“You know her or something?” I ask, blowing smoke out the corner of my mouth, enjoying the charge of nicotine through my veins.
“No,” Colt says, scowling at me.
I give him some side eye. “Really? Because I saw her coming out from under the bleachers the first time I came out here, and you were the only one here.”
“It must have been someone else,” he says. “I barely know the girl.”
I start to argue, then shrug it off. If he doesn’t want me knowing his business, I can respect that. I’m not here to spy on him. So, I thank him for the cigarette, and we finish up in silence before heading inside. I’m glad I’m late to class. It means I don’t have to face anyone in the hall.
I dread going to school the next day, but I know I have to suck it up and keep going, keep trying, until I get the job done. Mr. D expects that report.
So, at lunch the next day, I go straight to the café without going to my locker. I arrive early and waltz in like I own the place every bit as much as the other Dolce girls, the ones given that title by the Dolces themselves. I’m the only self-proclaimed Dolce girl.
After getting my plate, I take a seat in the same spot as yesterday, directly across from where Royal sits. No one ever sits here. At first, I thought it must be reserved for someone, but now I’ve realized that he likes to be able to sit with his back to the wall beside the door and see the entire cafeteria. He doesn’t want my big head in the way.
A minute later, he walks in with his posse. His step falters for just a second when he sees me there, but I notice. He steps up to the table and glares down at me.
“What—the fuck—are you doing?” he asks, his dark eyes burning with that aching emptiness that makes me shiver, makes me want to run away but at the same time, to go closer, to let myself be sucked in by the darkness of his soul that calls to mine.
“This is the best table,” I point out.
“That’s why it’sourtable.”
“There’s room for you,” I say, gesturing to all the empty seats around us. A crowd is gathering behind his squad, bottlenecked in the door of the café, but no one moves to make way.
“Get the fuck out of our table,” Royal warns.
I shrug. “I don’t see your Dolce crest stamped on it,” I say. “In fact, I don’t even see a plaque saying your big daddy donated it. So, I think it’s fair game.”
“It’s not.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come back,” I say, staring him down across the table. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, but I won’t back down. “I thought I scared you away yesterday.”
“I’m not scared of you,” he says, his posture tense, like he’s about to spring across the table and throttle me.
“Hm, I seem to remember you running away yesterday,” I say. “I must be pretty intimidating to make a big man like you run scared.”
His big hands curl around the back of his seat, the two of them almost covering the entire top of the chair. An absurd thought enters my mind, a flash of all the guys I’ve heard say “more than a handful is a waste.” If that’s the case, it would take some pretty huge tits to satisfy this guy.
“How do you expect us to eat with your fuck-ugly face right in front of us?” Royal asks, his words low and laced with venom. “It’s enough to make anyone lose their appetite.”
For a second, I can’t think of a response. It’s the lowest cheap shot a guy can take, calling a girl ugly, and I know that. But it’s easy because it works. It hurts. I want to say it doesn’t bother me, that I know I’m more than a pretty—or ugly—face. But I’ve heard the echo of my mother’s words so many times they’re in my cellular makeup. In a world where looks are all a girl has, being ugly is the worst thing she can be. If I don’t have beauty that a man can recognize, I have nothing. I am nothing.
But I know my worth, even if they don’t. Even if my own mother doesn’t.
“Be that as it may,” I say carefully. “This is clearly the best table in the café. Which means this is where I belong.”
“Let’s show her where she belongs,” Baron says, stepping around one side of the table.
“Time to take the trash out, girls,” Gloria says, hovering behind Royal’s shoulder like an annoying mosquito. Her double black eyes give me some satisfaction.
Baron reaches for me, but I’m faster, and I’m out of my chair in half a second. Duke grabs me from behind as I back away from his brother. I throw an elbow into his ribs, and he grunts, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. He rips my arm up, expecting me to bend over the table so he can make a joke about fucking me in the ass, undoubtedly.
Instead, I spin out of his hold and drop to the floor, landing on my ass. While he’s busy laughing, I brace myself on my palms and swing my legs around, taking his feet out from under him. He stumbles forward and grabs for a chair but falls to his knees anyway. I start to move in for a good kick to the groin, but someone grabs my hair from behind, yanking me backwards across the floor.
“That’s enough of that,” Baron growls in my ear, yanking both my hands behind me and holding them pinned against his chest with his forearm. He wraps his other arm around me, hoisting me to my feet. I kick at his legs, trying to get a heel to his kneecap, but Duke hops to his feet and grabs my legs.
“Let’s do this shit,” he crows, pumping a fist in the air before grabbing one of my ankles in each hand.