“Put the signs away and go put on some fucking clothes,” he says, speaking slowly as if he’s plum out of patience.
I hold the poster between us and smile up at him. “You don’t like it?” I ask. “It says W.A.P 4 Royal. That means—”
“I know what it fucking means, Harper.”
“Didn’t you want the whole town to know that my pussy’s wet for you?” I ask, standing on tiptoes and letting my lips brush his chin. I speak low, so only he can hear, letting my lips linger on his skin. “Or did you think it meant I’m saving this wet-ass pussy just for you? Either way, it’s what my king commanded. I simply obeyed. I dressed like a whore and let everyone know it’s for you. That’s what you said you wanted.”
He snatches the sign, drops it on the ground, and hooks his fingers through the crotch of my shorts, which admittedly is really just the seam. I can feel his knuckles pressing against the softness of my mound, and I suck in a breath, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are cold and savage, the way they get when he’s dealing a vicious blow. “I already know you’re desperate,” he snaps. “Everyone in Faulkner knows you’re desperate.”
“How could I not be?” I ask, gripping his thick biceps and batting my eyes. “Your dick is so impressive, every girl in town is desperate for it.”
“Not every girl sucks off old fat men because that’s all she can get,” he grinds out. “You’re not desperate for me. You’re desperate for attention and any dick you can get.”
The words sting, and my throat tightens.
Royal leans in, getting in my face and pulling my hips toward him so I can’t retreat. “Get this straight,” he says. “You’re worth less than a whore because you give it away for free, and everyone knows it. If I told you I’d fuck you the middle of the field right now, you’d run down there like it’s a track meet, spread your legs, and cream a fucking waterfall for me in front of the whole town.”
I swallow hard, my heart beating erratically, wondering if he’s right, if that’s why I’m simultaneously enraged and aroused by his cruel, crude words.
“Consider yourself lucky that I’m even speaking to you right now,” he continues, his voice a low and icy. “Consider that being my plaything for even a week is the best you’ll ever get in your pathetic little life. And if you can’t have any more respect for yourself than this, then consider whether I’ll want what’s under here after everyone else has already seen it.”
My own mother’s words echo in my head, so similar to what he’s saying. Don’t judge me. Girls like us, we take what we can get. Good men don’t waste their time on the likes of us.
Fuck. That.
Royal releases his hold on my shorts, but I grab his shoulder pads before he can step down. It’s my turn to speak my mind.
“And maybe you should consider what a steaming pile of bullshit that is,” I snap. “I don’t consider myself lucky to catch your attention. I consider myself cursed. You think you’re so special that girls actually enjoy being tormented and tortured by you? The best moment of my life will be when I never have to see your toxic face again.”
“Put on some fucking clothes,” he growls, getting up in my face until our noses touch. “What’s under there is for my eyes only.”
“I’m not done talking,” I growl back, not backing down a centimeter. “I didn’t ask for, nor do I want, to be your plaything. You gave me no choice. But I do still have self-respect—enough to not give a single fuck if you want what’s under my clothes, and to know that my value doesn’t go down even one miniscule drop whether one person or the whole town has seen my body. It’s my fucking body, and its worth has zero to do with your opinion or anyone else’s. If it’s so repulsive to you, then stop fucking looking.”
To my horror, I feel my lip trembling, but I don’t drop my gaze from Royal’s. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body coiling against me as if seeking a way in, his breaths quick and hot against my mouth, making my blood quiver in my veins.
We’re still locked in a staring contest when Duke jogs over and hops up on the railing beside Royal. “Coach is about to have an aneurism over you missing halftime,” he says to his brother, clamping a hand on his shoulder. It might look like a casual gesture, but I can see his fingers squeezing until his knuckles whiten. “And there are scouts here tonight, so you might want to stop finger-fucking your toy and start impressing them.”
He hands me Royal’s familiar letterman jacket and then grabs his crotch. “And you. Go easy on my boy here. You’re killing him. You have no idea how much it sucks to pop a boner while wearing one of these things. If you did, you’d have mercy on us all and put this on before you lose us the game in front of a bunch of college scouts. There are a lot of guys on the team who need to impress them if they want to leave this festering swamp.”
Shame burns through me, but I only glare at Royal as I slide my arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “You could have told me.”
“Like you’d fucking care.”
I turn to Duke and smile up at him. “Thank you,” I say. “I was actually getting cold, and this asshole failed to mention this was an important night when he coerced me into coming. I certainly wouldn’t want to lose you a game because your star quarterback can’t keep his dick in a cup.”
Duke grins and elbows Royal. “See. More flies with sugar. It’s a Southern thing.”
“You need to work on your sugar,” I say, standing on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “But I appreciate the attempt.”
Duke hops down and jogs off. We all watch him go. Then Royal turns back, a frown furrowing his brow. “Don’t fuck with my brothers because you’re pissed at me,” he says. “That’s low, even for you.”
I swallow hard. “You’re right.”
He shrugs. “Do it again, you’ll pay for it later. That’s all the warning you’ll get.”
“Thanks.”
He gives me one more look, shaking his head at my bare legs, then hops off the railing and stalks off.