Chapter Twenty-Seven Damion
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Sometimes doing the right thing sucks, but other times, it can be fun as hell.”
—Remington
Damion
“I’m just saying it’s hella ballsy,” Beckett said as we walked into the cafeteria. He went straight for the sushi bar, just like he did every day. “I invited her to my birthday party, yet you celebrated with her in my bedroom, you dick.”
“Whatever,” I said, irritated by the way everyone was making such a big deal about what went down—or didn’t, actually—at Beck’s party.
People needed to mind their own fucking business.
“She looked good the other night, though,” he said, grabbing a platter of California rolls. “And I don’t care what anyone says, she seems pretty cool.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean, I’ll come out and say it—I like her.”
“Fantastic,” I said, wanting him, the most interesting man in the room, to shut the hell up.
Interesting. Julia thought he was “interesting,” whatever the hell that meant.
Not an asshole.
Which, okay, fair.
I was an asshole, and I tried my damnedest to be the biggest asshole I could be around her, but it was still annoying, the way she barely knew Beck yet she assumed he wasn’t an asshole.
I mean, he wasn’t, but still.
I took some tuna rolls and followed him over to a table.
But dammit, he went straight for the Toms and I wasn’t in the mood.
“What the hell, Rutledge?” Corbin said when I sat down, giving me one of his skeevy smiles, like we were in cahoots together or something. “I thought you said you were just ‘talking’ to New Money, but it sounds like that was a lie.”
Shut up, jackass.
I said, “Yeah, uh—”
“So she’s… fun?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning. “I trust you had a good time, yes?”
“Christ, Archington, don’t be such a douchebag,” I said, wondering why anyone liked him.
At all.
He was an asshole.
“Relax,” he said with a cackle, and as I looked at him, I thought of Julia’s comment.
How exactly are you different?
Julia Nebraska thought I was no different from Corbin Archington, and that was depressing as hell. I took pride in the fact that I was nothing like the rest of the sheep at Gardenwood, so having someone make that assumption made me feel like trash.
How exactly are you different?
I kept hearing her question, but I refused to entertain it.
She didn’t know shit about me.
“So are you and New Money official, then,” Corbin asked, “or is she still—”
“Is she still what—available?” Beckett finished, scowling. “Are you seriously asking that two fucking days later, Arch?”
“Hey, I’m not one to let the dust settle; I jump when it’s hot,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
“You’re fucking gross,” I said, feeling even worse about Julia’s assumption. “Shut the hell up.”
The idea of her thinking I was no different from these people was kind of disgusting.
And hearing her name come out of Corbin’s mouth made me want to beat his face in.
Underneath it all, too, was the uncomfortable truth that I knew Remi would be disappointed I hadn’t done enough good to distance myself from my classmates.
“So it is more than just talking,” Corbin said smugly. “Why can’t you just be honest about that? Just admit that you’re feeling the fuck out of Miss New Mon—”
“Will you shut your goddamn mouth?” I said, grabbing the front of his shirt and jerking him closer, seeing red as I looked at his smarmy little face. “Or I’ll shut it for you, I swear to God.”
“What’s your problem?” Corbin said in a high-pitched voice.
“Cool it, Dame,” Beckett said, leaning forward to remove my fist from Arch’s shirt. “Your dad will kill you if you get another suspension.”
“Shit,” I muttered as I let him go. Shit. “You’re right.”
“Yeah, maybe chill the fuck out,” Corbin said, running a hand over the front of his shirt, scowling down at it as if my fist had marred the fabric. “I just got this, for Christ’s sake.”
Things didn’t get any better after that, because all anyone could talk about was me and Nebraska and Beck’s bedroom. Even though my stern declarations of NOTHING HAPPENED fell on deaf ears.
If I was getting shit for it, that meant she was getting it ten times worse. And that thought pissed me off.
Me worrying about her pissed me off more.
Not my problem.
Her unhappiness had nothing to do with me. I hadn’t been the one who suggested we go into the bedroom, but still…
Fuck.
It also pissed me off that I couldn’t stop thinking about her on that bed, in that dark bedroom.
It’d been insane and stupid—insanely stupid—the way she smelled like flowers and made me come this fucking close to kissing her, but I was also smart enough to realize that it’d been nothing more than chemistry.
A biological reaction to being in a bedroom with an attractive person.
That was all.
I gritted my teeth and made it through most of the afternoon, but my annoyance hit a new peak when I saw the photocopied pictures of Julia, hanging in random spots all over the senior hallway.
What the hell?
They were taped up like flyers, printed in black and white. I pulled one off a locker and holy God, it was a photo that had been taken at the party.
Specifically, it was from when we were interrupted.
Holy shit, who would do this?
Julia was standing next to the bed, her white sweater hanging off her right shoulder, looking like she’d pulled it on in a hurry. Her hair was wild, curls everywhere, and she looked surprised and sleepy.
She looked bedded, holy shit.
The photo was nothing, in a way, just a not-so-great picture of someone.
But in a place where appearances were everything, it was like the ultimate insult.
An act of war.
I looked at her startled expression on the paper, and suddenly not an asshole didn’t seem like such a low bar at all.
I crumpled the photo and tossed it into the trash, but when I turned the corner and saw Julia standing in front of Coco’s locker, talking to Bella and Coco, I slowed.
Because her face.
Shit, shit, shit.
Her face was red, splotchy, almost as if she’d been crying, which wasn’t possible, right? Sure, she was awkward as shit and pretty introverted, but Julia was also skilled at trading quiet barbs with me.
I mean, she’d literally run me down when she thought I’d stolen that stupid fucking wallet, so the girl could hold her own, right?
But the sight of her, looking… Jesus, so damn broken, made something in my chest feel uncomfortably tight.
And I fucking lost it.
“Listen, Miss Bedhead,” Bella was saying, her smile garishly huge as she looked at Julia like she was being ridiculous. “Someone snapped a funny picture and I just printed it off. I think you need to lighten up.”
“For sure,” Coco agreed, tilting her head and crossing her arms, looking like a fucking evil queen.
“And it’s Corn Queen, not Bedhead,” Coco added, her tone dripping with condescension. “I like that better.”
Bella said, “And here I thought she was New Money. Gosh, it’s hard to keep track of which adorable nickname suits her best.”
“I’d go with ‘Damion’s date,’ I said, stepping forward, wanting to crush those assholes.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to be chill when I really wanted to unload on them for being such dicks.
But it wouldn’t do any good.
I’d learned a long time ago that they were entirely incapable of seeing themselves as anything other than the main characters in their world, the girls who were always in the right.
“What?” Coco said, looking confused, and her look fueled me.
I loved when she was confused, when everything wasn’t going as she’d planned.
Which was why I enjoyed every second of what I did next.
I said, “Since Julia is my date for the season, maybe Damion’s Date is the best nickname for her.”
Suddenly I was moving to stand beside her, looking down at Julia’s fast-blinking gaze as I said, “I mean, it’s a hell of a lot better than the lazy shit I just heard. You’re still using Corn Queen? Absolutely lacking in creativity, Coke.”
“I’m sorry,” Coco said, her perfect face contorting into something ugly as her brows crammed together and her eyes narrowed into little slits. “Did you just say you’re taking her to the ball?”
“That’s right,” I said.
But when I looked down at Julia, at the way she was watching me with wide eyes, I realized I was going to have to do it.
Aw, shit.
I’d said it to make waves, to shut them up, but as Julia looked up at me, it was obvious that she thought I was messing with her, too. Her expression told me that she didn’t think for a minute that I was serious, that she thought I was just another asshole playing with her.
And I mean, I was.
But I couldn’t shake that damn Remi epiphany I’d had earlier, either, the one that reminded me of everything he hated about Gardenwood. Of everything he’d raised me not to be.
And I really REALLY couldn’t shake the tears still staining her freckle-sprinkled cheeks.
Shit, shit, shit.
I swallowed, clenched my jaw as the everything of what I’d just done punched me in the chest, and I announced, “I’m doing the season with Julia.”
And then I turned and headed straight for the exit, just as Liam appeared and rescued his sister from the girls staring at her in shock.
Dear God.
What did I just do?
But when my nerves settled and I stopped focusing on what my dad would do when he found out I’d asked Julia Lowell to the season, I took a deep breath of fresh autumn air and thought of Remi.
Of Julia’s face as she was being mocked.
Hunted.
Remi would want me to take her, to rescue her from the assholes, regardless of what her family might’ve done.
I knew that without a doubt, and I hated it.
Because now I had no choice.