Page 10 of Beautiful Defiance

6

SEVEN

Ijump the sorry-of-an-excuse-for-a-fence separating the Stevenson’s property and my parents’ and stomp over to the guesthouse.

The curtains are drawn. I pound on the door. Nothing. I pound harder. Kick the door with the toes of my sneaker when there’s still no answer.

On the second go at the door, it swings open. I barge inside Leigh’s place, not giving a care that she’s in her underwear and a tank top sans bra.

“Seven, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

She’s staring at the floor. Damn right, she should be avoiding looking me in the eye. I’m so pissed off right now I’d scare the living daylights out of her.

“If it’s about yesterday, I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for saving my life.”

Her words strip me of my anger. Goddammit, how can she defuse the situation so easily with her crappy-ass words? She glances up and sees what is smeared on my face. Her eyes widen. She sucks in a breath.

I’m doing the same. See red too. Her bottom lip is swollen and cut up. There’s a scrape on her right temple, the skin red and puckered. I grasp her by the jaw.

“Who the fuck did this? Was it Henry?”

She doesn’t answer. No shit she doesn’t. What I’m quickly learning is Leigh isn’t like the other girls. She isn’t compliant. Moldable. Predictable. Leigh is defiant, what I don’t want in my life. Defiance is dangerous.

“Why didn’t you wash this off?” She reaches out and fans her fingers on my skin.

“I was too pissed,” I grumble, resisting the impulse to cover her hand with mine. To beg for her to dig her fingertips into my flesh. To help me feel something other than the emptiness that’s lived in me since I was fifteen.

Jesus H. Christ, her fingers on my skin are like that first and last warm breeze of summer, heralding the change in seasons. I mentally shake off that thought. Fuck’s sake, I’m waxing poetry and all because a girl touched my face.

I step back, hoping she’ll get the message and stop touching me. If she did, she’s not listening.

Again, why did I believe Leigh would listen to a word or any nonverbal cue I gave her?

“It’s just cornstarch, silly.”

“Silly?”

“Tough guy?” A shrug and a tentative smile from her.

“That’s better.” I smile back.

Wait, the fuck? Are we flirting? Her fingers fall from my face, and she goes to the kitchen, returning with a damp cloth.

I mutter, “Thanks,” grab the cloth from her, and scrub off the cornstarch. “You didn’t answer my question, Leigh.”

“It’s none of your business.” She takes the cloth from me and tosses it into the washing machine. “I’m sorry for the prank. I set it up before you saved my life.”

She sinks onto the couch like dead weight. Am I missing something, or did Leigh sway?

“Leigh, are you okay? Are you in trouble?”

If she is, I’ll get her out of it after I pummel whoever messed with her beautiful face. Leigh Kim. Beautiful. Defiance. Beautiful Defiance. Fits her.

“Everything’s fine. Go back to school already. You, we, everyone at Cambridge, can’t afford for you to miss a game because your grades are in the shitter.”

In the shitter? This girl and her mouth. She rests her head in her palms, shoves her fingers in her hair, and shakes out the inky strands. Her defiance is like a damn rock in my shoe, but Leigh looking worn down? It’s annoying as fuck that I care.

“I’m not leaving until you look me in the eye and tell me to piss off.”

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