Ruthless Love Page 7

  “Okay,” Tristan said after a few quiet minutes.

  I mentally braced myself, deciding if he was too much of an ass, I’d come to the poor little kid’s rescue.

  “This isn’t bad, but the whole ‘Webster’s defines blah blah’ intro is really over-done. And that second paragraph?” Tristan nodded his head, sticking his hand out in a fist. The kid smiled, shifting in his seat before reaching out to bump his small fist against Tristan’s.

  “That argument you made was really solid,” Tristan tapped the paper a few times with his pen, nodding. “Really solid. Just gotta start using those transitions like I told you. Think of it this way: you’ve got the brains, man. You took that topic out back, slapped it around, and made it your bitch. But you just need to work on the delivery. Smooth it out. Act like it’s a pretty girl you want to woo or some shit.”

  I grinned to myself. Okay. All the swearing was probably a little much for the kid who looked like he still needed a booster seat, but it was admittedly cute listening to Tristan.

  “Yeah.” the kid’s voice was adorably high-pitched. “Girls aren’t really my specialty.”

  Tristan frowned, like he was surprised. “Look, it’s easy. Girls love it when you fix problems for them. Or give them shit they want. So all you’ve got to do is find out what they need, or what they want, and then you go get it for them.”

  “Like jewelry?”

  “Uh, no. Even if you have the cash, that would be weird. You’re in high school. You get them small stuff. Like, I don’t know, find out what kind of coffee they like and surprise them with it. Or find out which girls are talking shit about them and put an end to it. Actually,” Tristan scrunched his face up. “Scratch that. Just get them something they like. And because I like you, if that doesn’t work, just tell them you’re friends with me.”

  The little guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

  “Hell yeah. Make up some good shit. I’ll back anything you say up. You can tell them we hang out all the time, I don’t care.”

  The kid bit his lip in excitement. “Thanks, Tris.”

  Tristan winced. “Okay. Take it back a step. We’re not that tight. No nicknames.”

  “My bad.”

  The kid and Tristan fist bumped once more, then the freshman got up and left the library, shooting me and my chair a passing glance on his way out.

  I slowly brought myself closer until I was right behind Tristan. “Hey, Tris.”

  He flinched. “Jesus. Wh—” Tristan looked, and his face fell when he saw it was me. “How long were you there?”

  “Long enough to see that I should’ve been asking you to help me with my English essay all along.”

  He chewed the end of his pen, leaning back in his chair to take a long look at me. “Dammit. I was going to tell you to fuck off, but now I’m too curious to see how shitty of a writer you are. C’mon. Give it here.”

  I fished in my backpack, fighting back a smile.

  Tristan pulled out the copy I’d printed. It wasn’t finished, but I had been planning to re-read it on the bus-ride home and make any notes I could think of.

  He absently flicked his pen between his fingers in an agile display, whirling it in quick circles as it flitted from his pinky to his forefinger and back again in a blur. He re-read a line, tracing it with his finger, then tilted his head, as if deciding to let something slide.

  His lips moved silently while he read, and I found myself watching him, biting my own lip. I swallowed, forcing my eyes back down to the paper. But they drifted back to his mouth. I guess I’d been too busy thinking about ramming a broomstick tipped with a knife through his chest to really notice those lips until now. Or maybe I’d only seen how easily they could curl upwards in cruel smiles.

  Now though…

  They looked like velvety pillows of warmth—like lips made for breaking hearts. I swallowed hard again, feeling like my mouth was suddenly too wet.

  Tristan looked up at me, then he arched a brow. “You hungry or something?”

  I put my hand to my neck, shaking my head in a few tight, jerking motions.

  A couple nerve-wracking minutes later, he sat back, crossing his arms with a heavy sigh. “I hate to admit it, but this is actually pretty good. You don’t just make good points. You have a way of spinning the sentences to hide the faults in your arguments, too. It’s honestly impressive. And if—” he trailed off, noticing the look on my face. “What? Spit it out.”

  “Is there a magical spell over this library, or something? You’re forbidden to be a dick in here? Is that it?”

  Tristan set his pen down. “I happen to enjoy this. Writing. Essays.” He gave a casual shrug. “It’s fun, I guess.” He stared down at my paper, running his forefinger absently over where my name was typed. “And you can figure out a lot about a person from how they write.”

  “Is that right?” I asked. “So, when do I get to read one of your essays, then?”

  “Nah. My stuff is shit. I’m just good at talking about it.”

  I frowned. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  A period of uncomfortable silence passed between us. It was long enough for me to start wondering if he was just waiting for me to leave him alone again—like maybe he’d temporarily forgotten to despise me, but now his memory was back.

  “Screw it,” I said suddenly. “I’m just going to ask. I listened to you be kind of awesome with that kid just now. So why do you try so hard to convince everyone else you’re a demented jerk?”

  “It’s all real. The good. The bad.” He stood up, slinging his book bag over his shoulder. “Real people aren’t saints. I was nice to that kid because I have fun doing this. And I was shitty to you because I had fun doing it. Make sense?”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly, sitting back in my chair.

  He looked like he was about to leave me sitting there, then he stopped. “Lately, I’ve been thinking there’s something else I’d have fun doing with you.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. If there were appropriate words to respond to that, I didn’t think I’d find them for the next few hours.

  At the look at my face, his lips curled up in amusement. “I’ll see you later, Wheels.”

  14

  Tristan

  I pulled up to Cassian’s place for a party he was throwing. His parents were out of town, like usual, and he hadn’t just invited kids from our school. Apparently, it was going to be “legendary,” and there were even kids from two counties over planning to come. Judging by the number of cars parked outside, the rumors were true.

  Cassian’s folks lived on a patch of land that sat above the rest of the surrounding area. There was a switchback road that led up and to an expansive, perfectly manicured chunk of about forty acres at the top. There was the main house, which was a cube-themed architect’s dream full of huge spaces that were all visible through giant windows and several, separate little buildings that broke off from the main property. There were so many people in attendance that the massive space actually looked crowded.

  A group of people cheered when they saw me and started an obnoxious, “QB” chant, which I walked away from as fast as I could. I had to shrug off a few girls who tried to get my attention, and then I finally bumped into Gage. He was wearing sunglasses and a black hat with a hoodie, despite the relatively warm night.

  “Trying not to get noticed, or something?” I asked.

  Gage tilted his head. “Some asshole posted all over social media that I’d be here. Apparently, a couple wannabe reporters showed up and are trying to catch me ‘in action.’”

  I grimaced, then gave him the universal guy code for “I feel for you,” which was a punch on the shoulder. Gage really did get a shitty roll in life. His dad was rich and famous. By extension, so was Gage. Except he wasn’t famous for doing shit. He was just famous for being the poor fucker his dad had put inside his mom’s belly. I knew he resented the attention, and I didn’t blame him.

  But Gage wasn�
�t what I was worried about. No. I was worried about the text I’d got from Cassian saying he couldn’t wait to play with my girlfriend at his party tonight. After the shit he pulled with the last text, I figured there was a damn good chance he was full of shit, but I’d managed to sit at home for a solid two minutes before I was tearing down the road in my car, breaking every speed limit I passed.

  So when I eventually spotted Wheels sitting inside with a drink in her hand beside Logan and Cassian, I was surprised, to say the least. What the hell was she thinking, coming here?

  But then I remembered the look in her eye when I’d invited her to the jailhouse a few weeks back. I’d seen the hunger there. She was stuck in that fucking chair all the time, and my guess was it made her more desperate than usual to have a chance to get out and let loose once in a while.

  I couldn’t blame her on a logical level, but that didn’t stop me from being furious with her for being so stupid.

  I walked up to where they were sitting and sat myself down next to her. She was on the couch, with her wheelchair sitting at the ready a short distance away. Logan was to her right, and Cassian was on the recliner adjacent to us.

  I put my arm around Wheels, ignoring the way Logan and Cassian were glaring at me.

  I half expected her to bite me or try to squirm free from my arm, but she froze like a deer in the headlights.

  “What’s up, Tristan?” Logan asked in a measured tone. He seemed irritated, but I didn’t give a shit. They both should have known by now. They should’ve known to stay the fuck away from her.

  I looked to Cassian, then to Logan. “Heard there was a party. Decided to come.”

  Cassian was grinning wickedly. “I wonder why.”

  “What was it you texted me?” I asked Cassian. “That you were going to invent some new wheelchair friendly positions with Kennedy tonight? Oh, no. That’s not right. You called her the pussy on wheels, right?”

  Kennedy reached for her chair, kicked the breaks into position, and muscled herself off the couch and into it. “I should really get going.”

  “We’re miles from your house. How do you plan to do that?” I asked. “Wait.” I looked to Logan. “I can take a wild guess about who gave you a ride here.”

  She spread her hands. “Yeah. Logan gave me a ride.” She said it like it wasn’t a big deal, which only made me feel more pissed.

  None of them seemed to fucking get it. “Great. I’m sure he’d love to give you a ride back. Just don’t forget to use protection.”

  I left the room, feeling way, way more angry than I should have. I realized I was fucking fuming. I leaned my back against the wall, trying to stop breathing in heaping gasps that felt like they made my lungs burn.

  A brunette wearing a crop top came up to me with a tilt of her head and a smile. She was double fisting red cups, and stuck one out to me like a peace offering. “You look like you could use this.”

  I took it from her, tipping my head back and draining it in a few long chugs.

  She pursed her lips, then handed me the other cup.

  I drained it, too. I felt like I was losing my mind. When the hell had I gone from simply wanting to make Wheels miserable to wanting to murder every last guy who so much as thought about touching her? Yeah, I’d told her it wasn’t jealousy—that I just wanted to be the one to torment her. But fuck. I didn’t even know if I believed that anymore.

  The girl leaned in, raising her voice so I could hear her over the roar of conversation and music outside. “You’re like, really hot. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you before. Tristan Blackwood, right? Aren’t you the quarterback for Parker? Everybody says you’re going to wind up in the NFL or something.”

  “Thanks for the drinks,” I said, walking back inside. Whether I understood it or not, I couldn’t storm out and leave Wheels here with both Cassian and Logan probably hoping to score with her.

  Logan was sitting on the couch talking to some of the defensive players from our team. I frowned at him. “Where is she?”

  Logan shrugged. “Said she was going to use the bathroom before we left.”

  “Where’s Cassian?”

  “He left after she did.”

  I headed down the hallway, pushing past people who were mulling around the house, talking and drinking. There were a shit load of bathrooms in Cassian’s place, but I started with the closest ones. Eventually, I saw an empty wheelchair outside one of the bathrooms. When I got closer, I heard muffled voices coming from inside.

  “…my theater room. We could get away from the noise.”

  “No.” Kennedy’s voice sounded tight, like she was talking through clenched teeth. “I’m good.”

  “Come on. Is this about the camera? I’ll buy you a new fucking camera, okay? I lost my temper.”

  “It’s fine. Can you just let me go, please?”

  “I get it. Your pussy is spoken for, is that it? Tristan write his name down there? Or maybe it was Logan?”

  “Fuck you.” Finally, she didn’t sound scared. She sounded pissed.

  I felt a little twinge of pride for her. As much as I wanted to burst in the room right now and pull him away from her, I wanted to know what she’d do. That, and I was curious if she could handle him on her own. Somehow, I had a feeling she could.

  “Alright.” Cassian hardly seemed phased by her anger. “Tell me what you’ve got on Tristan to make him so interested. That’s what it is, right? I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re around us. Like he’s so tense he’s going to pop. What’s he so afraid you’ll tell us?”

  “Nothing. He just hates me. I think it’s fun for him to screw with me. I don’t pretend to understand it. Can I go now?”

  Cassian sniffed dismissively. “You’re protecting him. Why would you do that? I watched him lock your ass in a jail cell. He told all of us about how you were so eager to suck his dick. And you should hear the things he says about you to us when you’re not around, like how much of a whore you are when the doors are closed.”

  Fucking liar. Well, at least about the last part. I really had been an ass, and I only had myself to blame for Cassian’s sick interest in her. Ever since I made that shit up about her sucking my dick, he had been like a blood hound.

  “Maybe Tristan is more than people give him credit for,” Kennedy responded.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Cassian said. “And as soon as he gets his fill of you, he won’t give a shit which one of us takes a turn next.”

  The door opened, and Cassian practically bumped into me.

  He smiled knowingly, then walked past, slamming his shoulder into me.

  “I thought you left.” Wheels was leaning heavily on the counter. She moved to the doorway, holding herself upright by using the wall.

  “I came looking for you. I had a feeling Cassian was going to try something.”

  “What, so you’re my knight in shining armor now? What happened to being the guy who made my life hell?”

  “I still reserve the right to make your life hell.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand you. And I especially don’t understand why you pretend to be friends with Logan and Cassian. Gage is the only one you don’t seem to want to decapitate.”

  “Gage isn’t trying to fuck you.”

  She made a face. “Come on. Cassian is just trying to piss you off. And Logan? He’s just a nice guy. He’s not interested in me like that. Guys in general aren’t. I’m…” she searched for the words, then settled for gesturing to the wheelchair sitting beside us.

  “So?” I asked.

  “You call me Wheels.” She paused, like she wasn’t even sure if she was mad or amused. “That’s what’s ‘so.’ I’m not just a normal person to everyone. I’m the girl in the wheelchair. And if they got to know me better, I’d be the girl in the wheelchair with all the weird conditions.”

  I shrugged. “You do write a damn good essay, though.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “Let me know when the convention
of guys who think essay writing skills are hot meets. I’ll make sure to wheel myself there as fast as I can.”

  “You know, I could give you a ride home. You don’t have to go with Logan.”

  She looked at me for a long time, then lowered her eyes, shaking her head again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Anger pulsed within me. “Worried what he’ll think?”

  “No. I don’t—” She took a deep, shuddering breath and then blew it out. “I don’t know what is going on here, okay? I’m not exactly the most experienced girl in the world when it comes to guys, and I don’t know what it means when the guy who acted like you were a shit stain on his shoe also tries to murder any other guy who so much as talks to you.”

  I put my hands on her cheeks and bent my neck down, kissing her. She flinched back. Her tenuous grip on the wall faltered, and I had to wrap my arm around her waist, pinning her to me to keep her from falling. Her small body pressing into me felt good. Too damn good.

  And then she kissed me back.

  Her lips moved slowly at first—unsure, like someone who is feeling their way blindly through a dark room. But little by little, I felt her hunger for me bleeding into each kiss. Distantly, I realized she was probably the first girl I’d ever kissed who hadn’t wanted to kiss me, who was probably going to slap me as soon as this ended. It only made me want to devour every second I could steal from her.

  She put her small hands on my chest, pushing me back slightly. Our lips parted, and it took all I had not to go back for more, to take everything she was willing to give and even the things she wasn’t. But I stopped at the look in her eyes.

  “Please help me get back in my chair.” Her request was quietly spoken.

  I let her lean on me and turned her so she could sit down. Once she was sitting, she stared at her lap, chest still rising and falling like she’d just swam across a small lake. “No,” she said finally.

  “No?” I asked. “I think you need a time machine, Wheels. It already happened.”