“Why is everyone trying to turn me into a whore lately?”
Colt looks me up and down. “Because you’re hot and you’d make lots of money for them?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flirt. I’ve seen what relationships do to a girl, and I’m not going down that path.”
“Relationships?” Colt asks, cocking a brow. “Who said anything about a relationship? I was talking about pimping you out. Sure, I’d sample the goods first, have a little taste of that sweet ass, but my only relationship would be as your… Booking agent.”
I laugh and shove his shoulder, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “I knew you came up with terrible names for us, but I didn’t know you were equally terrible with words. Never try your hand at poetry, that’s for damn sure.”
“Sadly, you’ll never get to see my poetic brilliance,” he says, shaking his head. “I took comp last year.”
“What year are you, anyway?” I ask.
Colt tips back his head, tilts the chip back upside down, and lets the crumbs cascade into his mouth. He chews before answering. “Senior.”
“Lucky,” I say. “I’m a junior. Two more years of this hell. I knew the work would be hard and everyone would be snobs, but I didn’t know there would be guys like the Dolces.”
Colt grimaces and crumples the chips bag, tossing it back into the paper bag from his lunch. “You smoke squares?”
I shrug. “I’ll share, if you have extra. And again, I’ll pay you back.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh my god,” I say slowly, pulling back to look at him. “I thought you must be a scholarship kid like me, but you’re not, are you?”
He gives me a big, smug grin. “Nope.”
“Ugh, is that why you go here? You’re one of the rich, entitled assholes?”
“I used to be,” he says with a shrug, still smiling. “Now I’m just rich.”
“And not an asshole?” I ask. “I’m not convinced.”
“Aw, and here I thought we could be friends,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I would have found out and been pissed, not just disappointed,” I say. “Besides, I don’t do friends.”
“No friends, no relationships,” he says, nodding. “Just no strings sex. I like that.”
“No relationships of any kind,” I say. “Friendship or romantic. Sorry.”
“What about a business relationship?” he says, pointing to his chest with his good hand. “Booking agent, remember?”
I notice that he slides his left hand into his pocket whenever he’s not using it, but I don’t know if he’s hiding it unconsciously or by habit, if he’s doing it because he thinks other people will be uncomfortable with it or because he is.
“We’ll see,” I say with an easy smile back at him as I turn and walk away. I can feel his eyes on me, and I don’t even mind. It’s nice to be appreciated, even if I don’t want anything but an occasional smoke under the bleachers.
I cross the field and push open the doors to the school, only to run smack into Royal Dolce’s stone chest. Talk about being dunked in the ice water of reality. Colt was a nice escape, but now it’s back to this shit. My heart takes off in my chest, and I try to push past Royal, but he grabs my arm, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Stay away from that guy,” he says, his words clipped and deliberate.
“Excuse me?” I ask indignantly. The first time I’ve even come close to making a real friend, or even talking to someone who knows the tiniest fraction of my life, and he’s trying to fuck it up?
“You don’t know who he is,” Royal says, glaring out through the glass door.
“Trust me, I’m well aware. I’ve known Colt for years.”
“If you knew who he was, you’d stay away from him,” he snaps.