7. Willow
7
WILLOW
“ I am telling you, Will,” Jasmine mutters around a mouthful of carrot, “They can go one lunch period without their little Barbie doll.” She crunches loudly, clearly irritated.
I sigh, knowing what’s coming. “I told you that lunch with them is one of the stipulations of the deal,” I say, trying to keep my voice light as I slide further down the cafeteria line, picking up my usual items.
Jasmine grumbles, grabbing a turkey sandwich and an orange juice with a huff. “And I told you, that was a stupid rule. Like, the outfits I get are great because they make your butt look cute as fuck. And you get to keep the outfits, which is a total win, but sitting there while they make out with their pep squad is a total L.”
I roll my eyes, forcing a tight smile. “They don’t make out with their pep squad during lunch.” I say rolling my eyes, because if I am honest: watching them make out with girls every day sparks some type of dark, damn nearly violent jealousy within me that I don’t want to unpack.
Jasmine looks at me, raising a brow. “Well, then you need to tell Damien to get the skank off his lap.”
I glance over at their table just in time to see Isabel straddling Damien’s lap, their lips locked together in a way that makes Jasmine gag audibly. His hand knots tightly in her hair, while his other grips her ass lazily making my stomach flip, and flames erupt in my chest. “It’s not like he’s doing a good job, making out with her anyway.”
“The hair pull is good, but he needs to grip her ass better. I give this make out sesh a five out of ten.” Jasmine nods, crunching another carrot as we move further down.
“I vote three out of ten.” I snort.
But even as I say it, I can’t help but look back over at Damien. His eyes meet mine across the cafeteria, sharp and unwavering. My stomach flips when Isabel pulls away to wipe the gloss off Damien’s lips, and that’s when I see her glance in my direction. Her face twists with annoyance, and she mutters something under her breath to Damien.
His jaw tightens, and before I can turn away, he grabs Isabel's wrist, leaning in to speak sharply to her. Though I can’t hear the words, his posture—the rigid set of his shoulders, the slight forward tilt of his head—makes my heart skip. Isabel frowns, clearly irritated, but nods quickly before throwing one last glare in my direction. It’s a look meant to burn, and it does, igniting a mix of heat and anger that simmers in my chest.
“Earth to Willow!” Jasmine’s finger jabs toward my face, snapping me out of my daze. I blink, realizing I’d been glaring at the Chessmen’s table.
“You owe me a sleepover at most, and a long Sunday hangout at least,” Jasmine declares, her eyes narrowing in playful accusation. “And no bailing like last time.”
“Next Sunday?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safe.
“Yes!” Jasmine’s grin is victorious, but she quickly shakes her head with a dramatic snort. “And don’t even think about ditching me for your Chessmen douchebags. They might be your ‘deal,’ but I’m your best friend first.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I give her a half-hearted salute, though my gaze drifts back to the Chessmen’s table.
Damien’s eyes are still locked on me. Even from this distance, his stare is intense, a steady pull that feels impossible to ignore. My heartbeat quickens, the same unsettling mix of thrill and unease swirling in my chest.
“Jeez, he’s so intense,” Jasmine mutters, popping another carrot into her mouth. Her smirk is knowing, like she’s fully aware of my discomfort. “If Damien keeps looking at you like that, I’m gonna have to have a chat with him.”
“Don’t bother,” I say with a forced smile, finally tearing my eyes away from him. “He’s just being an ass.”
But even as I say it, my chest tightens. It’s not that simple. The way his attention lingers feels invasive, yet electrifying, and I hate that I can’t shake it. My skin prickles, a confusing mixture of irritation and awareness coursing through me.
I let out a deep sigh, trying to ground myself. “Hey, Bea! One chili bowl, extra cheese and sour cream, please,” I say, flashing a small smile at the cafeteria worker. Her warm, motherly expression is a comfort in the chaos.
“Coming right up, sweetheart,” Bea replies, spooning out the chili with practiced ease. The rich, dark stew swirls with creamy sour cream and a generous sprinkle of melting cheese. For a moment, it’s enough to quiet my nerves.
Jasmine leans in, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “So, what’s the plan? Sit with the Golden Boys, or do I get you all to myself today?”
“Well, obviously I want to sit with you,” I say, before shrugging. “But I have to sit with them; however, there is no rule against you sitting with us, besides I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“Really?”
“Really, come on.” I turn towards the table, nodding with determination despite the heavy weight of anxiety in my chest. Jasmine follows closely behind, knowing that our group will most likely not be welcome at the Chessmen’s table. But I need my best friend by my side, especially if Damien's new fling, queen of the bitches herself, is going to be hanging off his arm for the next hour.
I take a deep breath and force my shaky legs to carry me towards the table, as per our agreement. As I pass by other tables, I can feel whispers of whore and slut as other girls stare me down.
Today’s outfit doesn’t help either. A denim pleated mini skirt, Ralph Lauren baby pink button up with matching pink boots and a cluster of gold chains that compliment my collar perfectly and hang right between my breasts—which I tried to cover this morning but Vincent purposefully popped the first three buttons of my sweater.
Oh and did I mention there were instructions not to wear a bra? Gotta thank Cast for that one. But despite all the whispers and snide comments, all I can think about is Damien's intense gaze that hasn't left me since we locked eyes earlier.
“He looks like he wants to take a bite out of you.” Jasmine murmurers as we make our way up the stairs towards the Chessmen.
“I don't doubt he wouldn't.” I murmur, turning to round the table, which to my dismay means I have to walk past the dark gaze of Damien and Isabel’s scowl.
Keeping my head down, I try to slip past Isabel, but a sudden, brutal shove slams into my back. My feet skid out from under me, and I stumble forward. My tray tips violently, sending my food flying. Bright, sticky chili splatters across my cardigan in a scalding mess, the cheesy heat burning against my skin.
I freeze, my heart pounding, as a wave of humiliation and searing anger floods through me, my cheeks burning under the weight of countless stares.
I look up, and there she is—Isabel, standing with a smug expression as she watches the mess spill over my cardigan. “Oops,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Guess I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh yeah!” Jasmine snarls, stepping forward. “And I guess you didn’t see my foot in your ass!”
“What the fuck did you say to me lesbo troll?” Isabel yawns and a rush of anger swims in my veins. Trip me sure, but be disrespectful to my friends, especially my best friend absolutely not, no like hell no. I put a hand out, stopping Jasmine in her tracks before she moves any closer.
Keeping my head held high, I meet Isabel’s smug expression with a sugary-sweet smile, ignoring the sticky mess clinging to my cardigan. “It’s okay, Jasmine,” I say, my tone calm but cutting as I place a firm hand on her arm. “Isabel’s clearly having an off day. Tripping me is one thing, but talking shit about my friend? Now that’s bold.”
Isabel rolls her eyes, her smirk widening as Damien steps out from behind her. His expression is blank, detached, as though this whole scene doesn’t involve him. Vincent, however, is anything but passive. His jaw tightens as he strides toward us, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Isabel!” he snaps. “What the hell is your problem?”
But I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I unbutton my cardigan, the fabric peeling away from my skin and leaving me naked from the waist up. The cafeteria erupts with wolf whistles and jeering laughs, but I barely flinch. I hold my head high, my gaze unwavering, until Jasmine tugs her hoodie over her head and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say softly, slipping it on and zipping it up. Then I turn back to Isabel, my smile sharpening into a blade. “You know,” I say lightly, “I was chilly anyway. Could you let Damien know he needs to pick warmer clothes next time? It’s freezing out there.”
The cafeteria falls into cheers of approval and I smirk as I turn on my heel. Without sparing another glance at Isabel—or the way Damien’s blank expression twitches into something darker—I walk away, Jasmine right behind me.
The second we’re out of earshot, Jasmine lets out a laugh, slapping me on the back. “Damn, girl! You handled that like a pro. I thought you were about to slap the smug off her face.”
“Nah,” I reply, my lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “I’ve got bigger plans.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzes twice in quick succession. I glance down to see two messages in the Three King and a Pawn group chat.
Cast: Naughty girl, pawn.
Vincent: Shit Princess. My house. 8.