Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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I LOOK LIKE shit.
Not that I'm surprised, of course. I was up most of the night staring at my ceiling and contemplating every word Jaden had said to me. The things he said played on repeat in my mind until, eventually, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep around three in the morning.
Now, sitting in Hunter's truck as we pull into the school parking lot, I guzzle down a jumbo to-go mug of black coffee to compensate for the measly four hours I got last night.
"Were you really that worried about your calc test this morning that you had to stay up all night studying?" Hunter questions.
Yes, when he asked me why I looked like hell this morning, I lied. After how he reacted to my last little tiff with Jaden, I didn't want to risk ruining this weekend by telling him I got into a massive fight with my brother over the fact I'm a horrible sister. He doesn't need that baggage.
So, keeping up the act, I nod my head and pretend to be stressed out over a little math test.
"Don't get me wrong, I can add up exactly how much I'm going to spend at the cash before it's even ringed up, but I couldn't tell you the difference between sine and cosine if—"
Before I can finish my perfectly confusing analogy, Hunter slams down on the brakes and the truck lurches to a sudden stop. We weren't driving particularly fast in the gravel parking lot, but the seatbelt still digs into my shoulder as I jerk forward against it.
"Shit," Hunter curses. "You okay, babe?" He'd outstretched his arm in front of my body the moment he hit the brakes, and now he moves his hand to cup the back of my neck.
"I'm good, what the hell?" I've barely got the words out when I figure out what had just happened.
A shiny white Honda Civic had darted in front of Hunter's truck just as he'd been turning into a vacant parking spot, cutting him off with no warning. And as a familiar redhead emerges from the haphazardly parked car, the incident makes so much more sense.
"That bitch," I hiss, as Clarissa and her friend— whose name is either Cheyenne or Shawna, I can never care to remember— walk around to stand behind the car. Clarissa waves her fingers, a smug grin on her face.
That's it. I want to claw her eyes out.
Hunter ignores them, turning instead into one of the many available spots on the opposite side of the lot. As soon as he's parked, I hop out of the truck, bag slung over my shoulder and walk straight over to where evil incarnate stands with her hip popped out and her arms crossed over her chest.
"You might want to watch where you're going next time," she says cheerfully to Hunter, purposely eyeing his truck over my shoulder. "I don't think your insurance covers dinosaurs."
Yes, Hunter's truck is by far the oldest in the lot. But, knowing what that truck means to him, I glare at the redhead. "Will you ever come off your bullshit, Clarissa?" I ask, shaking my head. "It's tiresome and frankly, it's unattractive."
