Page 11 of Topping the Jock
“Do you like it? Everyone I’ve met so far seems nice.”
I peered over at him. “Are we really going to do this? Have a nice little chat and act like we don’t have history?”
His brows pulled together. “I just thought we’d try to get along.”
“Look, Montgomery.” I bit back the hateful retorts on the tip of my tongue and tried my hardest to be civil.Triedbeing the keyword there. Because once I started talking, years of baggage came spewing out. “I don’t like you. You made me dread coming to school every day. Sometimes I’d even pretend to be sick so I didn’t have to come. And when it wasn’t you being an ass to me, it was your buddies. They were even worse than you. I’m not sure if this is some kind of bully’s remorse where you made a list of kids you tormented and hope to make amends, but I’m not interested in your bullshit apology. I’m not interested in getting to know you or being your friend. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal?”
“Are you always so pleasant in the morning?”
To my utter disbelief, he was grinning. I wanted to smack him.
He then added in a more serious tone, “I’m so sorry for all the shit I did to you and what my friends did to you because of me. But I’m not that guy anymore, Quinn. I don’t expect you to forgive me right off the bat, but I hope one day you’ll at least give me a chance to show you I’ve changed.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered before sipping more coffee.
Monty grinned and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’m not used to these cold mornings. I forgot it cooled off fast here.”
Wow. He was persistent.
I took a deep breath, prepared to snap at him again. Instead, I said, “Yeah, we’re expected to have a colder than average winter this year.”
Monty jerked his head toward me, his smile widening as our eyes met. God. He was like a damn puppy. Show him any kind of attention and his tail started wagging.
“I’m going over there,” I said before walking away from him. When I was on the other side of the courtyard, I looked to see Monty staring after me. He quickly averted his gaze.
What was his deal? Why was he so determined to get on my good side? It wasn’t like he’d lacked friends in school. He was the type of guy who could walk into a crowded room filled with people he’d never met and talk to them like they’d been friends for years.
I didn’t understand why he’d bother with me. We had never—and would never—be friends.
“Morning, Mr. Beck,” a girl named Caitlyn said after stepping off the bus. She’d been in my class the previous year and had signed up for my AP History course.
“Morning,” I echoed, before she joined a group of girls who squealed when seeing her.
More students arrived and filled up the courtyard, some talking loudly as they found their friends while others put in headphones and ignored everyone. I had mostly been in the latter category, though instead of music, I had escaped with books.
A bell pierced the air, causing the students to head toward the building in herds. Once inside, there was the familiar sound of lockers slamming, indistinct voices blending together, and shoes squeaking on the tile floor.
The school year had officially begun.
Chapter Three
Monty
“How was your first day?” Zane asked that evening over the phone. He had called me right after I’d finished stuffing my face with sushi from a Japanese restaurant I’d pretty much become a regular at.
“Not bad,” I answered, wiping my mouth and reclining on the couch. I propped my feet up on the scuffed coffee table and inwardly chided myself for eating so much. But dealing with Quinn had left an empty feeling inside my chest, and I guess overindulging in Japanese food was the answer to filling it. In theory, at least.
“That’s all you have to say?” Zane pressed, knowing me too well. Even though we’d gone to different colleges and moved to different states after high school, we’d remained friends and found time to see each other when possible—mostly in the summer or during holidays. No matter how much distance separated us, Zane would always be my boy.
I hoped we’d see each other more now that I had moved back to Washington. He lived in Seattle, which was only about two hours away.
“You remember Quinn Beck?”
Zane was silent a moment. Then, “You mean Becky?”
“Yeah.” I squeezed my eyes shut, hating myself all over again for ever giving him that stupid nickname. “Well, he’s teaching at the same school. And he’s pissed at me big-time for how we treated him. I guess it didn’t sink in ’til now how bullying could affect someone long term. Was I really that horrible back then?”
“You weren’t any worse than the rest of us,” Zane responded. “We were all shitheads.”
