3. Willow
3
WILLOW
“ M iss Carter, it is wonderful that you cared to join us,” Mr. Henderson mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stands at the front of the room, his arms crossed. The class titters, a few stifled laughs echoing around me. My face heats up instantly, and I duck my head, trying to ignore the weight of every pair of eyes suddenly boring into me.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, shoving my phone into my bag. The screen briefly flashes the unknown number’s message before disappearing from view. I shift in my seat, trying to make myself as small as possible under the scrutiny.
Mr. Henderson shakes his head and gestures toward the whiteboard where he’s scrawled The Theme of Identity in A Midsummer Night’s Dream . “Now that we have Miss Carter’s undivided attention, let’s return to the text. Identity and disguise play critical roles in Shakespeare’s work. Who can explain how these themes are explored in the character of Helena?”
I let out a silent sigh of relief as the teacher's focus shifts back to the lesson. I carefully pull my laptop and the borrowed copy of the play out of my bag and set them on the desk.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and when I glance around the room, I catch more than a few glances flickering in my direction. It’s this stupid, beautiful, yet totally not my style outfit, I know it.
The cashmere sweater is clingy in all the wrong—or right—places, and the denim mini skirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It's not my usual style; I'm more of a hoodie and t-shirt kind of girl.
The only time anyone sees me in revealing clothes is during gym class and that’s because the uniform policy requires me to wear shorts and a t-shirt that are exactly my size, not too small and not too big, for ‘safety purposes’.
The outfit I wore to Vincent's birthday party was probably the most daring thing I've ever worn, but at least I trusted that everyone was too drunk or high to remember.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my body, but I definitely don't want anyone ogling it. There's a large scar down the center of my chest from surgery, and I'm not as slim or toned as girls like Isabel. But that's okay with me - I love hot Cheetos and pasta too much to give them up for some unrealistic body standards.
As I sulk about not thinking through this morning's outfit choice, I curse myself for not realizing how much attention it would draw. If I had thought about it beforehand, I would have flipped off Damien and made a run for Jasmine's car, consequences be damned.
I can’t spend an entire day at school with everyone looking at me; maybe I can go to the nurse and say I feel sick and need to go home.
My phone vibrates in my bag again, and my heart skips a beat. Against my better judgment, I sneak a glance while Mr. Henderson’s back is turned.
Unknown Number: Word around the halls is Willow Carter’s turning heads in that little mini skirt of hers. Hot as hell, little devil.
Unknown Number: No one knew what a sexy little ass you had under all those clothes. Almost made me jealous.
My stomach does a flip, and I peek up at the board, where Mr. Henderson writes out a quote from Act III, Scene II :
"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"
I take a deep breath, this message isn’t from Damien, he knows why I’m late, and Cast doesn’t talk to me all flirtatiously and carefree. When he talks to me I always feel like I’m about to cry or moan.
Unknown Number: Maybe I should make you wear sweats only from now on, keep some secrets for us.
My fingers tremble as I type out a reply.
Me: Vincent?
The response comes almost instantly.
Unknown Number: Smart girl. What gave me away?
I bite down on my lip, my pulse thundering in my ears. Why is he texting me? And why now, of all times?
Me: Little devil.
Vincent: Well that’s what you are Willow. My own personal hell. My little devil.
Personal hell? My breath catches in my throat, and I shift in my seat. How could I be Vincent Beaumont’s personal hell? I mean he’s from an old money family that can probably be traced all the way back to the King of England, and he has everything in the world he could ever want. After my debt is paid I will be a fun party tidbit, or a long forgotten memory about his crazy high school days, nothing about me should ever bring hell to Vincent Beaumont.
Me: How am I your personal hell?
Vincent: By breathing.
My chest tightens. Rosemary Sterling was a mother to all three of the Chessmen. I feel like I have killed their mother, maybe I deserve this. Maybe I don’t deserve to make it out of senior year without paying my dues for being alive in the first place. Maybe living with my Aunt in a two bedroom apartment with her four kids wouldn’t have been so bad?
Me: Well it’s my personal hell wearing this outfit.
Me: Everyone’s looking at me.
Vincent: Want me to make them stop?
I snort. There is no way Vincent could make every person in this school stop staring at me, and even though I am his “personal hell” it’s sweet he would offer. Right?
Me: You could try. (laughing emoji)
Vincent: Done.
Vincent: Send me a pic of my outfit, so I can tell them where not to look.
Me: I’m in class. I can’t.
My eyes wander nervously around the room, my cheeks flushing with heat. It feels like every person in this class can see the messages Vincent is sending me, and I can't help but feel a rush of excitement and embarrassment. My fingers tingle with anticipation, and right before I can tell him how ludicrous of a request that is, my phone buzzes again with a new message.
Vincent: Take the picture, or I come to your class and see for myself.
I sharply suck in a breath, my eyes flicking to the screen right when Mr.Henderson, starts to pull up a video on the screen of a performance of Midsummer Nights Dream . If I am going to do it, now is a better time than any other.
I silently curse Vincent under my breath, feeling the weight of his threat pressing down on me. With trembling hands, I discreetly position my phone camera towards the ground, angling it just enough to capture a glimpse of Vincent's outfit. I quickly press the capture button and send the photo before hastily tucking my phone away, heart hammering in my chest. Seconds later, I feel my phone buzz twice, but I don’t check it, instead I look forward and focus on the lecture.
After class, I look at Vincent’s messages.
Vincent: Goddamn.
Vincent: You’re right, no one should be looking at you.
“Mrs.Lewis is going to be the death of my GPA.” Jasmine huffs, looking at the B+ on the top of her history paper, as we pack up for lunch period.
“Didn’t you get in early decision to MIT?” I say in a bored tone, as I swing my bag over my shoulder.
Jasmine throws her head back and whines. “Yes, but I am still waiting on Yale, Princeton and NYU. A B+ will make me look like a slacker.”
A snort escapes my lips as I think about it. On the surface, she may seem like a laid-back girl with her blonde mohawk and ever-changing colorful highlights, a little black book of girls that would make any guy on this planet jealous, and an eclectic taste in music ranging from R&B to punk. But don't be fooled - my best friend is not a slacker. In fact, she's a scientific genius who could probably cure cancer by the time she turns 26.
“Miss Stewart, a B+ will not kill you.” Mrs.Lewis comments as I slip out the class room, but Jasmine stops me with an apologetic smile.
“Go try to convince her to let you redo the paper.” I roll my eyes, and Jasmine smiles, kissing my cheek.
“Lo-lo I love you.” Willow squeals, turning sharply on the heel of her sneakers.
“Hey, remember don’t call me that in public.” I play pout, just as Jasmine sticks her tongue out at me.
I turn, shifting my bag further up my arm, just to come face to face with a hard chest, and an Irish Spring scent.
“Woah pretty lady, you got to watch where you’re going.” The smooth purr of a southern drawl that’s sweet like sugar and slow like syrup, pours over me and I make eye contact with Jasper.
I mean Jasper isn’t as fine as Cast, or as gorgeous as Vincent, or as panty dropping as Damien, but he’s sweet with that boy next door charm, kind eyes and wavy brown hair. He has a body that most farm boys do, and it makes me appreciate the weekly egg delivery we get from his family farm every week, because ain’t nothing boy about Jasper’s body. He’s hard, toned and sunkissed. I probably could have dated him years ago, but I was sick, and then he was taken and then he didn’t feel like a boyfriend any more. He kind of just felt like a friend. A gorgeous to look at, smooth talking friend. Everyone has one of those, right?
“Jasper, what did I tell you about standing around and playing wall?” I tease, crossing my arms over my chest.
Jasper laughs, pushing his hands deeper into his pocket, and licking his lips. “My apologies ma’am.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” I wag my finger at him, and he bestows the brightest, whitest smile I have ever seen in my life.
“You heading to lunch?” He asks, moving out of my way so that we can walk side by side.
“Yes, sir. You want to chow down with me? I heard it’s Sloppy Joe Tuesday.” I elbow him in the side, and wiggle my eyebrows.
“Sloppy Joe? I guess it’s a cold cut ham and cheese day for me.” Jasper sighs, shaking his brown paper bag.
“You are insane! Sloppy Joes are literally the best.”
Jasper opens the cafeteria door for me, as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t trust that meat is all beef, and putting a shit ton of cheese does not make it edible.”
I walk into the cafeteria and clutch my chest like I am totally offended, but cheese literally makes everything better and Jasper’s taste buds are officially dead, if he thinks any differently. “I am telling you, dude, please let me throw your taste buds a funeral.” I turn around and place one hand on his shoulder, and the other on my chest and pout, as we stand in line. “I promise we will put them to rest with respect.”
Jasper’s head lolls to the side and he sighs. “My tastebuds are fine, thank you very much.”
“No, they are not. Trust me, they’re dead.”
“Fine, we’ll send out invitations for next week, if you answer a question for me.”
I squeal. “Yes, anything.”
“What’s up with you and Vincent?”
My skin runs cold, and I turn towards him, at an almost glacial pace. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Vincent has been staring at you since we got into the cafeteria and he is walking over here as we speak.”
I freeze, my stomach dropping. Jasper’s words hang in the air like a heavy fog, and I instinctively look around, trying to spot Vincent in the crowded cafeteria. Sure enough, his blue eyes are locked onto me, and his gaze is unwavering. The corner of his mouth curls up into a small smirk as he begins to make his way over to us, and my heart skips a beat. I’m not sure if it’s from the intensity of his stare or the sudden rush of adrenaline that courses through me. Either way, I feel like I’m about to be in deep trouble.
Jasper’s teasing voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “He looks like he wants to rip your head off.”
“Jasper!” I hiss under my breath, my face flushing. He’s not wrong, but I don’t want to admit it. Vincent’s stare is suffocating, and the way he walks toward us, the way everyone splits for him like the Red Sea, like he owns the room and everyone inside of it, makes me feel small in the best and worst ways.
Vincent reaches us, and before I can say anything, he’s grabbing my arm and pulling me with him, not caring if Jasper is watching or not. “You’re coming with me,” he says, his voice low, with a hint of command that makes me go still. The heat radiating off of him is impossible to ignore.
“Hey! What the hell, Vincent?” I protest, but he doesn’t even spare me a glance, dragging me through the cafeteria and toward the table where the other Chessmen are seated. Cast has that smirk on his face, the kind that makes me want to slap it off, but also kind of like the idea of kissing it off. Damien, on the other hand, is leaning back in his chair, lazily flipping through a book, clearly uninterested in the drama unfolding.
“Who’s that guy?” Vincent snarls, as we make our way across the room.
“Excuse me?” I cough out, my eyes trained on the floor, as the embarrassment of being dragged pushes a bright pink to my cheeks.
“You came in here and flirted with a guy in front of my face, Willow.”
I stumble as I walk and even though two seconds ago all I could feel was heat, my body runs cold at my name. Willow, instead of little devil. My voice is almost a whisper as I speak. “I wasn’t flirting.”
Vincent pulls me down onto the seat between him and Cast. A raspy voice curls around my ears. “Are you calling us liars?”
“No,” I rush out, so quickly that I feel like I expelled all the air from my lungs.
Cast chuckles, his chin resting on my shoulder. “So tell me, Pawn, what were you doing?”
I look forward, at the cold gaze of Vincent as his eyes trail over my body. “Talking.”
Vincent eyes narrow, and Cast clicks his tongue in my ear, his right hand the one that can’t be seen by anyone else in the cafeteria roams lightly up my outer thigh, making electricity prickle under his touch.
“You hear that Vin? She was just talking.” Cast teases, his breath cascading over my exposed shoulder.
“And laughing.” Damien boredly says from over Vincent’s shoulder.
“And laughing, and touching.” Cast echoes, but I keep my eyes on Vincent, and almost lurch forward when I see something like betrayal flash across his eyes.
“Vincent,” I whisper, and the dark ribbon in his eyes vibrates with anger, but I push through, reaching for his hand. “I wasn’t flirting, I promise. Jasper is just a friend.”
As Vincent pulls me onto his knee, I freeze for a second, my breath catching in my throat. His grip is firm, unyielding, and I can feel the heat of his body through his shirt. The proximity is overwhelming, and I try to ignore the way my skin tingles where it touches his. Cast leans back in his seat, watching us with an amused grin, while Damien continues to flip through his book, clearly uninterested in the drama but not without his own quiet judgment.
“Vincent, what the hell?” I protest, but my voice comes out quieter than I intended, a mix of annoyance and something more—a strange flicker of something I can't quite define. Want? Lust? I don’t know. But the way Vincent's eyes burn into me makes it hard to think straight.
Without saying a word, Vincent reaches for the cupcake on the table in front of him, smirking as he brings it closer to my mouth. "Feed me," he demands, his voice low and authoritative.
“What?” I gasp.
“You came in here, flirting-”
“I wasn’t-”
Vincent growls, his blue eyes darkening like the ocean under moonlight and I shut up, because they're gorgeous and terrifying.
“You were flirting, and now everyone thinks you wore this sexy little outfit for farmer boy Jasper, when you wore it for me.”
“I wore this outfit because you had it delivered and told me to wear it.” I snap back, but he just spreads his lips into a smirk.
“You wore it so I could watch your perky ass peek through every time you twirled around, or bounced when you were happy.” Vincent curls his finger under my chin, and I look at him head on.
“I am sitting on your lap, is that not you claiming me?”
“You’re sitting on my lap because Cast was pissing me off, and I was two seconds from getting on my knees, in the middle of this cafeteria and eating you out.”
Holy pineapples in a fruit basket. Vincent was about to what? And here?
My cheeks beat a bright red, and I want to crawl off Vincent's lap and hide, but the way my clit pulsates under my skirt forces me to shift on Vincent’s lap, and cross my legs which don’t help, because I am 99% sure there is a third leg poking me in the butt, because there is no way in hell, that is Vincent’s dick.
Cast chuckles, leaning forward, and Vincent groans in my ear, “Stop moving on my lap, or I am going to make you ride me right here, right now.”
Damien growls, a smirk spreads on Vincent’s lips and I want to scream, because what Vincent just said should not be hot to me, but holy cheeseballs I am soaked right now. I know losing my virginity to one of the Chessmen feels almost inevitable, but losing my virginity in front of everyone in the senior class, two janitors and five lunch ladies, with tears streaming down my face as Vincent plowed into me, well fuck me, that sounds hot. And I know that is not supposed to be hot, but I want that.
A whimper escapes my lips, and I shift again.
“You like the idea of everyone’s eyes on you while Vincent takes your pretty little cherry.” Cast’s voice is so low, it almost sounds like a growl, and I look at him with wide eyes as I bite my bottom lip.
“Damien.” Vincent whispers almost pained, but Damien barks back sharply.
“No.”
His voice makes me bite my lip even harder, and Cast groans, “Didn’t Damien tell you to stop biting your lip?”
I nod my head yes, and Cast’s eyes shine with danger and want.
“Let’s add another punishment then.” He nods to Vincent.
I almost shoot up off of Vincent’s lap in protest, but he locks his arm around my waist, keeping me on his lap. “What? Why?” I protest.
“Because one of us gave you an order and you’re not listening, which means you want to be punished.” Cast says matter-of-factly. “Now, be a good pawn and feed your King.”
My king? I want to focus on that. I want to refuse, to stand up, to leave this mess behind, but something about the way his eyes darken, the way his hand wraps around the curve of my waist and pulls me in closer, makes me comply. Reluctantly, I pick up the chocolate cupcake off of Vincent's lunch tray and bring it to his lips.
The moment his lips brush against the cupcake, I feel the weight of his stare, like he’s marking me, claiming me for everyone to see. It’s possessive, domineering—and it makes my heart skip a beat. I hate how much it affects me, how my body responds to him in ways I can’t control. My neck burns with a flush, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I am lost in the slow chew, and intense stare of Vincent. A part of me hates that it’s Sloppy Joe day. I want to feed him more, see the slow satisfaction crawl across his face even more.
As I finish feeding him the cupcake, I am dragged out of my little bubble of want and the weight of everyone’s eyes on us, their unspoken judgment filling the air. But when I finish feeding him, he smirks and wipes the corner of his mouth, looking at me like a predator about to claim his prey.
“Mmmm, delicious.” Vincent’s tongue darts out as he slowly licks the icing off of the tip of my finger.
“You're welcome,” I whisper, my voice feather light as I stare at his lips.
For a moment, everything feels still, and I can feel myself leaning forward to…kiss him. Oh my God, I am going to kiss Vincent Beaumont and from the look of his gaze, he is going to let me, but then the moment is shattered.
“You missed a spot,” Cast says matter-of-factly, his voice low and teasing as the heat from his gazes sears into me. Without warning, he smears the vanilla icing from the cupcake across Vincent’s face, leaving a trail of white that contrasts against his sharp features.
My stomach tightens as I stare at him. I don’t want to do it. I really don’t, but I know what he’s asking. I know what’s expected of me. “Cast!” I hiss, turning to look at him.
“Clean him up.” Cast demands, leaving no room for protest.
I lean over the table towards the napkins, but Cast just clicks his tongue no. I look at him with widened eyes. If I can’t use a napkin, how does he…no. He doesn’t expect me to…
“We don’t have all day, Willow.” Cast says, amusement tickles the edges of his voice, like he wants to see what I am going to do.
Slowly, I lean forward, my lips brushing the icing off of Vincent’s cheek, the taste of sugar lingering on my tongue. I feel his breath catch, his gaze darkening as I finish, but the bitterness in my chest only grows.
I pull away, wiping my mouth, trying to ignore the conflicted emotions rushing through me—disgust, humiliation, and… something elseI don’t want to acknowledge because the minute I say it— even in my mind— then I have to figure out why licking the icing off of Vincent’s face made me feel drunk and needy rather than disgust. I want to feel disgust.
I can feel Cast’s gaze on me, heavy and expectant. It’s like he's savoring my discomfort, his eyes glinting with something akin to amusement. He’s waiting for me to break, to crack, and for some reason, it feels like I already have. His silence speaks louder than words ever could, as if he knows exactly how deep he’s buried under my skin.
“Happy?” I manage to choke out, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, my smile twitching at the corners in a way that screams everything’s falling apart, yet I’m trying to hold it together.
“Elated,” Cast replies, his voice thick with satisfaction. My heart skips in a way that feels dangerous, like I'm being dragged deeper into something I can't control.
I glance over at Vincent, who leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Good girl,” he whispers, his voice rough, pleased.
The words hit me like a slap to the face, my insides turning to mush. I hate how easily they slip under my skin, how easily they make me feel… small. It’s like something inside me snaps, and I can't stand it anymore. I force myself to stand up, my heart pounding in my chest, desperate to get away from the suffocating weight of their gazes.
“I need to go,” I mutter, my voice shaking.
“Willow,” Vincent protests, but hearing my name instead of little devil, only makes the pit in my stomach grow.
Vincent doesn’t hold onto me, he lets me out of his lap. The minute I’m free I scoop up my bag and turn on my heel and stalk out of the cafeteria, trying to ignore the whispers behind me. The harshness of the cold air outside the doors does nothing to calm the rush of tears threatening to spill over. My chest tightens as I fight to hold back the floodgates, but they burst anyway, hot and raw.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t understand why I'm letting them get to me like this. All I want to do is crawl back to them. To Cast and beg him to get rid of the ache between my thighs, to make me feel better. I don’t know why but the heat of embarrassment comes in hot waves that I can’t fight.
I stumble into the bathroom, grateful that no one is here and curl into a ball in the corner of the last stall. The sob that escapes me sounds panicked, but it’s a better sound than my phone buzzing.
Unknown Number: Little pawn, you were perfect.
I hold my breath, rereading the word perfect over and over again. For some reason that eases the clawing in my chest.