Page 142 of Broken Doll

This shit has got to stop. Before it begins.

He sits down at a desk and pats the one beside him.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to be taking someone else’s seat?” I ask. “I’m sure you don’t sit alone.”

“They’ll deal,” he says. “Sit.”

I want to disobey, but the thought of sitting alone in a class full of strangers, of enduring their stares and whispers of speculation as I did last period, has me sliding into the seat. It’s not like anyone else is going to ask me to sit with them. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m flattered by his attention. He’s adorable, with that playful smile, drawling southern accent, and the swish of golden hair he keeps playing with.

“Good girl,” he says, squeezing my knee under the desk. The touch of his hot, calloused hand on my bare knee makes me jump, and I move my leg away, but the sensation is not exactly unpleasant. This is so not good. My brothers have already started shit with this family. Being attracted to any of them is the worst move I could make.

I’m startled by the little thrill that goes through me at the thought of defying them.

I couldn’t do that, though. We’re the Dolces. We stick together. Nothing in this world is more important than that, and there’s not a guy in this world who could come between us. Definitely not this too-charming-for-his-own-good guy who I’ve already been warned is a player who will take what he wants and leave me to pick up the shreds of my dignity.

I do my best to ignore Colt for the rest of class, a boring English lecture aboutRomeo and Juliet, which I read like ten times at my old school.

“Want me to come to your balcony tonight?” Colt asks halfway through class.

I roll my eyes and put a finger to my lips.

A second later, a piece of paper slides across his desk onto mine. Colt’s handwriting is scrawled across it, big messy letters that speak of zero effort.I hear you live next door to Devlin.

I write one word and nudge the paper back.

So?

I know where you live. I could come to your window.

We’re not Romeo and Juliet.

We could be.

No. We couldn’t.

You’re right. You’re not 13, and I’m not a suicidal perv.

I stifle a laugh.Idk, saying you know where I live is kinda pervy.

I’m not sure how I feel about Devlin telling him where I live, or the fact that Devlin has said anything about us at all. In the few days it took us to settle in, they haven’t made an effort to come by and welcome us to the neighborhood or anything, but apparently Devlin knew we were there all along.

Colt slides the paper back to me.

Not pervy, just a fact. So how about 10ish? I can throw pebbles.

I shake my head and scribble a few lines back.Unless you want to die, I suggest you leave my windows alone. I have four very big, very protective brothers. And a father who may or may not be in the mafia.

I consider leaving off the last line, but it never hurts to have that question in the back of people’s minds. We’re Italian, so ignorant people like to ask that question anyway. Might as well answer it before they ask. It offers a layer of protection, respect, and fear. We embrace those rumors, neither confirming nor denying. It’s part of the Dolce image, part of our mystery.

Colt pushes the paper back, his one line of lazy print taking up three or four lines on the notebook paper.

I’m not scared.

I don’t answer that, because too many thoughts are racing through my mind. He should be scared. My brothers don’t joke around when it comes to guys messing with me. Even if not for them, I don’t want to start up something complicated. I have a lot to atone for, and if I want to be someone new, someone better, it doesn’t start like this. It’s not an option, anyway, so I push the thought away.

Colt nudges my elbow with his, giving me a pair of puppy dog eyes that would make a weaker woman melt. Okay, fine, it makes me melt. But I’m not falling for it. I can’t. I’m not here to fall in love.

I turn to face forward and refuse to look at him again. Only when class ends do I realize that no one came to claim my seat. Either Colt usually sits alone, or his word is unspoken law, and the person who sits there simply accepted that I’ve displaced them.

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