Page 11 of The Catalyst

Over my dead body.

I’d rather pet a piranha than be alone with this douche. He’s the exact kind of guy that tickles my gag reflex, and not in a fun, sexy way.

I don’t respond. I just lift my chin in acknowledgment.

“Back off!” Judy snaps at him, but with one evil look from him, she caves, standing beside me. I don’t blame her. She’s naturally timid and it's hard to stand your ground when someone who could easily crush you like a bug looks at you like that.

However, I know how this goes. I’m the new girl in town. No matter how I react or what I say, it will stick with me. If I back down, I’ll be seen as a target, and being bullied is not on my bucket list.

“Tell me, new girl. Are you a prude or are you a slut?” he sneers at me as I meet his glare unflinchingly. “I thought you were a prude, but then I overheard you at the party. You were telling Gunderson how you lost your panties at the Bastard house.”

A round of gasps and laughs echo through the parking lot, but I don’t let him see how it affects me.Just fucking great.My bucket list was meant as a way to reinvent myself, not to gain a target on my back.

“Either you were lying to prove you aren’t a prude or you’re just a massive slut. So which is it, sweetheart?”

Rage fills my chest from the pet name he used. No one calls me sweetheart. It has always made me mad when anyone would try to call me that, except for my dad because that was his nickname for me. If he seriously thinks he will get away with this, he’s mistaken.

I tilt my head, feigning a pensive attitude before I knee him straight in the groin hard. The crowd erupts in shock as Devon drops to his knees and I grip his hair tight in my fist before taking the same knee and ramming it into his nose. Pain shoots through my knee, but I don’t let it show as I glare daggers down at the prick.

“Don’t ever call mesweetheart.” He tries to stand, but I kick him in the leg to keep him down and he spews curses at me. “Just because I refused your advances doesn’t make me a prude and giving in to someone else doesn’t make me a slut. It makes you a misogynistic dickwad who isn’t worth the air you breathe. Feel lucky I’m not cutting off your dick for talking to me like that and scurry back to whatever hole you came from and stay the fuck away from me.” I push him back, releasing his hair. He falls flat on his ass, cradling his nuts and I swear he’s crying.

My gaze connects to the icy blues of the stranger, his eyes begging for me to come to him.

No, thank you. I choose life.

“Come on,” I say to Judy as the crowd makes a path for us, and I swear most of them look at me with fear. It’s not that big of a deal. Devon was a jerk and deserved to get his ass kicked, but the big question is: why the hell didn’t my stranger kick his ass? He just jumped around and got out of his way. He didn’t even hold up his arms to defend himself. What kind of vigilante doesn’t even protect himself when he is attacked?

I try to make it inside without any more confrontations, but the universe wants to throw curveballs today.

“Hey.” My stranger hurries after us and catches up as we walk inside the school.

“Hi,” I mutter, not really sure what to say. I can’t say I’m sorry for ditching him on Friday. It was very intentional, and we both know it.

“Oh, crap. I got this thing I gotta do. Catch you later.” Judy dashes into the crowd, leaving me alone with this man. I know without a doubt that was exactly her intention. She wanted to put me in this position, and it's not malicious. It’s simply forcing me to face the music.

“Devon is always a douche,” he says as he walks beside me. Luckily, I printed the school map on Saturday and took half the day memorizing where all my classes and my locker were so I wouldn’t have to ask for assistance.

“I figured as much.” Can we just end this conversation right here? This is getting awkward as hell, and I fucking hate it. We had sex. So what? I make it to my locker, and he’s still hovering, so I break the silence. “Why didn’t you hit him?”

His eyebrow raises in challenge as I stare right back at him.

He chuckles softly. “Because of these.” He lifts his hands in a “need I say more” motion, flashing his fingers. His hands are tan but not as dark as the callouses covering his knuckles. I’m not sure if that’s a sign that he’s spent a lot of time punching walls or people, but my hackles rise.

Red. Fucking. Flag.

“Meaning?” I ask, keeping my voice level.

“They’re classified as a deadly weapon. I can’t hit anyone unless it’s inside the ring, even in self-defense. One punch, and it’s attempted murder.” He shoves them in his pockets, and my suspicions lessen.

Boxing.

He’s a boxer.

Of course he can’t hit someone. A jerk like Devon Jordan isn’t worth his time or the prison sentence.

“Wow. That’s actually a thing? I thought that was just a fictional plot device.”

He smirks. “I wish that were the case. I haven’t kicked his ass since freshman year and he was due another ass-whooping.”

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