She’s not, but that’s beside the point.
Spoiled little rich girls don’t deserve second chances.
Right?
So why can’t I stop thinking about her?
And why do I suddenly get the feeling that there’s more to the story?
I mean, we’re both going to boarding school that’s located 10 minutes from where we grew up. If that’s not a strange twist of irony, then I don’t know what is.
“What’s with you and this bitch, anyway?” Timothy asks, and instantly, I see red. I spin around, grabbing him by the throat, and shove him against the wall of the nearest building.
“What the fuck?” Jared screeches. “Let him fucking go, man!”
But I don’t.
My eyes narrow on Timothy and all I can hear is what he just said. My entire world narrows as my vision hones in on him and that one comment.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I hiss.
He doesn’t get to talk about her like that.
Nobody gets to talk about her like that.
Or at all.
“What’s your deal?” Timothy manages to say. “You act like you hate her, but you’re totally obsessed, man.”
“He’s right,” Jared says, but he’s still trying to get me to let go of Timothy.
“Never talk about her,” I say.
“Fine, whatever,” Timothy says, and I release him. He drops to his knees and reaches for his throat, rubbing it.
Whatever.
I didn’t grab him that hard.
There’s no need to be dramatic about it.
“You have got to get this under control,” Jared says. “You especial
ly need to get her out of your system before Saturday.”
Shit.
Saturday.
It’s game against Westbrook and I can’t risk losing it. So much is depending on it. Everything is depending on it. I’ve been working my entire high school career to excel at everything I do: both academically and physically, and winning this game would mean everything to me.
I’m not going to let Emilia Riley get into my head long enough to distract me from what really matters, and that’s winning.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“That’s not really any of your concern.”