Chapter Seventeen
Cal
Roan: Seriously, man, I’m freaking the fuck out.
I stare down at my phone as I pack my bag to leave class for the day. My mind has been on replay of Charlotte giving me head at her dad’s place last night. She fucking obliterated me. I don’t know what’s different about her sucking my dick compared to any other chick I’ve been with, but there is something different.
It wasn’t for show.
It wasn’t some ploy to make me notice her.
It wasn’t some power trip move to show her friends up.
Every lick and taste was her way of showing she craves me just as much as I crave her. It was maddening and teasing. I wanted to yank her up and fuck her right on her bed in a claiming caveman move.
If her dad hadn’t interrupted, I would’ve done just that.
Hell, I nearly did against the side of my truck when she later walked me down to the parking garage after dinner. I settled for a kiss that made her breathless. I’m sure her dad fucking hates me, because he’d be stupid if he didn’t think we were up to some shit in there with the door closed, but he didn’t say a word.
Roan: Stop ignoring me.
I snort out a laugh and reply to my friend.
Me: It’s just your dad. I know you have beef with him, but I thought it was getting better.
Roan: It was. But he was behind bars.
Me: He might not get out.
Roan: He said it’s likely.
Me: Is it or is he just wishful thinking?
Roan: Samantha’s been working her magic. He’s been in the pen for a while now and hasn’t gotten into too much shit. It’s more than likely. It’s going to happen. I can feel it.
Me: Roux will be happy.
Roan: She doesn’t remember him like I do.
Me: A man can change.
He doesn’t reply right away, so I lock up my classroom and head down the hall.
Roan: What if he breaks her heart again?
Me: Like Jordy will let him live to tell that tale.
Roan: No shit. But Dad’s such a hothead. I’m afraid he’ll just end up going back to prison for the same old shit.
Me: That’s out of your control. What does the rat say?
Roan: Hubs says he’s my dad and to give him another chance.
Me: Pussy.
He sends me a bunch of middle finger emojis that make me laugh.
Me: Kidding, dickhead. I think Hollis is right. If he gets out, there’s not much you can do aside from decide whether or not you want to be a part of his life. Roux’s a big girl and can make her own decisions. Do what’s right for your family.
Roan: Dude. Did you give your dad your phone? Mr. Hutton? Is that you?
Me: That’s the last time I give you advice, fuckface.
He sends me an annoying thumbs-up emoji, knowing full and fucking well I hate that stupid thing with a passion.
Me: I’m blocking your ass for that.
Roan: You love me and my thumb.
I pocket my phone, shaking my head. I’m just passing through the English wing of the building when I see him.
Wes Ewing.
Talking to my fucking girl .
Rather than throwing my phone at his punk-ass head like I want, I prowl up to him like a stalking panther. Charlotte is looking down at a paper, not even seeing me as I approach.
“It’s just this little coffee shop. I know poems aren’t really your thing, but it would mean a lot if you came with me. Helped critique them.” He chuckles nervously. “As friends of course.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Ewing,” she starts, her voice sounding off.
“Wes.” He laughs again. “I told you when it’s just us, call me Wes. I’m not much older than your brother and his friends. Besides, you should have graduated already and you’re eighteen now. It’s not like it’s illegal. We could be dating and no one would care.”
Fuck this dumb bitch boy.
I shove past him, knocking him into the lockers, before I sling an arm over Charlotte’s shoulders. My eyes are on his as I deliver my cold words. “ I would care.”
Fear wars with hatred as his features morph back and forth, unable to decide which direction he’s going to go. Eventually, he settles on hatred.
His. Fucking. Funeral.
“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate, Mr. Hutton,” he grinds out, waving an arm at the way I tuck Charlotte into my side.
I fling my middle finger out, shoving it in his face. “Who are you going to tell? Her aunt?” My eyes narrow. “Roux?”
Charlotte stiffens, but wisely stays out of this pissing match.
Wes’s face blanches. For one second. And then he’s back to being a bitch boy.
“Charlotte,” he grumbles. “I hope you’re being safe. Last year was a bad one for you and I hope you’re not making the same mistakes.” He levels me with a disgusted glare.
“Fuck off, Ewing,” I bark out. “Ask my girl out on a date again and I’ll smother you in your sleep.”
“Fucking psycho,” he snaps.
“Takes one to know one,” I volley back.
“You can’t date a student.” He looks down on me like he’s the fucking moral police.
“Does it say anything in the handbook about sucking my dick?” I taunt.
He shoves past me, his feet stomping loudly as he leaves without another word. Charlotte is quiet, so I turn to her, pressing her back against the lockers so I can look at her. Her blond brow is arched, flinging all kinds of attitude my way.
She can get pissy.
I did what I had to do to keep that predator away from her.
“Great,” she complains, “now Mr. Ewing knows I sucked your dick.”
“He’s just pissed you didn’t suck his.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious, English. Stay away from him.”
“Jealous because another guy asked me out?”
“Not jealous. Pissed that he has the gall to think he has that right.”
“He should just know you’ve claimed me?” Her voice is shrill and her blue eyes shine with indignation.
“He should know to back the fuck away from us Hornets.”
She studies my face for a beat. “This isn’t about us, is it? There’s more. History between you.”
I shrug, earning another glare from her.
“What about Roux?” she asks softly. “You mentioned her earlier.”
Every muscle tenses in my body as I’m thrust back to that night. I’d never wanted to kill someone more than in that moment. Had Roux not begged me not to, I might have. I still might.
“Ask Roux,” I tell her, our eyes locking. “Not my story to tell.”
Panic flashes in her eyes and then they grow watery. “I missed an entire year of my life. My friends and family. I should know these stories.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I hate myself for that.”
I pin her against the lockers, my hips pressing into hers. “You’re not allowed to hate yourself, loser.” I bring my fingers to her chin, tilting her head up. “That’s my job, beautiful. One I take very seriously.”
Rather than cowering at my words, she fucking smiles.
Goddamn this girl.
“Hating myself is hard,” she admits. “Depressing. It’s much more therapeutic when you do it for me.”
I nip at her lip. “Glad to be of service.”
Our mouths meet for a fiery kiss that has her writhing in my arms. If I didn’t think we’d get caught, I’d rip her jeans off and fuck her right here. Leave her wet, cum-stained panties on Wes’s door so he knows I’ve laid claim to her.
“If you’re done dry fucking my sister, I’d like to steal her. We’re supposed to meet Dad at four to go to dinner.”
I pull away, turning to grin at Penny, who wears a bored expression as she stares at her phone. “Tell Daddy to save a seat for me. I’m pretty hungry.” I turn to wink at Charlotte while Penny pretends to gag.
“You two are so gross,” she complains. “I’ll be in the Jeep, sis.”
As soon as she leaves, I steal another kiss from my girl.
Dinner with the English family was surprisingly laidback. It’s easy to see the girls adore their father. I like the guy, but since Roan hasn’t completely forgiven him for what he did to Hollis, I can’t show it. Garrett may have fucked his family over when he lost his shit over Hollis being gay, but I think he truly feels remorse. He moved across country to be near them and basically dedicates every free second of his time to seeing his kids. Yeah, Garrett’s okay in my book.
My phone buzzes, distracting me from my thoughts.
Some Douchebag: I can get a keg for Campfire Chaos, bro.
I crack my neck as I reply back.
Me: Find some other place to party. Campfire Chaos is indefinitely canceled.
He sends me a bunch of crying emojis. Fucking loser.
Me: Lose my number.
The douchebag sends me a thumbs-up. I wish I knew who it was so I could break his thumbs. Whoever created the thumbs- up emoji was a fucking asshole. No one uses it in a happy way. It’s always a smartass, passive aggressive “fuck you.”
I send him a picture of my middle finger. The real one. No fucking emoji. Then, I block his reject ass.
I’m annoyed, but then, like always lately, my mind drifts back to Charlotte. I’d wanted to steal her and fuck her in the restaurant bathroom tonight but settled for just fucking with her in general. The girl didn’t cower or balk when I’d give her shit. Instead, she laughed and even punched my arm a few times.
It was…nice.
Warmth curls in my belly as I think about her. Supple, pink lips. Bright, fierce blue eyes. A cute little nose with a dash of freckles. I’m totally fucked with this girl.
Which is why I’m sitting in front of Wes motherfucking Ewing’s house like a stalker. This afternoon, he pushed me too far. I gave my warning for him to stay away from her and he ignored it. I’d heard the pathetic way he tried to get her to go on a date with him. Fucking pervert. I’d put off my plans to terrorize him because everything that happened with Trey derailed them, but my focus is back on Ewing.
I’m going to expose him for the sicko he is.
The living room light goes out and then a few seconds later another light turns on somewhere else in his house. The light is dimmer and blue. I fling open my truck door and hop out, barely clicking the door closed behind me. Stealthily, I stalk across the street into his yard. I prowl over to the window and peek between the slats of the blinds.
Nasty ass.
The fucker is sitting at a desk, his back to the window, his right hand moving as he rubs on himself. He clicks through several images of shit on his computer that I don’t want to even see because one glance tells me they’re way too young. The pervert settles on a girl with dark hair, reminding me of Roux when she was in middle school. Gritting my teeth to keep from throwing my phone through his window, I instead swipe it open and turn it to video mode. I take a video, looking elsewhere as he beats off. His groans can be heard through the window, making me cringe. When he finishes, I walk away slowly, sweeping the camera to look at his house. I make it to his mailbox, zooming in on the address.
“Wes Ewing beats off to kids,” I spit out. “This is motherfucking evidence. Destroy it once you put his ass in jail.”
I send the video to an email for safekeeping and then destroy the shit so I don’t accidentally ever see it again. Once I climb into my truck, I turn the engine over, squeal my tires as I make a U-turn in the middle of the street, and then mow down his mailbox.
I’d rather run over him, but this is satisfying enough for now.