My locker slams shut unprompted, nearly yanking my nose clear off my face. I jump in shock and glance up to find a pair of disdainful brown eyes staring at me.
“Paris, to what do I owe the displeasure?”
The cheerleader takes a threatening step forward. “You think you did anything special, Trash Girl?”
“Oh, Trash Girl?” I smirk. “Very creative.”
“I know it was you who messed with Dutch’s car.” She hikes her chin in the air and looks down at me. “And if you think for a second that you’re going to get away with…” Her eyes catch on something in the distance and then widen to talk up half of her face.
“Oh my Gucci,” Paris whimpers.
Curious, I whirl around and nearly choke on my own spit.
The Kings are swaggering down the hallway like they’re stars of a fashion show. Finn is on the far end—completely dry—while Sol and Zane are soaked to the bone, flashing their delectable pecs through a see-through button-down.
But for all their wet-T-shirt hotness, they’re not the ones who catch my attention.
It’s Dutch Cross.
He’s all long, lean limbs and golden skin… and naked.
My eyes skip down his muscular frame, the glistening shoulders, slashes of abs and delectable V-line beneath his speedo before I snap my mouth shut and jerk my eyes to the ceiling.
Pandemonium breaks out as other people start noticing The Kings’ grand entrance. The air lights up with squeals followed by scandalized gasps and shrieks of delight.
Girls cover their mouths in shock. Faces turn red with shyness and excitement. Giggles break out like a tsunami.
Even the guys have wild reactions. Some roll with laughter. Others whip out their cell phones to capture the moment.
I stumble back, feeling my face turn hot. My heart is beating prestissimo; I probably couldn’t get my fingers to keep up with such a tempo.
Unable to help myself, I take another peek at Dutch. Limp strands of blond hair cover his forehead, dripping water over his straight nose and full, pink lips. He’s soaked and shining, like some kind of underwear model straight out of a sensual, barely-legal TV commercial.
The monster’s eyes land on me and I feel like someone stuck fireworks to my body and then set off an explosion.
Memories of our kiss burst through my mind, setting a different kind of explosion.
It’s one thing to feel Dutch’s power and strength pressing into me.
But it’s another thing to see what all those muscles and sinewy flesh are in the light.
Damn he’s ripped.
My breath gets thinner and thinner.
I struggle to pull myself together and remember why I set this plan in motion.
When I heard that The Kings had taken over the pool, the idea to steal Dutch’s clothes came to me like a gift straight from heaven.
He called me a whore.
No, worse than that.
He said I wasn’t even good enough to be his whore.
As if I’d ever want such a position.
Forcing him to endure a walk of shame felt appropriate and totally perfect at the time. But my plan is backfiring. I didn’t expect his body to be crafted like a freaking sculpture. And I didn’t expect that he would own his naked beauty with such ease.
He’s not put off by the attention at all and even stops to take pictures with the girls who request selfies. I may not have Jinx’s app, but I know for a fact that this story will be all over it in thirty minutes flat.
Dutch finishes with the selfies and denies the other people who ask for pictures. His eyes seek mine out and I struggle not to run away. It takes a force of sheer will to remain in place as he gets closer and closer.
Paris is primping her hair and retouching her lipstick beside me. She pulls the top of her cheerleading uniform down so more of her cleavage spills out and takes a step toward Dutch.
Pasting on a big smile, she sticks out her chest. “Hey…”
He walks right past her.
Paris’s reddening face would be pure gold, if I wasn’t being stalked by the Prince of Darkness himself.
I shuffle back and consider my escape plan, but it’s too late now. Dutch plants his arm on the locker above my head, causing his muscles to roll and contract. The tattoos that wrap around his solid shoulders to his wrists are even more amazing up close. The linework is impeccable. The art pristine. He’s hard muscles and perfect lines everywhere.
Pressure builds in my chest when he leans into me. This close, it’s almost impossible not to look at his barely-concealed junk. Heat pools beneath my skin and I know for a fact that my face is burning up like I have a fever.
Dutch’s stare trains on me, but mine slips down his thick neck, corded with muscles to his shoulders and down his chest.
“If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked,” Dutch taunts.
His tone is light, but I don’t for a second think he’s amused with me. There’s a sharp, steely undertone just beneath the words.
I tilt my head, innocent as can be. “Where are your clothes, Dutch?”
“I was just about to ask you that.” His tone turns harsh.
I shudder from the heat of his body and the tension between us. Somehow, the fact that hundreds of eyes are staring at this ridiculous exchange is only mildly piercing my brain.
The anger I felt when he chased me out of the theatre today has gone silent. My brain’s broken. And it’s Dutch’s hot body that’s scrambling the signals.
“Why would I have your clothes?” I ask in a soft, puzzled voice. Just because everyone’s listening, doesn’t mean everyone has to hear. “That would be immature of me.” I tilt my head up. “As immature as kissing someone and then calling them a whore.”
His chest heaves with anger and his eyes reflect it. A sudden clench of his jaw shows off the poetic symmetry of his face and it leaves me both breathless and pissed off.
“Do I look like someone you can mess with, Brahms?” Dutch bites out. A magnificent beast poised to destroy me.
I won’t let him succeed.
“Who said I did it? You have any proof?”
He grits his teeth.
“Although I must say,” I point my gaze at the speedo, “I’m a little disappointed.”
His eyes blaze a hole through me. “I bet if I checked under your skirt, I’d find out exactly what you think of me, Brahms.”
My chest tightens and I realize, without a doubt, that I want this smug bastard to die a thousand fiery deaths.
“Screw you, Dutch,” I spit roughly.
Disdain rings from his eyes and hatred taints the air between us, a twisted poison that twines around us both. But beneath the fierce animosity, something far more compelling lingers. A swirling tension. A pull that’s so pointed and precise, it manages to make even this heated moment of mutual contempt feel sexual.
Our heated breaths meet and mingle in the middle of our bodies. Dutch is close enough that I can see the battle inside him. The fight to have me, to conquer me and break me versus the fire of that illusive something.
Something more.
Something real.
Because, as much as I hate to admit it, there is a connection here. It’s overshadowed by a world-crushing loathing, but it’s there.
He snapped me out of my panic attack.
Some part of me trusts him.
And some part of him cared enough to save me from myself.
He’s a nightmare god standing on a sea of shadows, and yet he kept me from drowning. Twice. The first time in the Redwood pool and this morning, from a sea of ugly, twisted memories.
“What is going on here?” Principal Harris’ feeble voice rings through the air.
I stiffen and duck my head, trying to hide out before he catches sight of me.
But it’s no use.
“You, two!” Heavy footsteps thud closer. “What an inappropriate display! Everyone, go to class. Go to—you two! Detention for both of you! And you, put on your clothes. This is a place of learning, not a strip club!”
Dutch rolls his eyes like the delinquent he is and turns around slowly.
Principal Harris’ cheeks—that were already a mottled red—turn the color of a fire hydrant. “Mr. Cross… I didn’t realize…”
Dutch holds up a hand and the Principal bites back his words immediately.
“I’ll go home for another uniform since mine seems to have,” he glances back at me, “mysteriously disappeared.”
“O-of course, Mr. Cross. I’m sure this must have been a misunderstanding.”
Dutch looks away from the principal as if he’s disgusted.
I inwardly curse at him. He’s so damn arrogant. It’s amazing even his brothers can stand him.
Dutch turns back to me. “I’ll see you in detention.”
Anger boils in my veins as Dutch stalks, calm as a snake, down the hallway and disappears from sight.
Jinx: Prince Charming Is Packing
Did you think I’d be covering anything else? Prince Charming was seen stomping down the hallways in nothing but a piece of spandex that left LITTLE to the imagination. Girls will be up all night posting fan-fics, I’m sure of it. But did anyone else peep the way our Crown Prince brushed off the rising Princess Pompoms? I smell a female rivalry rising from the depths.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. New Girl better watch her back.
Until the next post, keep your enemies close and your secrets even closer.
– Jinx
