message has me glancing toward the window and, sure enough, he’s already standing there, his back to me as he paces a little.

After drying my hands, I smooth my ponytail before realizing I haven’t done that in a while—cared if I looked a mess when he stopped by, but apparently that’s a thing again.

I snag a hoodie from the hook beside the door and then step out.

Broad shoulders beneath a black leather jacket catch my attention first, then he turns and I’m no longer remembering what it felt like being held by him the other night. Instead, before I can even greet him, I’m eyeing the two cuts on his face.

“What the hell happened?”

Before I can stop myself, I’m down the porch steps in just my socks, concern causing my anxiety to spike.

“I’m cool,” he insists, carrying fresh anger on his back like a boulder. But it isn’t for me. It’s for whoever was on the dealing end of these gashes, and whoever had likely taken a nasty beating himself.

As someone who’s seen Ricky fight on many occasions growing up, I feel for the other guy.

I settle back when I realize I’m acting too much like a girlfriend, but still keep close watch on him.

“Listen, some shit went down,” he begins, “and I just thought you should hear it from me before you hear it from anyone else.”

I breathe deeply and nod. “Okay.”

He looks off to the side and I try to read him, but he gives nothing away. My first thought is that he’s preparing himself, warming up to telling me that whatever he’s done will have the cops coming around. But I decide to let him explain instead of jumping to conclusions.

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