Page 1 of Make Me Pretty
PROLOGUE
PERIS
It hurts.
But at least this is the good kinda pain.
The pain that matters. That will actually fucking be worth something.
All I feel is my heart beating inside my chest, sweat dripping from my temples, alternating between sliding down my neck and falling to the glossy floor beneath my feet. My shoes squawk as I hammer down the court, each thud heavy but pointed. With purpose.
The team’s personal practice time ended an hour ago, but I stayed to work on my offense, reworking Coach’s newest plays from the year prior. I’m a good point guard—one of the best in the state, without a doubt, Jordan Bates be damned. But the only way to stay the best is to put the work in. And if I want to go to college, I need that fucking scholarship.
I just have to make them wantme—which means the season never really ends. And even though Mom’s job as a nurse pays well after all the years she’s been doing it, the financial stress of college is something I don’t want to put on her.
Not after everything else I’ve burdened her with.
After pushing back, I stop and drop my head between my shoulders, catching my breath. The air is stifling, musky with the lingering odor of sweat, but it’s comforting, as is the vast expanse of the gym and the way each step echoes off the high, white cinderblock walls, each breath magnified.
I found myself within the four walls of this gym, and now, it’s my last year between them.
The disquieting lull of that thought jerks me from my reverie, and the ball slips from my sweaty fingers, bouncing loudly between my feet before rolling away.
My molars clash together in a harsh grind, but the continuous squeak inside my mind is enough to keep everything else at bay.
Swiping my bag from the lowest bleacher, I throw it over my shoulder before grabbing my personal basketball. Pushing through the heavy, wooden doors, I blow out a breath, really starting to feel the drag of exhaustion. They slam closed behind with resonance, leaving the dark air around me still and charged.
Pulling my phone out, I shove an earbud in one ear, leaving the other dangling from the cord around my neck. I hit play to finish “Hail Mary” by Makaveli before another song comes on.
Nearly all the lights are off in the school, with only one illuminating from the front office down a separate, connecting hall. It feels uncanny, being one of the only people here, surrounded by silence and darkness when this place is only ever loud and full. But it’s oddly more peaceful.
The office comes into view as I round the corner, passing by the choir room. The sharp scrape of metal has my feet lurching to a stop, my body poised and tense. I yank my earbud out of my ear, heart galloping as I strain to listen.
For a minute, I’m met with nothing but the sound of my lungs expanding and contracting, the whoosh of oxygen and carbon dioxide. My brows furrow as I stare throughthe darkness, feeling more annoyed than anything when it’s probably just a fucking janitor. As I lift the music back to my ear, a distinctive slurping noise has my whole body turning ninety degrees.
I step up to the pale, wooden doors of the music room, peering through the small, rectangular glass window. The room is dark. All I see are shadows of chairs stacked high along the wall. What the fu—is that shadow moving?
I press closer, blocking out the dull light behind me so my eyes can adjust to its absence, my ball long forgotten as it rolls around somewhere behind me.
The door creaks as it’s pushed open from my weight, and I lose my footing, tumbling a bit from the sudden loss of support. I right myself just inside the room. The door catches on the tip of my sneaker as it retracts, but I barely notice over the low, pulsing noises cascading over me.
The room comes into dim focus, more black and gray shadows than anything of substance, but my heart is lodged in my throat. It’s not hard to differentiate the two bodies pressed together.
My lips twitch in wry amusement.Must be desperate if they’re fucking around in school, long after it’s shut down for the day.
Their dark forms slip and slide over the other, spewing noises that consist gratefully of mewling and moaning… none of which range in a feminine octave. My brows furrow at the huddle of interconnected limbs.
I blink once, twice. My lips part to disrupt them, but I don’t even think I’m breathing.
Sweat trickles down my temple and more licks down my spine, a slow descent over each vertebra. My shirt is uncomfortably tight as it clings to my torso with sweat, the rapid expansion of my chest tugging on it uncomfortably. My musclesare rigid and unyielding as blood rushes through me hot and illicit.
My dick unwittingly fills until it’s aching. I press the heel of my palm against it without thought, pushing hard. Harder. Shoving it down until I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Even as my eyes burn, I can’t look away.I don’t want to.
They move together effortlessly, like they know one another intimately. Something in my chest pangs, causing me to suck in a breath.
My foot shifts against the thin, worn carpet, and the door creaks closed, eliminating the last sliver of light apart from the small windows in both doors, giving me just enough to acclimate. I don’t want to see them—to have this impossible illusion shattered. Warring with what is and what should be.
Slurping resounds loudly in the room, even louder in my ears, followed by distinctive sucking. The scratch of nails on denim. The hiss of a zipper.
