Page 59 of Beautiful Defiance

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LEIGH

“Hey, why’s New Girl here? Does she think we’ll give her the time of day if she sits there and ogles us?”

Ogle? As if.

Seven’s teammate points at me and sneers. His sneers aren’t confusing in this mix of menacing and holy hotness way that Seven’s is. This jerk’s sneer is ugly, and his words, rude.

I take the steps on the bleachers one by one, holding on to the railing for support. The steps are slippery, and with my crappy luck, I’ll slip and fall on my ass in front of the entire football team. Chatter floats from behind me on my way down. The cheerleaders are done with practice.

With my feet on solid ground, I head for Seven. He cups the back of his head and looks down at the ground. I stop walking toward him and pivot in the direction of the school’s parking lot, his embarrassment dawning on me.

His teammates don’t know that he’s failing his classes and is on the verge of being benched. I feel bad for him, but at the same time, I’m irritated too. Is it a blow to his ego to admit he’s not doing his best because he royally messed up? My guess is a solid yes. Seven is the type of guy who doesn’t like to admit his mistakes, his defeats and failures, or that he needs help.

“Where the hell are you going, fresh meat? Don’t you want some something, something?”

I keep on walking. Best not to rile up the jerk with my resting bitch face. Or to see him doing the pelvic thrust, his way of showing me his “something, something.”

A deep voice cuts into the thick-with-tension silence. “Don’t speak to her that way, shithead. She’s with me.”

No, it’s not Seven coming to my defense. He has too much pride. Malice walks over and slings his arm across my shoulders. He smells of sweat and grass and the cool air.

“Thanks for waiting, babe.”

Babe? I open my mouth; I’m not his girl. Malice squeezes my shoulder and says near my ear, “Play along. I’m helping you and Seven.”

I like the words help, you, and Seven. I take a deep breath, relieved Malice isn’t a total jerk, and catch a whiff of sweat and body odor. I wrinkle my nose.

“Shouldn’t you hit the locker room first and change out of the wet uniform?”

He sniffs his armpit. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You own a GT-R,” I sputter. “Beauty shouldn’t be tainted with boy BO and sweat.”

“Boy?” He throws back his head and laughs. “I’m no boy, Leigh. I am all man.”

To make his point, he reaches down and grabs his crotch. I roll my eyes.

“Okay, champ.”

“A champ who wants a piece of you, sweet thing.”

We’ve progressed from babe to sweet thing? Wow, he’s laying it on thick. And what high school boy speaks like he’s a college dude?

Or Malice is getting someone’s boxers in a bunch. There’s a low growl from behind us. The guys and the cheerleaders crowd us as we make our way to Malice’s GT-R. There’s crackling in the air, like a clap of thunder before lightning strikes. There’s also this silent chant, “Fight, fight, fight,” trailing behind us.

I cluck my tongue. Kids and their thirst for blood and drama.

“You must have it bad for her,” the jerk says. “Never heard laughter from that cocky mouth of yours.”

“Yeah, I got it bad. Now, piss off. My girl and I need alone time.” He unlocks the car doors and holds the passenger-side door open for me. I slide inside. The smell of leather is strong.

Malice throws his backpack and gear in the back and climbs in, his large body taking up considerable space.

“Nice ride.” I cup the top of the gear stick. “I love manuals.”

“You know how to drive one?”

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