Page 17 of False Idols

BEAU

Someone’s been fucking with my shit.

Nevaeh has a split lip and a bruise on her cheek. It’s not a black eye, but it’s too close for my liking. Who the fuck is having fun with my Nevaeh?

That’s for me and for me alone. I didn’t do four years with nothing but my sweet liar as the prize for someone to come along and take her from me now. I’m the one that makes her scared. I’m the one that’s going to mark her skin. I earned her.

Whoever touched her is as good as dead.

“I can’t believe how forgiving you are,” the girl next to me, Carly, Megan, Ali, something like that, sighs and leans close to me before she places a hand on my arm. “You’re really forgiving her after everything she’s done to you?”

She means Nevaeh but I shrug and play dumb like I don’t know.

“Not sure what you mean.” I flip open my notebook and watch the front of the class, even though I’m still tracking Nevaeh where she’s awkwardly skirting the lecture hall and trying to make for the back of the room without anyone seeing her. She’s failing. Everyone in the room fucking sees her. Even if they didn’t, I’d see her.

I’ll always see my sweet little liar. She’s mine.

“Oh, um, of course. I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about that now that you’re free, huh?” I raise an eyebrow at her and she’s got the good grace to blush and look away. “I’m really fucking this up right now, aren’t I?” She bites her lip and looks up at me through her lashes. She wants me to think she’s innocent and sweet. Carrie used to look at me like that when she wanted something.

“Fucking what up?” I ask and take in the girl for the first time. She’s similar to Carrie. She’s what I would have wanted before I went away. Before Nevaeh became the first and last thought I had. I glance over at her and see her taking a seat a few rows back from me. She’s just at the edge of where everyone is sitting without being against the wall. The only thing that I want now is dark hair and warm brown eyes that make me so fucking mad I don’t know if it’s worse to have her look at me or not.

Nevaeh freezes and our eyes lock. Her pouty lips part in a perfect fucking O of surprise before she looks away and I know the answer—not having her look at me is torture. It’s hell. I want to get up and go to her. I want to drag her right out of this classroom and make her tell me what happened to her before I put my own marks on her skin.

“Making a good impression on you,” the girl beside me says and I’m forced to look away from Nevaeh. I’m here to play the role everyone expects. The good All-American boy that’s happy to be home. If I don’t press it, if I don’t show them how fucked up I am now, they can all pretend that I wasn’t in prison. They’ll make up a story in their head about how I was away for some reason or another and I’ll become a hero again sooner than later.

I need that image to hold if I’m going to have enough time to break Nevaeh. That’s why I smile at the blonde I don’t give a shit about and let her go on. “I’d say you’re doing just fine, Carly.”

“Ali,” she corrects with a smile. “I’m Ali Simpson.”

I nod and hold out my hand. “Forgive my bad manners. I’ve been out of good company for some time, Ali Simpson. Pleased to meet you, I’m Beau Du Pont.”

Ali takes my hand and gives me a sparkling smile. “I know who you are. We all do.”

“I’m sorry it’s that way. I hope it’s not too much of a distraction.”

She giggles and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’re going to be plenty of a distraction in this classroom and I think you know it.”

She’s flirting. Trying to show that she’s interested. Good.

“Hopefully a good distraction?”

She winks. “Oh, the best. You’re easy on the eyes, Du Pont, but I think you know that.” I haven’t been called Du Pont since I played ball. It’s easy to pretend that I’m who I say I am when I’ve got a girl like Ali smiling and calling me Du Pont.

The professor enters and calls the room to order, but I make it a point to lean close to Ali as everyone settles down. “You’ll have to let me know if I’m too distracting, Ali.”

She giggles again and bumps my arm with hers. “I pinky swear.”

Class starts then and I’m finally left alone to think. Someone put their hands on Nevaeh before I’ve had the pleasure. I don’t like that. I had a meeting with the board this morning and argued for her to stay. It went my way, of course, because I had my parents’ backing on the matter. Pastor Mike even showed up to lend his support. Being the pastor of the town’s largest church has some pull in a place like Bloom. The board relented, even though they weren’t happy about it, which is fine. I don’t care if they don’t like it or are calling Nevaeh’s presence a disturbance to learning.

I want her. That’s all that matters.

I keep a careful eye on Nevaeh and see something else other than her bruised face that I don’t like. There’s a fucker sitting next to her. He looks like the sensitive type. The kind of guy that reads shitty poetry and plays acoustic guitar at keggers to impress the girls. I know his type. Why the fuck is he talking to my Nevaeh? She looks nervous next to him and keeps her head down, even though he leans in to talk to her a few times. I’m going to find out who he is and put a fucking stop to that. Class lets out and everyone practically bolts for the door except for the ones trying to make a good impression that hang around to chat with the professor after and a few stragglers at the back.

Nevaeh and the sensitive dick looking at her like she’s his next muse are two of the stragglers. She’s got a few books and she drops them with a gasp when she sees me walking towards them. Of course fucking lover boy doesn't hesitate to scoop them up for her.

“Here you go,” he tells her with a cheerful smile that I know isn’t fake. Not like mine are now. He’s interested in Nevaeh all right. I should slit his throat.

“Nevaeh,” I say and pleasure floods my body when I watch her face go pale. She looks like a rabbit caught in a trap and I fucking love it. “Let’s go.” I tilt my chin to the door and when I start to pass her on the way, lover boy steps in front of me.

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