Page 3 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

Jonas just knows not to go public with it because her father is a raging lunatic afraid of anyone taking his money. She’s had a fiancè since before she was born. That’s how the elite do it. Their children are just political moves in order to join families. Business arrangements. I almost feel bad for her, but then I remember she is not a pleasant person.

“Ouch. what crawled up your ass and died? I’m not a home-wrecker, Charley. Rude.” She scrunches her face up and draws her head back.

“Well, you already know about the fact that we split up, even though I haven’t told a single soul. So you’ve been talking to Jonas. Why don’t you go talk to him about it?” She scoffs, flinging her fried hair over her shoulder before making her hasty getaway without another word.Bye bitch.

Professor Michaels moves to close the classroom door before a sleeved arm shoots in and stops it. A head of shaggy brown hair peeks in.

“Hurry, Mr. Sutton. Class is about to start.” He nods to the dainty woman with kindness and scans the classroom. With a frown, he lands on the seat next to mine. The only one left. Fine with me, but it doesn’t suit him. I like to think I’m a friendly person, so I’m not sure why sitting next to me isn’t favorable. I haven’t interacted with Riggs much, but I’ve never been rude to him either.

Without meaning to, I lock eyes with him. Damn. He has always been fine, but he fills out the uniform this year. His bad boy vibes have only gotten stronger from the tattoos to the untied boots adorning his feet. From across the room, I can see the color of his piercing blue eyes. He may be from the wrong side of the tracks and a delinquent, but damn if genetics weren’t good to him. He carries himself in a way that reminds you not to fuck with him, but in order to be in this school you have to have a minimum of a three point eight GPA. So, despite his demeanor, the guy is smart. Scholarship students can’t buy grades like most of the air-headed jocks that go here.

After giving the entire classroom another long look, his sigh is heavy as he scuffles across the room, not bothering to pick up his feet. Professor Michaels stands in the classroom’s front, impatient, trailing him as he makes his way over to me. I didn’t know sitting next to me would be such a burden. I mean, I know I suck at science, but I always pull an “A” out of my ass somehow.

As soon as he drops into the seat next to me, legs sprawled out and the chair pushed so far back his arms struggle to reach the tabletop, I’m enveloped with a sweet candy smell, fresh outdoors, and exhaust fumes. He makes no move to make eye contact with me or to say hi. He is as far away from me as he can get and not bothering to hide how obvious he is. I try not to take it personally, but it is a little hard. I bet he hates me just because I’m rich, as most of the people from the North side of town do. They all seem to have a chip on their shoulders, and I can’t blame them. I just wish they didn’t judge me like I don’t judge them. Everyone deserves a fair chance in my eyes.

It just so happens that Riggs is turning my belly into a fluttering pit of heat. He’s so damn sexy and smells so good. His attitude isn’t helping because I guess dark and brooding with a side of unwarranted hatred is my thing. He’s so much the opposite of Jonas that they’re not even in the same realm.

“Hi, Riggs, is it?” I murmur without turning to face him as Professor Michaels introduces herself and writes something on the board.

From the corner of my eye, I can see him raising his brows like it stunned him that I'm trying to still talk to him or that I know his name. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him in the hallway. That means that the curly-haired guy smoking was Jensen. Son of a tech mogul and one of the few intelligent rich kids that go here. Also, Foxy’s crush since middle school and the off-limits one she hasn’t been able to snag. I think she’s been saving the best for last. Though, the smoking habit would have to go.

Riggs and Jensen have been the best of friends for as long as I can remember. Riggs doesn’t talk to anyone other than the teachers and Jensen. He keeps to himself and you don’t notice he is here. Until this year. I saw the eyes on him as he crossed the classroom. The girls are noticing him.

They need to land those eyes elsewhere. They would ruin a guy like Riggs.Like I know him and his character.I know their parents would never allow them to date a guy that didn’t go here because he wasn’t a legacy and couldn’t pay the tuition. They would use him up and spit him out.

“Wow, you know who I am,” he snarks. “What, does Miss Popular have a list of the poor assholes’ names so she doesn’t look like a total bitch when she doesn’t remember who they are?” I try to hide my flinch at his words.What the fuck did I ever do to him?

No. Nope.

It’s okay, I won’t take it personal. He doesn’t know me at all, but he knows the way the students that go to this school act, so I can’t blame him for being prickly. They’redickwads.

“I’m Charlotte, but I go by Charley,” I try again, determined for whatever reason. I don’t want someone who doesn’t know me hating me. He exhales a long breath through his nose.

“I know who you are.” His comment is snide. I swallow hard, shifting in my seat. It isn’t often that someone makes me feel uncomfortable, and it isn’t often that someone doesn’t know who I am. I draw a lot of attention being the likable rich bitch at school, and I can’t claim that I haven’t taken part in any of the bullying that happened last year to some of the scholarship students. My indiscretions have earned me some enemies that I deserve. I’m not proud of it, and I won’t make excuses, but it will never happen again. A bully is not who I am, regardless of what my peers will think of me.

“Okay, then. I’m assuming we will be lab partners when the time comes. Science is not my strong suit, so I promise I will give it my all.” I offer a small smile, turning to face him just a little. I can’t help but rake my eyes over his deliciousness. The casual way he’s leaning over the desk while avoiding me, but there is so much of him he’s everywhere and can’t avoid me completely. His limbs are long and lean, but still defined under the confines of our uniforms. The boys wear purple polos and gray slacks with loafers. We wear gray polos with purple collars and pleated skirts that vary from girl to girl with whose is gray and whose is purple.

His jawline is strong and covered in stubble a few shades darker than the sexy, shaggy hair falling around his eyes. The guys here should shave their faces clean, but summer break ended a couple days too soon for him and he couldn’t bother with it. The same with his boots that are not regulation and I’m so here for it, even if he is being the world’s biggestdickbag.

What has me going, though, is the ice in his gaze. Holy hell, those eyes are sharp as daggers, so cold and judgmental, yet demanding in the perfect way.

What the hell is wrong with me? Fawning over a guy who would rather I not exist.

He hums and scoots in his chair, then crosses his long arms over his chest, resting them on the desk. “Great, so I’ll be carrying you this semester like I have every other snobby, rich fuck. Good thing I’ve learned not to rely on anyone.”

My hackles raise, but I drop my gaze to the desk, rubbing the back of my neck.

I’m not the other students in this school, not a bully and don’t buy my grades; I earn them. Even though he's a grade A prick, he can rely on me. I’ll show him.

I’m not sure why his opinion of me is so important. He is, after all, just another poor guy from the North side of Bleudale.

I spent most of the class baffled by his words and at a loss for what to say back, my disbelief at how he viewed me so strong that I lost focus most of the period. What a way to become the person he wouldn’t have to carry.

A minute before the bell is due to ring, I peel my eyes from the whiteboard where I’m staring at Professor Michaels’ back to see a notebook flopping into the space between my arms. I furrow my brow and try to refocus my eyes on Riggs. He’s packing his books into his bag, shoving the led back into his pencil.

“Don’t worry, it’s part of the routine for me to hand over my notes for the rich pricks,” he confirms.

“Excuse me?” That whips me back from zoning out. “Who the fuck do you think I am?” I rattle off with so much indignation that I sound desperate.

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