Page 411 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“You said you wanted to go to the library to study.” But Jude’s the one studying me.

I cover my smile with the back of my hand. “Whatever. I have the whole weekend.”

Jude’s eyes narrow. “Are you meeting someone here?”

I snort. “Yeah, Jude, my boyfriend and me make out in the mechanical engineering aisle likeallthe time.”

Jude says nothing to this. He reverses out of his parking bay and leaves. “You still carry that water bottle with you?” he asks.

My throat closes up. I force out a strangled, “What?”

“I’m thirsty.” He holds out his hand.

“It’s empty.”

“I heard it sloshing around in there.” He glances at me, then back at the road. “Come on, Harper. Don’t be selfish.”

I don’t know why I obey. It’s like my arm is receiving instructions directly from some other entity. Jude, I guess. I take out my bottle and unscrew the cap, but thank God I get my motor function back a second before he can take it from me.

Lifting the bottle, I glug down the last three sips of vodka inside and tip the bottle over. “See? Empty.”

Jude drops his hand, saying nothing. In fact, he goes on to say nothing for the rest of the trip home. When we stop at home, he doesn’t unlock the door straight away. I tug on the handle anyway and then lean back to give him a deadpan look. “Open,” I whine.

He sits for a moment, utterly frozen, and then turns in his seat. The serious expression on his face is like a bucket of icy water on my face. I sit up straight and push away from him, crowding against the nook between the door and the seat.

“Harper, you’ve got a problem.”

“What?” I laugh, but it’s more of a snort. “Oh my God, are you serious?” I tap the water bottle. “This proves nothing.”

“So you’re one hundred percent sober right now?”

“I mean…is anyone? Ever?” As soon as his eyes narrow, I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, Jude. I’m sober.”

He cocks his head exactly like he did in the dream I had about him the other night. God, how many times have I seen him in my dreams? Twenty? Thirty? Most nights I don’t remember what I dream, but the ones where I wake up horny I know it was about him. My body starts switching on, and I squirm in my seat.

What the fuck, Harper? Quit it! If Jude breathes a word of some of the shit I’ve done the past few weeks, I’m dead meat. Idon’t want to go back to the trailer. Ilikegoing to school. I like thinking I have even a glimmer of a future that involves college.

“Do you even realize you’re slurring?”

My cheeks catch fire. “No I’m not.”

He goes on like I haven’t spoken. “Or that my sister has better hand-eye coordination than you?” His lips quirk up in a smile that’s anything but jolly. “You’re a fucking train wreck, Harper.” He grabs my thigh and leans in close, triggering another flashback of my hot as fuck dream of him.

I bite my lip, forcing myself not to react, but I can’t seem to stop squirming in the seat. Probably because the friction of my skirt on the leather is doing all sorts of wicked things to my pussy.

He glances at my water bottle, and I flinch when his eyes lock back onto mine. “That was the last.Ever.If you don’t sober up immediately, you’ll regret the day you ever laid eyes on me.”

He sits back in his seat and pushes the button to unlock my door. I scramble out, yanking on my clothes to realign them when my blazer gets caught in the seatbelt. “Asshole!” I yell.

I know I have to rein it in, but I can’t.

He thinks he knows everything, but he’s so fucking wrong.

If he wants to act like a prick, if he thinks I’m just going to let him walk all over me, then he’s got another thing coming.

I should have been looking where I was going, not glaring at him over my shoulder. I trip and fall to my hands and knees, scraping both. The stab of pain is enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I blink them back with iron determination.

Pushing myself up, I dust off my hands and force myself to keep walking. Not looking back.

---