Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 16

Sam

I don't know whether to be furious or relieved that Weaver busted in on Somers and me in the half-second before I kissed her. Because I was going to do it, knew as soon as she emitted that breathy gasp at the feel of my ring that I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I should be grateful Weaver stopped my insanity before I put my lips on hers and lost myself for good. But all I've wanted to do for the past hour is slam a knee into his balls and haul ass back to 202, grab Somers, and start where we left off.

Instead, I sit across from Ott and Weaver at McGruber's Public House, thinking about Somers' mouth as the conversation bobs and weaves around me. I take a massive bite of burger, don't even glance up as the waitress comes around and leans down far enough to give me a clear view of her cleavage.

"Everything good, guys?" She's asking me.

"Yuh," I grunt around my burger. It tastes like tar against the idea of Somers' lips.

Ott rounds on me as soon she's out of earshot. "Uh, what the hell was that?"

"What?"

"Our very hot waitress is clearly coming onto you, and you're acting like you can't even see her."

Weaver snorts into his Sprite, sending bubbles over the lip of the glass.

Ott jerks away from him. "Seriously, dude?"

Weaver runs a napkin over the table and jerks his head at me. "Hey, I'm not the one who can't keep his hands off Remington's new meat."

My desire to drive a knee into Weaver's nuts grows tenfold. Seriously?

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. "Speak for yourself. Not sure if you caught the show last night, but I'm pretty singularly focused on making the chick's life hell this year."

Ott watches me while Weaver grabs a fry off my plate and pops it into his mouth. "Give it up, Evans," he laughs. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost when I came to get you this afternoon. You were pissed."

I grit my teeth and hope like hell Ott doesn't notice how tense I am. "Maybe it's part of the game, asshole."

Weaver snorts again, keeping his lips off the straw this time. Ott's looking at me like he doesn't even know me and a tic is beginning in his jaw.

"Yet you had no interest in the hot waitress, and I don't see Somers anywhere in the vicinity," he says finally.

"Oh my god, if it's such a big fucking deal..." I slide out of the booth and head over to the bar, where the waitress is sliding a credit card through the machine.

"Hey," I say coolly.

She looks up, her doe eyes widening as she takes me in. Brandon's right; she is cute, but she's not Somers. I push the thought away.

"Hi." She blushes and glances behind me, giggling.

"Are they being assholes?" I ask, grinning down at the waitress.

She shrugs. "Um, something like that."

"That's because they know I came over here to get your number." I lean closer, conspiratorial. "And they're animals."

She giggles again. It's a nice sound, and I feel like kind of a dick for leading this girl on when I have literally zero interest. But it's so easy; she's already grabbing a napkin from the bar, scribbling her name and number.

"Nice." My grin widens as I pocket the napkin. "I'll call you."

"You better." She winks before turning back to the credit card machine. Weaver and Ott both seem mildly more at ease when I slide into the booth.

"We good?" I ask the latter.

"You gonna go out with Annie?" He asks in response.

"Who?"

Ott and Weaver exchange a look. "The chick whose number you just got, dude." I pull the napkin out of my pocket and look at the name, written in curly letters. Annie. All right then.

"She a Salisbury chick?"

"Yeah," Brandon says. "We went to her party with Seb and Jared a couple weeks back. We've been over this."

We have? I must have been in my post-Somers haze. I don't say it. "Sorry, yeah. Just...shit with my dad. Yeah, I'm going to call her."

'Shit with my dad' is always a good way to take the heat off. Ott knows I've been dealing with our "reunion" poorly since my mother set up this little sixth-form-at-Remington experiment, and he rarely asks questions. For the first time, though, it doesn't seem to fully throw him off the scent, because he suggests I call Annie tonight. His mom's working a double shift and, the way he sees it, we're due to hold our own end of summer party. I imagine for a half-second what it would be like if I said no, that I'd rather get back to the dorms and kiss the hell out of Somers. The idea creates a knot in my stomach and I nod my affirmation, hoping the grimace on my face looks more suggestive than pained.

Brandon chucks his napkin onto his plate, checking his phone for the time. "You guys pick some stuff up and spread the word. I'll head home now and get everything set up."

"Sick." Weaver holds out a fist, which Brandon bumps. I notice he doesn't even glance at me as he stands from his side of the booth.

Annie stops by, sliding our check onto the table and telling us to take our time. As her hand pulls away, I reach for it, catching her fingers in mine. She turns in surprise.

"We're having a party at my buddy's tonight," I say, nodding in Ott's direction. "You coming?"

She looks like she's thinking about it for a minute and my heart races. Say no, I think. But then she smiles, nods. "I'm off at 9. Text me the address."

Weaver lets out a low whistle, eyes on her ass.

"Paws off," I say, swiping my last fry through ketchup and pointing it in his direction before I pop it in my mouth. I lean back against the booth, gloating, until I meet Brandon's eyes. He's watching me too closely, sneering at me the way I've seen him do just before he hauls off and kicks the shit out of someone.

"You got some kind of problem?" I snap at him.

"Not yet." He pulls a wad of cash from his wallet and drops it on the table, standing as he does. "See you fuckheads later."

I watch him stride out the door before wheeling on Jared.

"What the hell was that, man?"

Jared, usually our resident jokester—all raised eyebrows and innocent grins—looks as pissed as I've ever seen him. "I could ask you the same question."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

I'm mad enough to take a swing, and I'm not in the mood to guess. Besides, I think I know—and that pisses me off even more. Jared is supposed to be on my side of this, not Ott's. The thought immediately slams up against my conscious. We're all supposed to be on Ott's side, I think.

Fuck this. I slam ten bucks onto the table and storm out of the restaurant.