Page 74 of Bad Boy
With Lincoln.
Mom’s eyes dart to me, and Richard follows her gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath and hurries over to me, gently clasping my chin to get a better look. I turn my head, pulling my face out of his grasp, uncomfortable with the attention.
“It’s nothing,” I mumble, not really feeling like lying for a third fucking time. I’m really just peopledout at this point. I need my bed, the dark, and my headphones to decompress before school tomorrow. But I need food first.
I quickly step around him and sit across from Mom and Otto. Richard follows suit and takes his place at the head of the table next to me.
Lurch sees my face and the thawed peas I just plopped down on the table, dripping everywhere. His lip curls, and he practically raises his nose at me. All I can do is roll my eyes and greedily reach for the platter of cornbread he just set down. Grabbing two with one hand, I drop them on my plate with a thud, little crumbs flying off and landing on the table and maybe even the floor.
His nostrils flare, but he stays silent like always.
Hah. Fucker.
He turns and storms off toward the kitchen, and I smirk, feeling satisfied that I got under his skin once again.
I glance across the table at Mom and Otto. They’re both watching me, wearing matching frowns, which is kinda freaky, like they’re my disapproving parents or some shit.
“What?” I ask defensively.
Mom shakes her head while scooping salad into her bowl and adding a drizzle of balsamic vinaigrette.
“Remi, dear boy, what happened?” Gramps sounds so concerned. It makes me feel irrationally guilty. I stare into my steaming bowl of chili. I can’t look at his face and lie.
“My classmate almost fell off a cliff, and I saved him,” I repeat in a droll monotone. So completely over explaining myself.
I can’t imagine what everyone at school will say. Especially when they see Connor’s face. I have no idea where Gus rushed him off to, and I really don’t give a fuck. He got what was coming to him, and it’s not going to be pretty.
Gramps doesn’t know what to make of me. I know it. He stares at the bag of peas melting on the table, my busted knuckles, then my black eye.
I wouldn’t believe me either.
I scoop up a steaming heap of chili, blowing on it before I take a bite, letting the spicy flavors explode on my tongue.
“Well. That’s very heroic of you, Remi.”
I snort. I can’t help it.
“Thanks, Gramps. This is delicious, by the way,” I exclaim, changing the subject. I shovel another bite into my mouth and talk through the burn. “Like really fucking delicious.”
Mom and Otto agree, and we all eat in silence, enjoying the food.
Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzes under the table, and my eyes dart to Otto’s on reflex. He’s already looking at me, dark brows drawing together.
I set my spoon down and slip my phone out of my front pocket. My hand trembles while I press the side button, lighting it up.
My nerves turn to excitement when I see it’s not a text but an email. A notification that twenty-five hundred dollars was deposited into my bank account through the betting app that Gus made.
Holy fucking shit.
How did one fight for a thousand dollars turn into this? The bets must have been crazy.
Fucking rich kids.
A new text message pops up, and I swallow thickly. The chili turns to molten lava in my stomach, and my mouth waters with the need to be sick.
I know you’re home. Don’t get too comfortable.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
