Never His Girl: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Pointe Book 2)
Never His Girl: Chapter 6

WEST

If I play like I just practiced come Saturday, we can kiss the semifinals win goodbye.

In fact, each time a teammate passes by on their way out of the locker room, they shoot me a look that says they’re all thinking the same thing.

My judgment was way off. My footwork was shit.

All because of who’s taking up space in my head when I should be thinking about what’s happening on the field.

I can’t stop going over how I ruined everything. To the point that she hardly even looks at me now. Whatever was happening with us before, it’s officially dead in the water. But still, even seeing it in her eyes that she thoroughly hates me, I can’t wrap my mind around letting it end there.

“Fuck!”

I launch my helmet toward the wall with reckless abandon, then it clatters to the floor. The sound echoes as I pace between my locker and the bench, trying to walk off some of the tension, but it isn’t working. Because no matter what I do, I can’t fix what I’ve fucked up.

This isn’t me. None of it. I’ve never let anything come between me and football. I let the entire team down out there this afternoon. Frustrated and pissed at myself, a growl leaves my mouth, reverberating through the locker room as the last of my teammates clear out. It’s only me and my brothers left now, and I’m sure their silence is only temporary.

“This got something to do with whatever Coach wanted to see you about before practice?” Sterling asks flatly, dropping down onto the bench, still in uniform.

“Just fucking leave it alone,” I grumble, fighting the urge to slam my fist into a locker.

The conversation he’s just asked about is a whole other story altogether. Apparently, Dr. Pryor’s trying to dig for info about the video, which has Coach all up my ass about it. The moral of his lecture was for me to keep my dick in my pants and keep my nose clean. He doesn’t suspect Pryor will let up any time soon, which means I should expect she’ll be lying in wait for me to screw something else up.

With my luck, it’ll be a matter of days until she has whatever she’s looking for.

My heart’s racing, so I sit, trying in vain to calm down.

“Everything’s going to shit,” I admit, feeling bogged down by the weight of it all. But mostly, what I feel is guilt.

With worry and regret tied for second.

I sense both my brothers’ stares locked on me, but I don’t say more. Honestly, I can’t stomach talking about it. Joss only knows as much as she does because I was at my breaking point last night, bleeding with raw emotion I didn’t know how to channel. Not that much has changed since then, but now that I’ve laid eyes on Southside, now that I’ve seen for myself the damage that’s been done, that’s what consumes me—the image of her hating me from the bottom of her heart.

Made me feel like a pussy chasing after her, knowing she’d never listen to what I had to say. Still, I couldn’t stop myself. That’s what she does to me. Makes me fucking insane. Makes my head submit to my damn heart.

Fuck. Listen to me. Spouting weak-ass poetry to myself. This is a whole new low.

“You know you can talk to us about shit, right? Like … anything,” Dane reminds me.

“Could. Don’t want to.”

“Fine. Be a dick,” Sterling adds with a sigh. “You can go nuclear on your own if that’s what you want, but it won’t be because we’re not trying to help you, West.”

He stands, towering over me while I sit.

“Whatever this shit is you’ve been hiding from us? It ain’t bad enough that either of us would ever stop having your back.”

There’s commotion when they grab their bags from their lockers, and then I’m alone. Which seems fitting. As much as I’d like to blame all this on someone else, I’ve brought it on myself. All of it. One way or another.

If Coach finds me, he’ll start in on how I screwed things up today at practice, so I decide it’s time to leave. I stop at my locker only long enough to slip off my jersey and pads, then grab my duffle and leave in just uniform pants, a t-shirt, and cleats.

Cool air hits me as soon as I push open the doors to exit the fieldhouse, making my way down the sidewalk. It’s damn-near cold enough to snow, but I don’t bother doubling back for my coat. It helps, actually, giving me something to focus on other than being a fuck-up.

Unlocking the car from here, I let Dane and Sterling in but take my time catching up to them. It’s clear I’m dragging down their moods with mine, so I figure they can use the short break. I can kind of use one, too. From the constant line of questioning I’ve been getting from everyone.

Asking about the video.

Asking what the fuck is wrong with me.

Some telling me what an asshole I am. And by ‘some’ I mean Joss. She’s the only one who’s had the balls to say that to my face.

I’m so focused on all the BS swimming inside my head I don’t hear footsteps trailing me until half a second before I turn. By that point, the person quickly approaching from behind is almost right on my back.

Of course, it’s the last piece of shit I want to see right now.

Ricky steps to me and I’ve had enough wannabe-tough-guys come at me like this to know it’s time to drop my duffle bag and square up. That glare tells me this isn’t a friendly visit.

“Having a nice fucking day, Golden?”

His voice is clipped and the look in his eyes is some version of I-should-kill-your-ass-dead-where-you-stand. I recognize it, because it’s the same one I gave Austin today at lunch when he thought it’d be a good idea to move in on Southside.

“Fuck do you want?”

“What I want is for your bitch ass to bleed out on this sidewalk for that shit you pulled.” He takes a few steps closer, maybe expecting me to back down, but I back down for no one.

My fists tighten at my sides and I don’t blink.

“Know why I hate the rich dicks in this city? Because everything’s expendable to you assholes. Money, houses, cars, people,” he adds. “But that’s where you fucked up.” He smiles, but it’s rage-fueled.

Fucking lunatic.

“You saw Blue and thought she was an easy target,” he reasons. “You thought she was just some poor chick from the south side who didn’t have anybody. Thing is, you weren’t banking on me being in the fucking picture. But I promise you, I’m all she needs to put some punk-ass rich boy like you in his place.”

He looks me up and down, like he thinks he could take me easy, but he has no idea how bad I’m itching for this. In fact, I’ve been waiting for this chance since the first time I saw him with Southside. Since the first time I saw how he looks at her. Since I realized something I’m not even sure she knows.

He’s still in love with her.

“If there’s one thing you should know about me, Golden, it’s that I don’t take too kindly to people messing with my family.”

“And I don’t take too kindly to people getting in my face talking shit. So, looks to me like we both have a problem.”

Nodding, he smiles a bit. “Don’t let that cash in your bank account have you thinking you’re invincible. You think your daddy’s tough shit?” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nah … the only motherfucker in Cypress Pointe you ever need to worry about is me.”

Unshed rage I’ve carried all weekend rises again, but it’s not even all for him. I’m pissed that I let things get this far. Pissed that ninety-five percent of what this asshole just said is true.

Still, I want him to bleed, but not for rational reasons.

I want it because I know Southside isn’t out of his reach right now, like she’s out of mine. I want it because I know he’s fucked her before. I want it because showing up here today is gonna make him look like a damn hero to her, and me the villain.

Again.

It’s cold enough to see our breath in the wind, but I’m burning up, ready to explode. His eyes narrow and I know he sees he hasn’t talked me down, hasn’t scared the fight out of me. If anything, he’s lit a whole new fire, given me an option for letting off some steam.

He steps up again and we lock eyes, his anger matching mine. Tension in my jaw has me gritting my teeth, ready to fire off despite still being on school grounds, despite Coach’s warning.

“You got something else you wanna say Golden? ‘Cause I’d love to hear it,” Ricky adds, taunting me.

“Nope, but just know; if I ever run up on you in your hood, it’ll be to do more than deliver a fucking speech,” I say through gritted teeth.

My words draw a humorless laugh from him. “I hear you,” he says, nodding his head.

He takes a few steps away, but I keep my eyes trained on him. I can spot a loose cannon from a mile away and he definitely fits the bill. But still, even watching him like a hawk, I miss my chance to duck when he comes at me with a quick right-hook. I counter the blow before the stinging in my lip even starts, slamming my fist into the side of his face with the same fury. He doesn’t even stumble, instead cocking back a second time as I’m recovering from the swing. He connects again and the taste of blood isn’t as easy to ignore this time, but adrenaline has me numb.

We exchange blows, one after the other. He’s quick and he’s got one hell of a nasty jab, but speed means nothing if your feet aren’t planted firmly.

I manage to put just enough space between us to tackle him, grappling with him a few seconds before taking him down to the cold, stiff grass. I thought I’d pin him easy, but not even close. What he lacks in footing he more than makes up for in strength. By the time I finally draw my fist, I’m yanked back. Dane positions himself in front of me, creating a barrier between me and Ricky, who’s back on his feet freakishly fast.

“Take your fucking hands off me!” My rage isn’t focused anymore. Instead, it’s spewing from me like a geyser.

“And let you piss away what’s left of your reputation? Not happening,” Sterling answers with strained words, tightening the bearhug he’s holding me in.

Dane’s got eyes on Ricky when he asks, “We good here?”

“Fuck you,” Ricky snaps, swiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “We won’t be ‘good here’ until your bitch-ass brother pays for that shit he pulled.”

Dane manages to keep his cool, but even he has his limits. Seeing his breathing deepen as he stands before me, I know those limits are being tested.

“Walk away now and we can pretend this never happened.” He glances back, assessing my face before doing the same to Ricky. “Looks like you both whooped on each other pretty good, so I’d say that’s fair.”

“Is it fair that a little girl got jumped so bad she had to hide in a bathroom today? All because your brother thought it’d be funny to post that fucking video?” A bright red streak flies from his mouth when he spits blood into the grass.

I’m only confused for a second about what he just said, because my next thought is of that frantic call Southside got during lunch. The one that accounted for her rushing off to Scarlett’s rescue.

Damn…

All the fight is suddenly drained out of me, hearing yet another layer of damage I’ve caused. I only officially met the kid once, but she kind of grew on me. Partly because I’m fascinated with the dynamic between her and Southside.

“Who jumped her?”

“Does it matter?” Ricky snaps, swiping the keys to his bike from where they landed in the grass while we went at it. “Point is, that shit’s on you, dickhead.”

I don’t disagree with him. Not at all, but I do need to know more. Seeing as how I’ll never get a word of this out of Southside.

“I’m trying to fix it,” I admit, knowing the words could make me look weak in this moment. The rush of testosterone still surging through me after the fight keeps the hard edges of my voice intact, but I’m not even interested in rushing him again. Sterling doesn’t seem to be buying it, though, seeing as how he still has me in a death grip.

Ricky meets my gaze and I feel the same measure of hatred I got from Southside earlier, which is saying a whole fucking lot. It also leans into my theory that whatever he felt for her in the past is far from over.

“You’re trying to fix it,” he mostly says to himself, glancing down at the ground as he turns to walk away. “Don’t bother, man. I’ll look after Blue, like I always do.”

I bite my lip where it aches to hide how much I hate that shit, the idea of him being anywhere near her.

“Just go back to Daddy’s palace and swim in your pool of gold coins or whatever the hell you do all day,” he adds. “Last thing anyone in the Riley family needs is another Golden with his damn hands around their throat.”

There’s a sudden heaviness in my gut when he says that. Like a stone suddenly fell to the bottom of it.

“Wait. What’d you just say? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The distance between him and us grows and he’s taking whatever info he has with him.

Sterling’s grip tightens again but it only makes me struggle against him harder. He doesn’t understand what’s fueling the sudden resurgence of strength and there’s no time to explain. Getting to Ricky has nothing to do with wanting to kick his ass. I need to know what he knows.

Because he definitely knows something.

“Let me go! I’m cool! I just—”

Shouting this only makes me seem even more unstable, so Dane turns to help when Sterling starts to lose his grasp. By the time I do finally get free, it’s too late. There’s no point running after Ricky now because he’s got his helmet on and his bike’s roaring out of the parking lot.

“Damn it!” I kick my bag a few feet and glance in the direction where my only chance at answers disappears.

That statement meant something. More than Ricky let on, and I know he’s the key to me understanding just what the hell is going on around here.

Does he know about the connection between my dad and Southside?

Or … is there something more?

Something I hadn’t even considered before now?

One thing’s for damn sure, my chances of figuring it out just rode off on a motorcycle, and odds are I won’t find him again until he wants to be found.

Just fucking perfect.

@QweenPandora: Whoa! Did anyone catch that fight? I won’t name names, because SOME of us have ourselves deep enough in hot water as it is, thanks to my last exposé.

#SorryNotSorry

But let’s just say two run-ins in one day, both with guys connected to the object of his obsession, makes a certain King look a little unstable, folks.

Could he be spiraling?

In regret? Jealousy? Or is it both?

If you ask me, someone’s having a hard time facing the music since losing his girl. But, according to the masses, these wounds are self-inflicted.

Right?

Unless, of course … that’s not entirely true.

We’ll have to stay tuned to see where the cookie crumbs lead. And you all know I’ll be the first to tell you more as soon as there’s more to tell 😉

Later, Peeps.

—P

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