Sealed (Meadow Ridge Academy #1)

1. Prologue

Prologue

The decathlon was over before I knew it. After months of studying and preparation, we not only won but also scored higher than any winning team in the last forty years.

It sounds great. I’m excited for my team and to have yet another thing to add to my long list of accomplishments, but without Jordan here, it’s not the same.

My team might appreciate my help with winning, but we aren’t really friends.

Hell, I don't think half of them even like me. Which means after we’re announced as the winners and everyone trickles off to celebrate, I’m left alone.

Usually, Jordan would take me out for dinner, and we’d find something stupid to do.

He’s my brother, my twin, older by only two minutes, but nobody can argue when he says I’m his better half.

He’s always been the one to get us into trouble, unafraid of risks, and so damn lovable that I swear he could get away with murder.

That, and he’s always been the star of every sport he plays, and he plays a lot of them.

Sports apparently make you popular; well, when you're good at them, they do.

We both have our things; mine just happens to be books, and while he’s not dumb, he excels outside the classroom. He often gets all the love, while I’m tolerated as the know-it-all sister he constantly has tag along with him.

I wander out onto the grounds, careful to avoid Gavin, who apparently lacks his posse this time.

This is the fourth year in a row I’ve beaten him, and he never takes it well.

We’ve always had a bit of a rivalry, but of course Jordan connected with them.

Apparently, Gavin’s friends were pretty big in sports, too, which means they knew each other, even if just in passing.

Now, without him here to act as a buffer, I feel naked.

It’s not like I’m not used to the glares and rude whispered words, but I’d rather not be on the receiving end right now.

No, right now, I just want to be left alone.

Sitting on the stairs outside ??one of the back doors, I’ve been mostly unbothered. Most people seem to know their way around well enough. This is the same college we’ve competed? at every year.

Which is how I know that if I followed the path, I could take it through the woods or even over to the gazebo, which is usually lit with fairy lights. I’d been tempted to go to it; I doubt many people know it’s there, but so far, I’ve been left well enough alone.

The door behind me creaks as if the fucking universe felt the need to prove me wrong.

I should have just gone to the damn gazebo.

“Is this seat taken?” A deep, husky voice asks from behind me, making me whip around. No way was that anyone from the schools. We might be older now, but that’s not the voice of a high schooler, senior or not.

Holy shit.

The man behind me is, in fact, a man. He’s tall, and it’s not just because I’m sitting on the ground. No, he’s got to be taller than six feet; that’s how tall Jordan is, and this guy probably has a few inches on him.

His hair is dirty blond and long, long enough that it’s pulled back in a low pony at the base of his neck.

It’s getting dark out, but with the little bit of light left, I’m pretty sure his hair is darker underneath, green maybe or blue.

I can’t tell for sure what the color is, but it doesn’t matter.

I’m a sucker for anything like that: colored hair, tattoos, piercings.

Jordan says it’s because those are the ‘bad boys,’ and sure, that could be it. Or maybe I just wish I had the freedom they have.

Our aunt would never let me do anything like that.

The thought alone makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up; she no doubt would beat me silly if I ever dared try.

Shaking off the thought of her and all the negativity that comes with it. I continue to look over the man as he drops onto the step a few higher up from me with a smile on his face.

His smile makes my cheeks heat. He’s not even looking at me, but I can feel my stomach begin to tie itself up in knots.

I’m so screwed.

He wears a black leather jacket and a dark shirt underneath, dark jeans that look like they’ve seen better days, and boots that look like they could help him kick anyone’s ass.

“I know you have a voice. I’ve just heard you answer damn near every question asked for the last two hours.

Or did you trade your voice for the answers?

” he asks, huffing a laugh, and, fuck me, his voice.

I can’t even bring myself to be upset that he’s teasing me between his smile and the way he sounds.

“Does it matter if it was taken, considering you’re already sitting in it?” I ask, the words slipping out with my usual sass before I can stop them.

Jordan says my sass is a defense tactic, and he’s right-ish; it’s also second nature at this point. I mostly stick to myself, but I’ve had enough people make fun of me and try to take advantage of the quiet, smart girl that I learned to bite back enough for them to leave me alone—mostly.

Reaching into his coat, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter before putting one in his mouth and lighting it. His smile never wavers, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been more jealous of an inanimate object.

“I could leave if ya want, Blondie,” he says, his words slightly muffled from holding his cigarette as he reaches out to tug on my long braid.

He doesn’t actually make any moves to get up, but I find that I don’t really want him to.

“It’s just me,” I tell him in hopes he’ll stay, but I hear the bitterness in my tone, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did leave.

I probably would if I were him.

He arches a brow at me but doesn’t say anything, and I turn away to face the trees once again, not really wanting to go into what that was.

The leather of his jacket crinkles, telling me he’s moving, but I keep my eyes trained forward.

“Want to talk about it, Blondie?” His words roll over me like a caress. He’s much closer than he was a moment ago. I work hard to suppress the shiver that threatens to overtake me from his proximity as his fingers fiddle with my hair in a way that feels oddly intimate.

“No. I don’t,” I say with a huff, working hard to keep my cool, at least as far as he can see. “And my name is Wren.” I turn to face him, pulling my braid from his grip. “Not Blondie.”

He seems unbothered by my attitude. If anything, I might say he looks almost entertained, a smile on his lips, and his hand still hanging in the air.

“Oh, I know,” he says, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a puff of smoke.

Smoking isn’t attractive, or at least it’s never been before. Somehow, I get the feeling that this man could do anything he wanted and still make it look good.

I’m so distracted watching his lips and the way the smoke dances from them that I almost miss what he just said.

He knows?!

“How do you know my name?”

He raises a brow at me, his cocky smirk still firmly in place as he takes another drag and proceeds to blow the smoke in my face.

My aunt smokes, which is probably why I hate it so much, but her cigarettes stink, and that’s what I expected from him.

Which is why I’m shocked when the scent that rolls over me is sweet and kind of spicy.

Maybe clove or cinnamon?

“I told you I just watched you for the last two hours, and you think I didn’t catch your name?

” he asks, chuckling and shaking his head as if it’s a silly idea, and honestly, it is.

I’m not sure why, but the idea of him watching the decathlon seemed like a joke the first time he said it.

But now that I think about it, why else would he be here?

I mean, he could be a student; that seems more likely than him watching because, well, he just doesn’t seem like someone who would be interested in this kind of event.

“Why did you watch?” I ask, looking him over more thoroughly. Maybe this is why Jordan usually insists on coming with me to these things, because if this were a horror movie, I’d definitely be the first victim.

He barks a laugh as if he can see where my mind wanders, and I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment this time as he reclines back on the stairs on his elbows, looking perfect… I mean, perfectly at ease.

“Got a brainiac sibling,” he says with a laugh, taking another drag of his cigarette, his lips wrapping around it like a caress that takes the chill right out of the late fall air.

What is wrong with me?

When’s the last time I was so thrown off by a guy? Often, they’re assholes, intimidated by my brains—or that's what Jordan always says, at least. I don’t really believe him, but anything else was depressing to think about.

I just wasn’t what guys wanted.

I’m average, boring, and often come off as a bitch, despite not trying to.

It’s only a matter of time before Mr. Smoking Hot figures that out and takes off, but at least for the moment, I wasn’t alone, and I’d just have to be happy with that.

“Which brainiac is yours?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, looking for any hint of similarities in my opponents. I knew he wasn't related to anyone on my team; I’d remember him.

“One of the poor kids you just beat the brakes off of.” He blows a smoke ring at me, and I roll my eyes, waving it away; clearly, he won’t be giving me a straight answer.

“Fine, how about you? Do you have a name?” He glances over at me, a wicked smile twisting his lips and making my stomach turn with it.

This is the kind of guy my mom would have warned me about—if she were still alive, that is.

Definitely a bad boy.

Suddenly, I’m not so upset that Jordan couldn’t be here; no way he would ever let me near him.

Does that make me a terrible sister?

“You can call me D,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts, and I can’t control my face fast enough.

“D?”

“Yeah, it’s a nickname.” He shrugs, and again I don’t feel like I’m going to get much more from him.

“So, why is a pretty girl like you out here alone, crying, Wren?” The way he says my name gives me goosebumps, as if it’s a physical caress.

Maybe I need to make use of this time without Jordan around to be overprotective and finally get rid of my virginity.

Not that I think a guy like D would be interested in that; no, he seems like the kind of guy that would run at the very mention of the word.

I feel his gaze and turn to find him watching me, a brow cocked, and I remember he asked me a question.

“My brother usually comes with me, but he couldn’t make it…” Just saying it makes my throat feel thick.

It’s silly, really, but here we are. Whoever said emotions were rational?

“Your brother?” A question I’m all too familiar with, yet it doesn’t have the same disapproval I’m used to, and when I meet his gaze, I find only curiosity.

Maybe that’s what makes me answer him honestly. “Our parents died when we were little.”

I watch him closely, but still I see no judgment.

He flicks the butt of his cigarette, and I can’t stop the frown that pulls at my lips.

I turn back to tell him to go clean that up but find him no longer sitting boneless against the step.

Instead, he’s standing, his back to me as he moves toward the door, a sexy smile on his lips when he glances back at me over his shoulder that makes the words die in my throat before I can ask where he’s going.

And then he’s gone, and I’m alone again, somehow feeling even more pathetic than I did before he came out here. I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them close as my eyes begin to sting again.

He’d clearly been out here to smoke. Why would he ever find an interest in me? Nobody else ever did.

Shit.

I’m pretty sure this would be classified as a pity party, something I shouldn’t be doing considering we won tonight… I won.

The sound of the door hardly even registers, and when someone walks down the steps, I keep my eyes carefully trained on the ground. After this person is gone, I’ll head back to my room and pass out. The faster I fall asleep, the faster I get home.

No, not home but back to Jordan, and he’s home.

“Hey.”

I let out a high-pitched squeal as I flinch back, the concrete step behind me digging into my ribs hard enough that I’m sure it will be a bruise come morning.

I’ve always bruised easily.

“Come on,” he nods toward the trail, the one that leads toward the woods, and even with the lights that guide it, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.

What had I just been saying about if this were a murder film?

His lips pull down in a slight frown, his brows pulling together as he holds a hand out in offering to me, his other hand moving from behind his back to show me a large glass bottle.

Vodka, according to the bottle.

“Had to go and get us something to celebrate with.” He wiggles his brows at me with that smirk again, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for him.

He tugs me to my feet with a smile that steals the air from my lungs.

He’s beautiful, and it’s probably not smart, but I follow him down the steps and onto the path that winds around the campus.