Bad boys, p.7
Bad Boys, page 7
At least, that’s what I think I’ll call it after tearing down my eighteenth homemade poster of the day. The students are smart; they place these things on walls where the faculty won’t see, which is why I can’t decide if I want to report this to the administration or not.
What would it achieve?
The bright yellow paper crinkles in my fist; the thickly inked word glares up at me from the valleyed folds. Traitor.
For what? What on earth do they think I did to deserve being called that?
“I heard Libby ordered thirty of them to be made,” Christian says with far too much glee as he plucks the paper from my hands. “Nice photo of you in a bikini, though. Where was that taken?”
I tear the poster from his hands and shred it. “You would know.”
Hand to his crotch, he bites his full bottom lip. “Still gives me a boner to think about it.”
“Did you actually want anything?” My chest tightens at the sight of Barrett approaching behind him.
Christian leans a shoulder against the wall, disturbingly close to me. “Libby is throwing a welcome home party for you tonight. She’d love it if you could make it.” His words ruffle my hair; his face that close.
“Over my dead body,” I hiss under my breath.
“Careful what you wish for,” he snipes before leaning back to greet his friend. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Where?” Barrett tosses his hands in his trouser pockets, stance wide while he glances between the two of us.
“Libby’s,” Christian says. “You never miss a party.”
“I guess I haven’t.” He catches my eye quickly before locking onto Christian. “Richard is looking for you.”
“Duty calls.” Christian pushes off the wall, his long legs quickly carrying him out of earshot.
I note that Barrett hasn’t left, hanging back with his hands still buried in his pockets, head hung as he looks at the floor. “Don’t show up tonight, okay?”
“You think after the week I’ve had I’d be stupid enough to do that?”
His head whips up, a confused pinch to his brow. “I guess not.”
“Then save your breath, Barrett. I get it. I’m not welcome here anymore. But other than move to where my parents did, I don’t know what the hell I’ve done to deserve this.”
He smirks, one hand tugging free of its captivity to rub at his chin. “You threw down the gauntlet with Richard, Lace. What did you expect would happen?”
“I guess I hoped people would back me up and call him out on his sexist behaviour, but I did used to be quite naïve.”
“Used to be?” His eyes narrow, the grin a little wider. “The country changed you, huh?”
“For the better. Yeah.” I take a step but halt when his hand captures my arm.
“Lace, wait.”
I shrug his touch off, glaring at the guy.
“What you saw that night, at the party, between those girls and me.”
“Is your business, not mine. In case you’re worried, no, I don’t wonder about it.”
“I didn’t think you’d be back.”
“Neither did I, so I guess we’re square.”
He sighs, lips in a tight line while he runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “I just wanted you to know that if you hadn’t left, I think things would have been different between us.”
“It’s a good thing I did leave then, huh?” Otherwise, I’d remain stuck in this world of pretences and false façades.
He looks torn between confusion and anger, his brow pinched hard and both hands back in his pockets while I make my exit.
Yeah, not so long ago I thought Barrett was the guy for me. But that was before Arcadia. Before I met Tuck and learned how much fun can be had when you’re not both overthinking how you look together and what other people’s reaction will be.
Or maybe I did still do that?
After all, if I didn’t care about appearances, I wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Tuck that last night in town, would I?
Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought I had?
TUCK
“Done it yet?” Maggie seats herself on the tailgate of my truck with a little hop and jump.
I glance at the girl, elbow braced beside her, and twist my lips. “Nope.”
“Ugh.” Her hand smacks my shoulder with the dramatic flop she pulls. “Why not?”
“Why can’t she get in touch with me if I mean that much to her damn happiness?” I bite back hating how much of an arsehole I sound.
The heated stare I get in return isn’t a surprise. “Do you know how much of an ignorant shit you sound saying that?”
“I am an ignorant shit,” I remind her as Johnson and Amber exit the school gates.
Mags drops off the truck, most likely aware she’ll raise questions if she sticks around. “Promise me you’ll send her a message as soon as you get a second, okay?”
I narrow my gaze on her as she backs toward her car. “Have you said something to her?”
“Not yet.” She winks. “But if it gets you to put thumb to screen, I might.”
My nostrils flare, jaw set hard.
The girl pokes her tongue out and then spins for her vehicle.
“You all set for next week?” I catch Johnson ask Ed behind me.
The crew assemble at the hood of my truck, like always, to discuss the plans for the night.
Ed folds his arms high on his chest, scowling at Dee as she approaches. “Yeah. I’ll check over my gear and oil it, but other than that I’m good.”
“You’ll do great, man.” I clap him on the shoulder.
“What are you boys up to tonight?” Amber asks, leaning against Johnson.
“Nothing you need to know about.” I flick a look Johnson’s way. I don’t like the way his sister edges into our group through her connection to him.
He nudges her off him and turns to get in the truck. “I’ll see you at home, huh?”
“Whatever.” She flounces off with her best buddy, Dee, heading for where the girls park their bikes during school hours.
“Major ready for tomorrow then?” Ed asks, lifting his chin to greet Beau who drags his arse through the gates.
“Yeah. He’s in great condition for this time of year, actually.” The switch to bringing the truck on Fridays to rest him before our Saturday races seems to have worked.
“’Sup.” Beau’s bag hits the bed of the truck with a loud smack.
“What the fuck crawled up your arse and died?” Johnson calls out the passenger window; arm slung over the door.
“Friday did,” Beau mumbles. “We getting the fuck out of here or what?”
I catch the look he gives Maggie’s empty parking spot.
“Anything you want to tell me later?”
Beau’s lips twist, gaze on Ed as the guy gets in the back of the truck. “Maybe. I’ll holler if I need to.”
“Yeah. Good.” I’ve seen him brew on shit before—it doesn’t end well.
I climb in the driver’s seat and fire the Hilux to life. The four of us have been doing this since it was bikes that we rode around on as kids. Every Friday, we’d meet up outside the school and head off to someone’s house to knock around and cause hell.
Days like this, when the guys are lost in their heads and the only sound is the radio between us, I kind of miss that shit. Fishing with ratty rods in the creek, getting someone’s bike stuck in the muck and slipping a chain… falling out of shoddy treehouses and breaking an arm.
I glance at Johnson beside me, smirking a little at the memory.
“What?” He leans an elbow on the centre console, relaxed in the seat.
“Just remembered that time you snapped your arm at Beau’s, and he had to run down to the shearing shed to tell his mum.”
The two of them chuckle at the memory, Ed adding in, “I almost vomited when I saw the fucking angle it was on.”
The croaky sounds of Johnson imitating Ed’s gagging that day breaks the silence in the car, Beau’s laughter a rare treat. At least the guy’s loosened up.
The banter continues until we reach Ed’s place, the Hilux bumping along the rutted-out driveway.
“Your old man needs to fill this shit in, man.” I lighten my grip on the steering wheel, letting the wheels do what they want in each pothole we collect.
“It’s on his list of stuff to do.”
Ed’s dad is a typical hoarder. Broken down vehicles and machinery litter the yards, a million projects all on the go at once. He’s so busy chasing his tail that the non-essential maintenance on the property gets left to Ed when he feels like pitching in.
“Your sister home?” Johnson asks, eyeing the house out his window while I pull into the driest space I can find.
The ruts and holes in the parking bay are worse than the damn driveway, slowly turning into the perfect wallow for pigs with the on again-off again rain we’ve had lately.
“Probably,” Ed mumbles. “Not that it matters to you.”
“I can’t help it if she likes me.”
“She’s a minor, you perv.”
“Mate,” I warn, glaring at Johnson.
I get it—Ed’s little sister is pretty as sin. But she’s fucking thirteen. She doesn’t start at Arcadia High until next year; she still attends the regional primary.
“Oh, fuck off,” Johnson gripes, twisting to eye us both. “I didn’t say anything along those lines, you arseholes. She’s cute. I’m allowed to appreciate that without it getting weird.”
“I’m out,” Ed declares, lifting both hands before he opens his door. “Let’s not talk about this again.”
Beau follows suit silently, and I drop out of the vehicle with a chuckle. We’re a mixed bunch, that’s for sure. Johnson can’t keep his opinions to himself, Ed takes everything too seriously, Beau is a moody shit, and I’m the fucking larrikin amongst us all. As a group, we’ve got all bases covered.
Ed and Johnson veer left toward the garage to get drinks from the fridge, while Beau and I make our way right around the front of the house to the large paved patio out back that overlooks the hills behind the property.
Beau drops to the wicker sun-lounger, legs slung either side of the seat. I drag a steel stool with an old Massey Ferguson seat welded as the top across to the old wine barrel that now doubles as an outdoor bar table.
“Spit it out.”
He shifts his stormy gaze my way. “Girls.” He checks the path for a sign of the other two. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”
“Do what?”
He throws his hands behind his head. “You know what I’m talking about. I saw your face when she left us in the fields.”
“Don’t know what you’re on about, mate.” I pick at a splinter in the top of the barrel.
“Bullshit, you don’t.” Beau grins. “Why else would you want me to go with you last Saturday? You think I’m going to believe it was just a set up for me and Mags?”
“Wasn’t it? You two had time alone. That was the plan.”
He continues to smirk at me.
“Fine.” I glance toward the side path. “I have a thing for the girl. What of it?”
“Fucking pot calling the kettle black, is what. You want me to tell you what’s up, and here you are with your damn cards face down on the table.”
“Who’s playing Poker?” Johnson asks, striding around the corner of the house.
Ed sets a drink before me, the condensation dewy on the bottle. “Thanks.”
“No-one’s gambling,” Beau answers. “Not after the tonne you lost last time.”
“That arsehole cheated,” Johnson grumbles, twisting the cap off his coke. “Who’s got the bourbon?”
“Mate,” Ed warns. “Keep it down.”
“You still think your parents don’t know you drink?”
“I’m maintaining innocence until proven guilty,” Ed quips, leaning back on the matching lounger.
I take a swig of my apple cider and then set the bottle down to fidget with the label. Beau watches me from across the deck, half-listening to the bullshit the other two talk about.
He hasn’t got away with not telling me what his issue with Mags is, but he does have me thinking.
Maybe the matchmaking ruse could come in useful one more time, just not with Beau.
With someone new.
LACEY
“Colt!” Mum summons from the foyer. “Christian is here.”
I shrink down into the leather armchair, yet the movement makes the damn cowskin squeak beneath me.
I catch the whip of Christian’s blond hair over the back of the seat. “I’ll wait in the parlour with Lacey, Mrs Williams.”
“Please,” Mum says tightly. “Call me Alicia.”
Yeah. I wouldn’t want to be called my husband’s name when I’m shagging the kid’s dad, either.
I tug the paperback higher, aiming to block out Christian’s smug face when he enters the room. No such luck. The jerk spins the recliner on its swivel base toward him, leaning over me, a hand on each arm of the chair.
“What are you reading, loveless?”
“Loveless?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Mmm. Name fits, don’t you think? Nobody loves you anymore.”
I raise my book again. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Then why are you trying to hide your face with … mummy porn?”
“Jesus, Christian. Grow up. It’s romance. Unlike the porn you no doubt watch, it has a storyline. A theme. A point.”
“Porn has a point, too. It’s research.” He checks to make sure Mum isn’t in earshot before groaning seductively, putting on a fake girly voice, “Yes. Fuck me like that, Christian.”
I smack him on the top of the head with the back of my book, the finger I’ve used as a bookmark squished between the halves with the force I use. He erupts into peals of laughter, stumbling back to let me out of the seat.
“Let’s get this straight,” I growl. “I may be in your house, but that doesn’t make me yours to play with.”
The humour slides from his face as Colt enters the room. “You want to place a wager on that?”
I screw my face into a grimace at the jerk before turning for the kitchen. I need a drink, a snack, and somewhere quiet to finish this scene.
“What are you doing?” Mum exclaims from her spot at the island with a glass of wine.
“Getting refreshments,” I answer as though it should be obvious.
“Aren’t you going out with the boys? It’s a welcome home party for both of you, Lacey.”
“I’m staying here.” I set my book down, spread-eagled to save my page.
She picks it up and shuts it. Damn it. “Go be young, Lacey. You’re back with friends; make the most of it.”
“Colt and Christian aren’t my friends,” I drone.
“No. But Libby and Greer are,” the snake answers from behind me. “They’ll be there tonight too, silly. Go get changed. We’ll wait, won’t we, Colt?”
“Sure,” my brother answers as though he couldn’t care either way.
“Perfect.” Mum claps her hands. “All sorted, then.”
“Honestly. I’d rather stay in.”
“I’m telling you to go,” Mum pushes. “I had plans to have a quiet night for myself since I already thought you would be out.”
I glance at Christian whose twisted mouth tells me he knows exactly who that quiet night will be shared with.
“Fine.” I guess I can figure out another way to avoid the damn event on the way there.
As long as Mum sees me leave with the guys, then there’s no reason why I can’t take off and do my own thing when we get there. Six hours wandering around the city alone sounds safer than a bunch of my peers at Libby’s home anyway.
I snatch up my book and march down to my—no—Christian’s room to get changed. Unable to trust the slick bastard, I engage the lock behind me before I select my outfit for the night.
Not so long ago I would have taken close to an hour to get myself ready, obsessing for ridiculous amounts of time over what accessories to put with what dress, and how perfectly positioned my hairstyle was, not to mention the sharpness of my eyeliner and the unflawed blend of my shadow.
Tonight, they’re lucky that I chose to reapply my mascara and tidy up my makeup. I re-emerge in the living room dressed in a pair of fitted skinny jeans, camel pumps, and a plain cream slip under an equally basic camel-coloured jacket with the cuffs rolled up. My matching clutch contains half of what I used to tote around every outing, with only a stick of lipstick, my phone, and emergency cash inside.
“No skirts?” Mum asks as though amused. I know that look, though—she’s repulsed I would choose jeans for a night out.
“Nope.” I turn for the door. “Let’s go.”
“Still decadent,” Christian whispers on his way past. “And to think you’re in my bed every night.”
Deep breath, Lacey. Breathe. Deep.
I wait until all three of us are safely buckled in Christian’s Bentley before I cut the shit and ask the only question that I want an answer for.
“Why did Barrett tell me I shouldn’t go tonight?”
Christian tenses up, Colt drawing a deep breath before he replies.
“That’s what he said, is it?”
“Who fucking cares who it was that told me?” I snap. “Why was I warned away? What have you jerks got planned?”
“Us?” Christian exclaims innocently. “We haven’t got anything planned for you.”
I turn to Colt, leaning between the front seats. “You’re my damn family, Colt. If you know something, tell me.”
“Nobody has asked for my input in anything,” he drones.
I flop back with a sigh and notice the light creeping out from inside my clutch. The boys start up a private conversation about some second-year girl Christian wants to score before the night is out while I open my messages.
The last name I expected to see sits at the top: Tuck.
T: Truce? I need your help with something.
I reply immediately, thankful for the distraction from whatever is bound to unfold.
L: I didn’t know we were at war. What do you need?
T: We didn’t part on good terms, Lace.
