10. Nick
10
NICK
F or the next week and a half, I chased that thrill. When Sabrina slapped me, she shocked me. I didn’t think she had it in her to fight back. She was so good at ignoring me and how I bullied her that I figured she’d never crack.
Getting a reaction out of her was the ultimate high. I felt alive. I was there, present with her, not lost and wallowing in restlessness.
Every day since then, I tried to replicate that sensation of excitement. Pushing Sabrina so far that she’d snap like that to slap me made me want to see how much further I could test her. How much more it would take to get another rise out of her.
But I hadn’t.
She had some damn nerves of steel or something else formidable because she didn’t react again.
No matter how many times I stalked her and followed her, unnerving her with my presence lurking nearby. Regardless of how often I nudged her, tripped her, made her drop her things, or stalled her so she’d be late to class. And despite everything I said, taunting her for being one step above poverty, being “trash” because her dad worked for the city utility company, and that she had to be a slut beneath her good-girl persona…
She did not crack.
When I got home, parking my bike one afternoon, I scowled as it dawned on me why it bothered me so much. Sure, I had to keep her a priority and continue to needle at her because of this ultimatum Tiffany had given me. But it was getting deeper. I was becoming fucking obsessed with Sabrina the more I watched her and snooped for information about her.
And I hated that I was chasing her attention like this.
When she’d slapped me, daring to talk back and argue with me outside that food bank, I had her right where I wanted her. Paying attention to me, not avoiding eye contact. Talking back to me, not ignoring everything I said.
“I don’t need her,” I muttered as I headed inside the mansion to change my clothes. Diego and Pierce had joined me at the gym after lunch, and a quick swim before going back to campus would feel good.
I didn’t need Sabrina. I could get any girl I wanted. I could fuck any woman who caught my eye. I’d never suffered from a lack of interest. While I wasn’t the player I used to be, I wouldn’t struggle to get laid.
There was only one other explanation.
Grimacing, I jogged up the steps, as if I could run away from my thoughts, too.
I want her.
Stalking her as a target to bully had somehow twisted into a deep obsession.
And I wasn’t sure how to handle it anymore.
“Nick?” Tiffany called out from the study off to the side of the foyer.
Dammit. I really didn’t want to face my stepsister.
Intent on ignoring her, I continued toward the stairs to go up to my room and change. I wasn’t fast enough, though. She stepped out of the study and raised her brows at me. Behind her, I caught sight of the lit-up circle on her light that she used when videoing her podcasts and stories and reels. She was consistent about putting up new material for her “life as a law student” profile. I’d learned not to interfere when she was in her content-creation mode, and I was hardly home enough for her to remind me not to make noise or get in her way when she was videoing her “advice” for law students. As if she were some kind of expert.
“Why aren’t you holding up your end of the deal?” She crossed her arms and stared me down.
“It’s not a fucking deal,” I reminded her harshly. Free to talk with George at the office and my mom at the gym, as she usually was this time of the day, I glared at Tiffany. “You gave me an ultimatum.”
She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Call it what you want. I expect you to ruin Sabrina so she’s not competition. You’re not doing it.”
“I’m trying to.”
“You’re not trying hard enough.” She narrowed her eyes.
“I’m working on it.” I hated to have to answer to her at all, but there was too much at stake. If George divorced Mom, I would be further from any funding for mental health help for her. “I got her kicked out of the library last night.” Persistently bothering her and making her drop things at the library ended with her being asked to leave. And still , she refused to crack or show that she was bothered by it at all.
“Work harder,” she sassed. “I can get you something, too.”
I furrowed my brow. Huh?
“You know, to slip a pill in her drink so you can fuck her.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “ That would knock her off her pedestal, rumors spreading that she’s fucking the campus’s bad boy.”
Drug her? Fuck that. The idea of drugging Sabrina made me recoil inside. While the thought of helping myself to her sexy, curvy body was something I would be fully on board with, I wanted her to want me.
“I have it under control.”
“Do you?” She stepped closer to show me her phone. Another image of my mom hugging George’s assistant was grainy but there to see. “Just remember what happens if you don’t see this through.”
“I know. I fucking know why I’m bothering with this.”
Her smile was triumphant and cruel. “Good.” Without another word, she turned and flounced back to the study, as if she were superior to dismiss me.
I gritted my teeth and headed upstairs, loathing that I had to deal with Tiffany at all.
She damn well knew I was trying to rattle Sabrina. She had to see me on campus. I never changed my surname to Lorsen since I was already an adult when Mom married George. Unless someone wanted to poke around and snoop, it wasn’t common knowledge that Tiffany was my stepsister. I didn’t interact with her on campus. I didn’t speak with George, either, save for the rare occasion when I’d need to stop by his office, like the day I ran into Sabrina as I dropped off a package.
Tiffany and I didn’t run in the same circles, but to see through this ultimatum, I had been present near the law buildings. She couldn’t claim that I wasn’t trying.
I was.
Yet, no matter what I did, Sabrina would not pay attention to me.
She would not falter or crack.
After my swim, which wasn’t as calming as I wanted it to be because she was on my mind the whole time, I had to admit that if I wasn’t so determined to bring her down and drag her through the mud, I’d admire the hell out of her tenacity.
She was no damsel in distress, no wallflower or weakling.
I had to think of something else to appease Tiffany—but not drugs. I’d be damned if I had to intoxicate Sabrina to get her to fall. She had to have a weakness somewhere.
Back at the studio that night, Diego and I worked on our respective projects. As usual, he was more or less hosting a party, drinking and smoking with the models he’d draw. I stayed in the corner, falling down a spiral of thinking about Sabrina and hating that I wanted to make her crack.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had an exposé,” Daniela, one of the models, said as she meandered across the messy studio, seeking me out.
I nodded, not looking up from the painting I’d started the background on. “It has.”
Months ago, one of Diego’s models wanted me to paint her in a boudoir style, and Daniela had posted it as an art exposé. From there, things snowballed. More women wanted racy paintings done in my realism style of art. Then the dares anted up to more challenges, like painting a boudoir painting as graffiti, only for someone to paint over it by a certain time. The limited timeframe of the pornographic artwork added to the hype about it all. The videos and photos of the dean’s daughter’s painting had gotten the most traction, but I still didn’t care about all the interest from the art community. Being a painter wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I was skilled. I had talent. But it wasn’t me . Although I had no grounding and direction in my life, I knew I didn’t want that path.
“Or not,” she quipped, smiling wider. It wasn’t the booze that put the excited gleam in her eyes now as she studied my painting.
I glanced at her, then back at the canvas that had captured my attention the most lately.
“That’s the one law student,” Daniela observed.
I frowned, not wanting to share Sabrina even like this.
The night after she slapped me, I started to sketch, then paint, her. I’d never seen enough of her to paint her nudity accurately, but I imagined her. I dreamed of what she’d look like, bare to me alone.
“You shared those pictures of her at the Cricket’s wet T-shirt contest,” she added.
I shook my head but didn’t speak up. I wasn’t denying that I’d posted about Sabrina. I had. But it wasn’t her at that bar. As far as I knew, she didn’t go to any bars. I’d lied, making it up that she’d entered a wet T-shirt contest.
“That’s her, isn’t it?” She pointed at the painting. “Sabrina something.”
I nodded. “Sabrina Rosario.”
“She posed for you?” Daniela grinned. “Like that?”
It was Sabrina. Or it was the depiction I could summon in my mind of her. Sabrina was too good to ever pose like one of the “boudoir” models who wanted to be risqué and naughty like that. Sabrina was too practiced at ignoring me and how I bullied her to ever spend time near me long enough for me to paint her.
Daniela was now taking pictures of and then videoing me as I touched up the paint. This painting hadn’t been done with a model. It was nothing more than me making artwork of the wet dream that plagued me of the girl I couldn’t get off my mind.
Of Sabrina in a wet blouse, her tits accentuated without a bra. Her lips smirking in a dare as she reclined back and spread her legs. The skirt falling back to reveal her tracing her finger along lacy white panties that showed wet spots on the fabric.
“I can share these, right?” Daniela arched a brow at me. “It’s been a while since I shared anything of your art. My followers have been asking.”
I frowned, not liking the idea of anyone seeing Sabrina like this. It was just my imagination, not an actual sitting she’d posed for. But it would fit right in with the series Daniela had started in sharing my work.
And it would go a long way toward ruining Sabrina’s reputation.
For fuck’s sake. I rubbed my hand over my face as I struggled with the indecision.
It’s not like I’d ever actually have a chance with her. I wasn’t supposed to care about her.
Sabrina wasn’t mine.
If this stunt could ruin her reputation, if this would be a harder hit in a smear campaign against her, that would be a show of faith in the stupid ultimatum Tiffany had given me.
Do it for Mom.
I couldn’t risk George finding out about her infidelity. I couldn’t risk Mom and I losing our home and money. She’d never get help with her depression if it were just me and her.
“Yeah.” I shrugged, glancing at Daniela. “Go ahead. Share it.”