Page 28 of The Tenth Circle
“You won’t catch me hanging off your every word, jumping, or kneeling at every demand. So if this is the goal for what’s behind that filthy jockstrap…quit before I leave you with no dick left to fill it.” After a meaningful pause, I add, “This goes for youandyour friends.”
Thanks to the stupid pool party…I’m now able to add names to the faces sitting at Saint’s table during lunch. Riggs and Leviathan—the younger rich pricks but still pricks nonetheless. The entire school body is delusional enough to look at these boys and see royalty, but all I see are poor little rich boys hiding insecurities.
Somewhere during my outburst Saint found the time to lean his shoulder against the wall. “You done?”
I let out a deep breath. “I think I hit all the high notes, yeah.”
A wry grin curves his lips, then those eyes dip to my chest. “Get into it with your sweet tooth or somethin’?”
Another clever fat joke.
“Yeah, but I won the fight.”
“Bet it’s not your first fight,” he muses, and this time the fat girl dig stings too much to hold back.
“Only an immature little boy would be intimidated by some extra pounds.”
This garners an incredulous huff. “And only an insecure little girl would assume I was talking about her weight.” Saint pulls out his phone, reading something on the screen before sliding it, along with his hands, into the pockets of his Letterman.
“I get the feeling you don’t like me.”
This guy speaks as though I’m the one needing clarification.
“So the other headdoeswork.”
Saint studies me closely, like there’s a puzzle on my face he’s trying to piece together—which has the pieces on his face moving too.
If Saint is somehow my Crazyman from the closet, then maybe he’s unaware I’m the Crazywomanfrom it too. It was really dark after all, and I took advantage of it. I’m probably wrong, because Saint doesn’t seem like the type of guy who is clueless to anything.
The pieces go poof when I hear him ask, “Have you been thinking about my dick, Jimi?”
Oh, he didnotjust give me a pet name.
Fists ball at my sides. “First of all, I don’t like you enough to allow pet names, and second, no I was not thinking about your dick.”
“So you do like me alittle bit.”
“Are you not paying attention?”
Saint flashes me a smile, and motherfudgingfudger he looks so damn good doing it. “I’m paying perfectly good attention…you’re trying to get to know me.”
His denseness is physically hurting mine.
“You’re delusional…because there’s absolutely nothing I want to know about you.”
You sit on a throne of lies.
“I bet there’s somethingveryspecific you want to know about me,” he states matter-of-factly.
Toomatter-of-factly.
As if we both know exactly what the fact is, and how it’s been licking away at my thoughts for way longer than he licked at anything else.
With a wrinkle of my nose, I reply, “Still coming up pretty empty…”
“So we’re singing this song again?” He raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you who said music doesn’t lie?”
Oh my God. Really? I can see why this guy’s labeled a star quarterback. He’s a fuckingproat tossing around lame puns. It’s why I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging this one.
