Chapter 18 #2
I glanced down at her phone, jaw clenching at what I saw.
The original video we'd posted of him dancing to "Careless Whisper" on the ice had made its rounds on the campus forum and, instead of being embarrassed, the bastard had simply started creating his own edits—slo-mo versions with romantic music overlaid, cutting together clips of me watching him with fabricated heart-eye effects added.
The latest one had him lip-syncing some cheesy love song while splicing in footage of me watching from the stands, my disgusted expression highlighted with heart effects.
This asshole, seriously. The campus forum was going crazy with each new edit he dropped. The student population had started shipping us, complete with a ridiculous couple name: #LivelyStorm.
My phone had become a goddamn bomb site with notifications.
"He's trying to get under my skin, that damn bully," I said, eyes tracking his movements across the ice. "But I bet he's not going to like our next surprise." A small smirk peeked at the corners of my mouth despite myself.
Gina let out a heavy sigh from beside me. "Our Captain has been corrupted," she said, shaking her head in mock despair. "I feel like punching that jerk even more now."
I chuckled, the sound feeling foreign in my throat. "Like you're not the one who came up with this one."
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. "Well, we might not have gotten Lively to crack yet, but it's fun to watch the others freak out over each one."
She wasn't wrong. While Lively seemed completely immune to humiliation, the rest of his team wasn't nearly as composed.
But Lively? He just laughed every single one off, like this was some kind of courtship dance.
He watched me with those eyes that seemed to see right through every attempt, like he was waiting for something I wasn't giving him.
The memory of yesterday's hospital visit crashed over me like a rogue wave.
I'd walked into Mallory's room to find Lively already there, sprawled in the armchair with his ridiculous long legs taking up half the room, his expensive athletic shoes propped up on the bottom rail of Mallory's bed like he belonged there.
He'd had a bag of contraband candy open on his lap that he and Mallory were sharing, both of them with phones in their faces.
"Perfect timing," he'd said, tilting toward me like some kind of human sunflower. "I was just telling Mallory about how you rigged the locker room benches."
"That was you?" I'd asked, dropping my bag with a deliberately heavy thud. "I heard someone ratted us out to the maintenance staff."
His grin had widened, revealing perfect teeth that I irrationally wanted to chip. "Nah, I just figured it out. I'm starting to understand how your sexy, devious mind works."
Something about that statement—the implication that he knew me, that he could read me—had pissed me off as much as it had sent a jolt of electricity crackling along every nerve. And that word 'sexy' had hung in the air like a challenge, a challenge I didn't know how to accept, really.
"Doubt it. I don't even think you know how your mind works. If there's something inside your skull, that is."
"Ooh, burn," he'd drawled, but Mallory had giggled, clearly enjoying the stories of my so-called "bullying," her pale cheeks flushed with more color than I'd seen in weeks.
"How long has he been here?" I'd asked, trying to redirect my attention somewhere less aggravating.
"Like an hour? We've been playing Mario Kart. He sucks at it," Mallory had shrugged, still grinning.
"I let you win," Lively had protested, his tone warm and indulgent.
"Uh-huh. Whatever helps you sleep at night, loser."
The only reason I even tolerated this jerk was because of Mallory.
But what had really gotten under my skin was when he'd leaned forward, those blue eyes dancing with challenge, and said, "Come on, gimme a clue here.
What's your next move going to be? The food coloring was inspired, by the way.
I still can't get all the blue off my tongue. "
He'd stuck out his tongue to show me, and sure enough, there was still a faint blue tinge to it.
"You think this is funny?" I'd finally snapped, leaning forward, my voice dangerously quiet. "You think I won't break you? Because trust me, I will find the thing that gets under your skin, and when I do—"
"I can think of several things I'd like to get under," he'd interrupted, his lips splitting into an innocent smile that did not match the innuendo tucked into his words, before meeting my eyes again, the blue suddenly darker, more intense.
Every nerve ending in my body had fired at once.
It wasn't just the words—it was the way he said them, like he meant every syllable, like he'd been thinking about it for a long time.
The heat that had shot through me was definitely rage.
Definitely. That momentary inability to breathe, that skip in my pulse—all anger, pure and simple.
Had to be.
"Whoa," Mallory had whispered, wide-eyed. "That was smooth -smooth."
"Mallory!" I'd exclaimed, betrayed.
"What? It was. I'm fourteen, not blind."
Lively had thrown his head back and laughed, the sound rich and warm and absolutely infuriating. "Your sister gets it," he'd said, high-fiving Mallory.
I'd stood up then, unable to take anymore. "I'm going to get some coffee. Mallory, don't encourage him."
As I'd turned to leave, Lively had called after me: "Looking forward to tomorrow, Hailstorm! Whatever you've got planned, I'm ready for it!"
And that had been the worst part. I knew he meant it. He really was looking forward to whatever torment I had planned for him next. Like every barb I sent his way was a gift he was eagerly waiting for.
Freak.
Now, I watched the Rink Runners start to skate toward the ice for their practice time, anticipation building in my chest, even as I wrestled with the sneaking suspicion that maybe—just maybe—I was starting to enjoy these pranks as much as he did.
But that didn't matter now. Now, all that mattered was winning this time. This time would be different. This time I'd get him.
"Ready?" I whispered to Gina, the word barely audible over the scrape of skates on ice.
She nodded, a gleam in her eye that matched the gleeful curve of her lips. "Oh, hell yeah."
Our plan was simple but effective. The ceiling above the rink had been rigged with small packets of glitter—biodegradable, of course, we weren't monsters—set to deploy once their team hit center ice.
It would rain down on them, coating their gear, their hair, their skin with fine, impossible-to-remove shimmer.
They'd be sparkling for days, visible from a mile away in direct sunlight.
Lively Summers wouldn't be so cocky when he was nicknamed after fucking Edward Cullen by the entire campus.
The anticipation was like electricity in my veins, making my fingers tingle and my heart race. The Rink Runners stepped onto the ice, their blades cutting clean lines across the freshly resurfaced sheet. Any second now, they'd hit center ice and—
Dani suddenly skated back onto the rink, her movements quick and purposeful. "Forgot my water bottle," she called over her shoulder, already halfway to center ice.
Oh shit.
"Dani, wait!" I started, lurching forward, panic clawing at my throat, but it was too late.