Cruel Boy Read online

  The silence is overpowering. Seconds feel like minutes as his breathing slows, but I can feel every one of his breaths prickling on my skin.

  “Is this really all about the pictures?” I ask.

  He cocks his head and leans in even farther until his breath is against the side of my cheek, and my whole body is covered in goose bumps. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

  A gasp escapes my mouth when his lips briefly brush past my ear.

  “Tell me … are you scared of me?” he whispers.

  I want to answer, but my throat feels numb and my head dizzy.

  When our eyes connect, the tension is like lightning electrifying me from the inside out. This can’t be happening. It can’t be that … I can’t want this.

  A devious, sexy smirk appears on his face. “Thought so.”

  Then he turns around and walks out, leaving me out of breath … and with my heart lost to a boy I shouldn’t ever crave.

  Chapter 13

  Nate

  The cafeteria is noisy and overcrowded, but I’ve shut myself off from it all, and my food is going untouched. There’s only one thing I can focus on; the girl sitting just a few tables away from me. Sam.

  She eats with care and sophistication, taking every bite as though it might be her last. And it might just be.

  She’s been on my mind everywhere I go. I can’t focus on my classes, can’t work on my grades, can’t fucking throw balls or run like hell without thinking about her. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s got me hooked. And I don’t understand why. Like she said, she hates me, and I hate her.

  Or at least, that’s what I tell myself while I stare at her, wondering about all the ways I can convince her to give me those goddamn pictures. They’ll be the end of me, I’m sure of it.

  “Nate?”

  I don’t hear Layla’s voice until she’s screaming into my ears.

  “Nate!”

  “What?” I yell back without even looking at her.

  “Why are you—”

  She suddenly smashes her plate down and sits right in front of me, blocking my view. “Stop this, Nate. Stop it,” she hisses.

  “What?”

  She leans in, and whispers, “You’re staring at her again.”

  “So?” I don’t intend to quit, but I can still see Layla making a face.

  “Stop … just stop,” she whispers. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  “No, you are. Go sit somewhere else,” I say.

  “What? How dare you talk to me like that?”

  “We’ve broken up, remember? What are you still doing here?” I growl, this time looking at her. If there’s something I hate, it’s when people meddle in my business and try to stop me from doing what I want.

  She grunts. “Ugh.”

  She grabs her tray, gets up, and walks off, leaving me in peace again.

  I don’t have time to deal with her right now, so I ignore her little tantrum and continue staring at that girl until she finally looks back. And when she does, it’s the best thing in the world. Those eyes, that look—full of fear, shame, and a hint of lust all wrapped into one sweet package.

  I can’t get enough, and I want her to notice me, to know that I’m always looking, waiting for her to crumble.

  And then I’ll be there to pick up the pieces … one by one.

  * * *

  Sam

  I can’t swallow another piece of food. None. The apples and potatoes on my plate go untouched. My stomach is roaring, but my throat is completely jammed shut.

  “What’s wrong?” Mo asks while munching on her bag of chips.

  If I answer, she’ll be just as horrified, and I don’t know if I want her to get involved. Instead, I look away and clear my throat.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Oh, shit,” she replies. “You need something? Tylenol?”

  “No, thanks,” I say, and I pick up my tray. “I think I need to … go.”

  “Bathroom?” she asks as I get up.

  “Yeah.” But I just wanna get out of here; it doesn’t matter where.

  “’Kay! Hope you feel better,” she yells after me as I leave.

  I quickly dump what’s left of my tray in the trash and exit the cafeteria, but I can still feel his penetrative stare on my back like a laser pointer. Everywhere I go, he’s there, always looming in the background, waiting for me to pop. It’s as if he wants me to self-destruct, so he’ll get a chance to steal the pictures. Or maybe he’s watching to see if I’ll tell someone or even share the pictures.

  But there is only so much glaring a person can take before it gets in your head, and I definitely feel haunted by him. So much so that I can’t stop walking until I reach a bathroom and lock myself inside a stall so I can finally breathe again.

  “Jesus,” I mumble, sitting down to take a minute.

  The door opens, and someone walks in. All I can see are black heels with red bottoms, but it’s enough to know exactly who it is.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  Layla.

  “I know you’re in there,” she says, pausing at each door until she stops in front of mine. “You don’t have to hide.”

  She knocks.

  “What do you want?” I grumble, folding my arms.

  “I want you to stay away from Nate.”

  I snort. “Why do you care? He’s not your boyfriend anymore. He made that pretty clear.”

  I don’t have to see her to know she’s fuming right now.

  She taps with her foot multiple times. “Your opinion doesn’t matter, Sam. In fact, you don’t fucking matter.”

  “Say that to your dad,” I retort.

  “Listen, you little shit, don’t you fucking talk to Nate or spend even a second looking at him. You hear me?” she hisses. “He’s not looking for your attention. He doesn’t need someone like you.”

  “Well, it’s clear he doesn’t need you either,” I quip.

  “You’re just like your fucking mom, stealing boys who don’t belong to you,” she says, and she walks away for a second only to come back again. “But I’m not my mom. I don’t lay low and play nice.”

  Something is racketed against my stall. My heart races, and my eyes widen when I realize too late what she’s doing.

  I get up from the toilet and immediately unlock the door, pushing it to no avail. She’s blocked it off with something, and there’s no way for me to get out.

  “Enjoy your fucking toilet time, slut,” she says, chuckling a little before prancing off.

  Bitch.

  When I’m alone, I sigh out loud and slap myself. “Goddammit, Sam. Why do you always let her get away with this?”

  After jerking at the door a few more times, I give up and sit down on the toilet again, fishing my phone from my pocket. There’s only one way to get out of this, and that’s groveling to the only person I know who’s got my back.

  Sam: Help.

  Mo: How?

  Sam: Stuck @ toilet hallway. Don’t ask.

  Mo: Wow.

  Within a few minutes, Monica has arrived and walks up to my stall. “Jesus, Sam. Really?”

  “Yes, again,” I reply as she takes off whatever was barring me from leaving.

  When I open the door, Mo’s standing there clutching a floor mop. “Who did this?”

  “Take a wild guess.” I know my voice is laced with sarcasm, but I can’t help myself.

  “Princess Layla fucking mistress Parker,” she retorts, putting the floor mop in the corner of the room. “I can’t believe she actually went there. Why? What the hell did you do?”

  “My mom, remember?” I say, shrugging.

  “No, nuh-uh, this is a personal vendetta,” she says as I exit the toilet stall and wash my hands.

  “She’s always had a hate thing for me, you know that,” I say. “But thanks for getting me out.”

  “Of course, you know best friends always help each other out,” she says, checking her makeup in the mirr
or. “But still, ever since Nate’s gone AWOL on her, she’s been going off the rails. And he’s been following you around everywhere lately too.”

  “You noticed?” I joke.

  I was hoping I could keep her out of this, but I suppose Mo’s too smart to play a fool.

  “Girl, he’s legit stalking your ass, and I wanna know why.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s got a thing for me.”

  “Nah, it has to be more than that,” she says, raising a finger. “No offense. It’s just that he’s been so weird. Unlike himself.”

  I nod. “I get it.”

  “Not that I mean he shouldn’t like you because of course he should. You’re fabulous,” she says, obviously trying to rephrase her previous statement. I know she’s only trying to make it seem like a compliment when we all know that’s not what this is.

  “It’s almost as if he’s obsessed with you, like he wants something from you,” Mo says, touching up her hair too.

  The water’s still running over my hands, but I’m lost in thought. Obsessed. Stalker. Nate’s all those things, but if Mo only knew the reason, she’d probably have a heart attack.

  And even though the word “murderer” rests on the tip of my tongue, I don’t dare say it out loud.

  “And Layla’s not having any of it,” she continues, and the spell is broken. “You know what?” She glances at me. “We should get back at her. For all the times she bullshitted us and made fun of you.”

  “Hmm …” I don’t like being a bitch, but sometimes, bitches need to see a bigger bitch in order to tone it down a little. “Maybe. Got any idea?”

  She smirks and looks around the room, then her eyes settle on a few stacks of toilet paper. A devilish grin appears on her face. “Oh, I know just how to get back at her.”

  Chapter 14

  Sam

  We impatiently wait in the hallways for Layla to come back from her gossip break with her friends. When she finally walks inside, we hide behind one of the pillars and watch her go to her locker. Nate’s a few feet away from her, pulling stuff from his own locker. They’re on full ignore mode toward each other, but I know he’ll be looking the minute Layla opens her locker. Mo can barely contain her laughter, and I have to put a hand over her mouth in order for none to spill.

  The moment Layla unlocks it, a whole ton of wet, dirty, piss-stained toilet paper rolls out of her locker and onto her expensive clothes. I snort and Mo bursts out into laughter, which causes Layla to turn her head. The look on her face is priceless. I’ve never seen a more enraged witch than this.

  God, I’m so fucking glad Mo managed to spy on her and learn her code. This was the most amazing payback ever.

  “You … you did this?!” Layla screams, slamming her locker shut. “My clothes!”

  Nate turns his head to see what’s going on and grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine smile on his face. Then he gazes at me with that same penetrative stare that makes my heart throb.

  Mo suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me away. “Run!”

  Layla stomps in her heels, and everyone in the hallway laughs at her while she does. There will be retaliation, but I don’t care. I got my sweet as fuck revenge.

  I run as fast as I can because I don’t want any of her friends to catch up with me. Halfway through, I lose sight of Mo, and we separate. I jolt into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door, then pause.

  Adrenaline still rushes through my veins, and I’m out of breath from running. A smile forms on my face, the excitement too real. God, I love being a bad girl. No wonder Nate always seems to enjoy bullying me so much; it’s such a goddamn thrill.

  I take a few seconds to cool down and figure out a plan. I don’t wanna go out there now and face that stuck-up princess all by myself. Especially not when she’s acting like an angry troll.

  No, I gotta wait this shit out. At least until the bells ring. I can check what class is next on my phone in the meantime, so I’m prepared to run to get there on time.

  Suddenly, someone fumbles with the door handle. I flinch and tuck my phone away in a moment of panic. The door slides open. Who is it? Did she catch me?

  Then I see it … the devilish pair of eyes staring back at me through the tiny slit. My heart stops.

  The door opens farther, and a figure towers in the doorway. Nate. All dressed in his sports outfit, the tight one that exposes all his muscles. When he walks, his muscles ripple smoothly, fluid like water, capturing my attention as though it’s a painting come to life.

  He shuts the door behind him, the room still unlit with the exception of the small light filtered through the closed window blinds behind me.

  Every step he takes makes me clench the windowsill a little bit harder. He probably followed me here. Damn, I should’ve been more careful.

  He stops in the middle of the room and cocks his head. “That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Bullies don’t deserve nice things.”

  “The same could be said about you now,” he replies, taking another step.

  “I know,” I say. And I don’t fucking care.

  “Layla will hate you even more,” he adds.

  I raise my brows. Is he trying to protect her like some gallant knight? Pitiful. “Bring it.”

  “Hmm … You sound confident …” he murmurs, licking his top lip. “I’m impressed.”

  “With my ability to not care?” I quip.

  “With your prank.” A smirk forms on his lips, and I don’t dare admit that it looks sexy on him, but it does. “She hated it. But we laughed.”

  “We?” I raise a brow. Since when is there a we?

  He shrugs as if it doesn’t even faze him.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “You know why I’m here,” he replies with a dark, gravelly voice.

  I swallow away the lump in my throat. “I won’t give you the pictures if that’s what you’re after.”

  “You know I won’t give up, right?” he says.

  I nod. I’ve known that since the day we met.

  “Then why don’t you give in? What are you waiting for? Why are you keeping them?” He slowly approaches me. “You haven’t gone to the police yet … or I would’ve known.”

  “Doesn’t mean I won’t,” I reply, trying to cull this racing heart of mine, but it’s only beating faster and faster.

  “I doubt it.” The way he says it, with full and utter conviction, tells me I don’t have a choice in this.

  But I won’t let go without a fight.

  “Those pictures won’t erase the truth,” I say.

  “Do you even know the truth, though?” he mutters.

  My lips part, but I don’t know how to answer that question because it’s been lingering on my tongue too.

  “That’s why you kept them in your private account without telling anyone about it.” He scoots aside a couple of chairs that stand between him and me. “You want to know.”

  I shake my head, but it only makes him smile more.

  He’s right. My attempt to lie is pathetic, and it shows.

  Dammit.

  “Doesn’t matter, I’m not giving them to you,” I reply.

  “I think you will. Eventually. All it takes is a little … push.” He shoves aside the final chair standing in his way.

  We’re face to face now, and I swallow hard.

  What is it about this guy that makes him such an asshole but so hard to resist at the same time?

  I put my hand against my side. “So I guess you and Layla are over then?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” he murmurs, coming into my comfort zone. My insecurities play up as though they respond to his presence without me controlling them because I immediately grow tense.

  “I’m chasing after another girl.”

  My heart momentarily stops beating, and I suck in a breath. He steps even closer and bites his bottom lip in such an attractive way that I’m completely dumbfounded by what he just sai
d.

  It can’t be true. Can it?

  No. He can’t like like me.

  Why do I even care? I’m normally never that girl who swoons and falls apart in front of a guy, but something about him always manages to make my knees buckle. A certain air of arrogance mixed with … raw sex walking on legs.

  But it’s all a ruse to get me to comply and give him what he wants.

  “You’re chasing after pictures,” I say.

  He’s so close now, all the ridges of his abs underneath his shirt are visible, and it’s almost making me want to reach out and touch them.

  Stop this, Sam. Just fucking stop it.

  “You make me laugh,” he mutters, placing both hands on the windowsill behind me, caging me inside his arms once again.

  Goddammit.

  “You piss me off,” I reply.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he quips.

  One of his hands slides from the windowsill to my hand, and I freeze. His warm hand feels like lightning shooting all over my skin as it travels up my arm.

  “You should know better than to taunt me,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I like scared little girls … like you.”

  His tongue dips out and grazes along the rim of my ear. A chill runs up my spine as he places his other hand on my knee. The oxygen is knocked right out of me when he slides it upward along my thigh.

  “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?” he whispers, adding a groan that sets my body on fire. “I like that.”

  His hand creeps up my red and black checkered skirt, fingers curling underneath the fabric of my panties.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Why am I letting him do this? He’s the bad guy.

  He groans again, tugging at the elastic to pull them down. “You’re a filthy … little … thief.”

  RIP!

  In one quick pull, he’s torn them straight off.

  I gasp in shock as he holds my panties in his hand, wearing a victorious grin on his face.

  “What the—?”

  He brings them to his face and takes a whiff, a delicious moan grumbling in his throat.

  “I’ll hold onto these,” he murmurs, stuffing them into his pocket.