Page 19 of Bad Boy
I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable that this man knows my grandfather, which also means he probably knows my entire fucked up family history.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You guess?” His bushy caterpillar eyebrows rise comically high.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip, Coach. This town isn’t very big. I only got here two days ago, but I’ve never met the man before then.”
He steeples his hands in front of his chin, looking like a fucking psychologist—analyzing me or some shit—and I bristle, straightening my spine.
“Richard is a good friend of mine. So yes, Remington. I am aware of your. . . unfortunate past.”
I scoff at that and stand, rolling my eyes. “Unfortunate?What a joke—”
“Sit down for a minute, Remi. Hear me out, please.” He holds his hand out, imploring me. I huff out an annoyed breath but plop back down unceremoniously.
“I’m actually really glad you came to see me today. Your grandfather wanted me to check in with you. See how your first day is going. But let’s talk about why you stopped by. What’s going on?”
“Just wanted to see if you knew of any boxing or MMA gyms taking new members? Or any recommendations?”
His ridiculous eyebrows jump up again, and I can’t suppress the smirk tugging at my lips.
“Actually, I do. My younger brother has a place in Asheville, about thirty minutes east of here. Otto’s Boxing Club. But, son. Are you sure that’s the best idea considering your track record?”
I stiffen at his words. “Okay, whoa. No one asked you,sir. It’s none of your business. I don’t care if you’ve known my grandfather your whole life. I’ve known him all of two days and you for two minutes so that doesn’t mean shit to me.” I lean down and snatch my backpack up. “Thanks for the info, though. Maybe I’ll let your brother train me.” And then I give him my signature grin, leaving him gaping after me.
He’s probably never had a student speak to him like that. But he doesn’t know me, and I’ll be damned if I let him judge me. I’ll go to his brother’s gym out of fucking spite. Hopefully this Otto guy won’t be as big of a know-it-all prick as his big bro.
What-fucking-ever.
* * *
When I step out of the cafeteria line with my steaming meatloaf and mashed potatoes, I spot Lincoln sitting alone in the corner by the wall of windows. It has an incredible view of the sprawling mountains, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to all this. . .nature.
Lincoln has his head buried in a textbook—a science one, I’m sure—as he munches on a bag of baby carrots. I arrive two seconds behind a group of douchey-looking guys who stroll up to the table and stand right next to him.
What’s-his-face and his cronies.
Oh yeah.Brandon.
I knew I didn’t like him in Calculus earlier, and I definitely didn’t miss the way he stared Lincoln down like a fucking psycho this morning. I’m always aware of my environment and looking for threats. I didn’t survive for almost eighteen years running the streets without being hypervigilant.
“Beat it, Scooter. We’re sitting here today,” he sneers at Linc, his thin lips peeling back and showing way too much teeth. He’s a couple of inches taller than me, but that doesn’t mean shit. I’ve beaten bigger guys.
He’s average-looking, with dirty blond hair tied into a messy topknot. His dark blue eyes shine with unnecessary malice that has me stepping closer.
“What’s up, Brandon?” I ask in an even tone. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. This loserfreakis sitting at the tablewewant to sit at today. You can join us, though, Rem.” He nods to me, then turns to the table. “Move, Scooter Boy.”
Linc peers up at all of us, mismatched eyes nervously bouncing back and forth between Brandon and me. Ihatethat he seems scared of these assholes, but I’m glad he doesn’t move for them.
I reign in the urge to pummel this fucker’s face in. I’ve gone off for far less in the past.
I casually set my tray down in front of Lincoln, spinning to face Brandon again. “First of all, it’s Remi—we aren’t friends. Second, if I hear you call him a freak or anything else again, I will risk expulsion to make sure you physically can’t speak. For at least three months. Ever had your jaw wired shut?” I threaten in a calm, even tone. “And third, fuckallthe way off. I’m sittinghere. With myfriend. He’s more fun to hang out with than any of you pricks. There’s no comparison.” I raise a single brow in challenge and dare him to provoke me more. I’d love nothing more than to lay this tool out in front of the entire cafeteria. All consequences be damned.
I hate bullies.
Brandon and his lame-ass friends just stand there with their mouths open, which is fucking hilarious to me because I literally just left Coach De Luca like that ten minutes ago.
