"My intentions would be simple," he says with a deep, heated gaze, his warm breath fanning across my face.
He slowly moves himself even closer to me so that our bodies are mere millimeters away from touching, causing breathing to become a chore. "M...
By the time I make it to school on Tuesday morning, eyes seem to constantly be on me.
Apparently a lot of the kids at our school follow Presley on Instagram, and the fact that Jayce commented on my body means that I'm suddenly somebody worth acknowledging. It's sad that's what makes people valuable in this school. I'm annoyed by it, and pretty fucking embarrassed, to be perfectly honest.
It seemed like every girl was giving me a stink eye and every guy was looking me up and down. I wanted to run and hide. I felt so exposed. How the hell do popular people do this shit on a daily basis?
By the end of first period, I am majorly regretting my outfit choice.
Like a petty idiot, I had wanted to wear something that I knew was sure to get Jayce's attention. Of course, Presley had gladly let me raid her closet. When I told her what happened in the driveway and that I wanted to make him hurt with desire, she nearly did a backflip out of excitement.
The dress and shoes she picked for me were way too fucking uncomfortable and were warranting far too many extra glances.
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I wanted to change so badly, but I kept my mission in mind: one-upping Jayce for the bullshit he pulled on me yesterday.
By the time I start heading to junior lunch, I still haven't seen Jayce. I was starting to wonder if maybe it was his turn to play hooky.
Presley and I sit at our usual picnic table in the quad. The sun is usually a welcomed, invigorating change from the bleak hallways but today, with everyone looking at me, it feels like a burning, invasive spotlight.
"You're literally the only thing anyone is talking about," Presley informs me excitedly.
"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" I'm so ready for this fucking day to be over. At this point, I'm completely embarrassed that I dressed 100% out of spite.
"Literally anyone but you would think so," Presley admonishes me with an eye roll.
I groan and hide my face in my hands. "I hate this."
I hear Presley sigh. "If it helps," she says, "Every dude I've spoken to is down to date you. Talk about making Jayce want you, right? Jealousy is a real ass thing, and all you'd have to do is go on one little date."
My head snaps up and I can't hide the glare I give her. This is too fucking much. "You've been asking guys about dating me?!" I whine, wishing she wasn't so unashamed. "Why the hell would you do that?"
She looks slightly taken aback, "Fal, I thought–"
"–Well, you thought wrong!" I snap, feeling sorry as soon as the words leave my mouth. I'm about to apologize when I hear a sickeningly chipper voice behind me.
"Hello, fellow students!"
Ugh. Layla Wright.
I turn around to face the wicked witch herself. She's wearing a red, lace-up front crop top with dangerously short, distressed True Religion jean shorts and shining black Armani ankle boots. Her lips are painted to match the red in her top, which brings out the blue of her eyes and looks flawless with her practically white-blonde hair. She's flanked by two of her obsessed followers.
