P.S. I Hate You, page 5
Knowing I lost the bet only makes my sobs come harder. I turn on my heel and run to the safety of the girls’ bathroom. Pressing my hands on either side of the sink, I stare down into the rusted drain, trying to pull myself together.
The door opens and closes with a wisp. My back curls like a frightened cat, but my shoulders droop when I see Chris standing before me. “I tried to warn you,” she says. “The article was taped to your locker, but I took it down. I didn’t know they had more copies.”
“Thanks,” I warble, slapping the handle on the faucet. Water flows from the spout fast and harsh like the blood rushing through my veins.
She rests her hip on the second sink. “For what it’s worth, Darla’s home life ain’t so great.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothin’. I just meant, like, she may be a bully at school, but she’s the victim at home. She lashes out because this is the only place she feels powerful.”
I roll my eyes. I’m too angry to feel sorry for Darla. A bad home life isn’t an excuse to be a raging bitch. We all have crosses to bear. “You know, the worst part about this whole thing is Jace. He could have been like a brother to me, but instead, he chooses to be a huge, irritating bully. Him and his fat-ass girlfriend.” The amount of enjoyment that crossed his face made my stomach burn. The fact that he gets off on seeing me suffer is just so uncool.
Shreds of the paper towel cling to the wet stain as I compulsively scrub without thought. The touch of Chris’s hand slows my furious pace. “Jace Wilder doesn’t have friends. He has minions. He’s idolized by the guys because he’s tough and worshiped by the girls because of the way he looks. It’s a win-win situation for him. Your feelings don’t matter.”
“So what am I supposed to do, then?”
She shrugs. “Normally, I would advise you to stay as far away from him as possible.”
I fling the sodden chunk of paper into the sink with a splat. “Yeah, except I have to live with him.”
Chapter five
Beads of sweat trickle down my back, my clothes clinging to my damp skin. Biking a mile in a high-tech gym is not nearly the same as pedaling through the Texas heat. I stash my ride beside the house and peel the dank blouse off my back the second I’m safe inside. A cool breeze from the ceiling fan is a momentary relief. I need a pool and a margarita, stat, but I’ll have to settle for a cold shower and Great Value Lemon Lime soda.
I turn the temp to cold and step inside. The spray beats against my back. I tilt my face up and let it trickle down my hair before turning toward it. The stress of the day seeps from my muscles and swirls down the drain.
The scent of bleach wraps around me as I tuck the end of a towel under my arm and walk out. Loud rock music filters down the hall. When my gaze catches on Jace’s closed door, the tension immediately springs back to my shoulders. Thoughts of taking a baseball bat to his windshield swim in my brain, but violence begets violence. Better off staying on my high horse. The air’s better up here.
Shredded bits of the American flag are strewn across my bedspread. “What the hell?” I whisper, moving toward it. When I lift it off my bed, I realize it’s not shredded bits of anything. It’s a bikini decked out in the stars and stripes.
“You lose, princess. Time to pay up.” Jace’s low baritone pulls a gasp from my lungs.
I drop the suit and spin on my heels. His eyes rake over my body as if willing the towel to fall. Tucking the corner tighter, I cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t lose. You cheated.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” he mocks, stepping farther into my room without an invitation. “The bet had no terms. You cried. You lost. Deal with it.”
I square my shoulders. “Double or nothing.”
“You sure about that?” He swipes his hand on the edge of the towel, making it flutter up before coming back down. My pulse picks up. Warmth comes off him in droves, his spicy scent swirling with the sweet smell of my body wash. “Knowing what I know now, I may choose to sweeten the pot.”
“You’re disgusting.” It sounded much more bold in my head than it did wavering off my tongue.
“And you’re a spoiled brat who I wouldn’t touch with someone else’s dick.”
I grit my teeth, balling my hands into fits. “I hate you.”
“Good! The feeling is mutual. Maybe you’ll stay the fuck out of my way from now on.” He swipes the bikini off the bed and holds it up like a swinging pendulum. “But a deal’s a deal, and I’ve come to collect.” The suit sails from his hand and bounces off my chest. “Be ready at seven,” he growls before stomping away.
Mad Dog’s MMA is crawling with people. Cars are packed in the lot like sardines in a can. Jace slides in along the back alley and tells me to get out. Armed in nothing but an infinitesimal bikini under a sundress, I follow close behind him through a back entrance where the coach waits.
Sweat collects between my cleavage. “What’s going on?”
But Jace ignores my question and chucks a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s gonna count rounds tonight.”
I raise my brows, hoping for further clarification, but Jace ducks into another room, leaving my unanswered question hanging in limbo.
The coach points toward a curtained doorway. “Head in through there and ask for Jimbo,” he says before I’m alone.
Unfortunately, that brings up more questions than answers. A part of me wants to escape through the back door and forget this whole thing, but I made this bet, and I don’t welsh. As much as I hate taking a knee to Jace Wilder, I’ll be damned if I'm going to give him any kind of upper hand.
I pad through the red velvet curtain into a zoo. You’d never know this was the same empty gym from the other night. Bright lights beam in my face. I raise my hand to shield the glare, my gaze roving over the crowd of people gathered around the highlighted ring.
Rock music floats over the din of chatter. My heart pounds to the beat as I tell the first guy I see, “I’m looking for Jimbo?”
Without words, he points at another man sitting at a table in front of a microphone. I round the ring and catch his eye. “I’m supposed to talk to you about counting rounds?”
He leans back in his chair, looking me up and down. “Who hired you?”
Feeling exposed, I shield my chest with my arms. “ I’m doing Jace Wilder a favor.”
That gets a reaction I did not expect.
His expression glows as he jumps to his feet. “Aah. You’re different from our usual ring girls.” He steps to the edge of the table, where a pile of signs leans for support. “Here you go,” he says.
“I’m sorry. What am I supposed to do with these?”
He lifts a brow. “You hold them up between rounds,” he replies as if I’m a complete idiot, then points at my dress. “You can throw that under the table.”
I stand like a stone as the puzzle pieces come together in my head to form the bigger picture. The bikini. The ring. The signs.
Oh my God.
Panic slithers down my spine. He expects me to strut before all these leering eyes in a bikini? Of course he does. I’ve already been mortified beyond measure at school. This is the most degrading thing he could think of.
I’m not some piece of meat to be ogled. I’m a Cartwright, goddammit!
I swipe the goose bumps off my arms and turn my back to Jimbo in a huff. Drowning in humiliation, I slowly pull the dress over my head and drop it under the table. Two tiny triangles cover my breasts—one blue with stars and the other red and white stripes—and tie around my neck and back. The bottoms are the same, stripes in the front, stars in the back, strings swaying at my hips when I move. I pull out the sign marked with a black number one and hold it in front of me as a shield.
The lights shift, the colors changing from white to blue and red as the bass pumps deep in my chest. Jimbo’s voice roars on the loudspeaker. “Welcome to Mad Dog MMA’s Friday Night Fight!” He pauses as the crowd erupts. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a powerhouse play for you tonight! An up-and-comer from Elite Gym, trained in the art of jiujitsu, weighing in at one hundred and eighty pounds, our blue corner competitor, Robbie ‘The Wrecker’ Rasmussin.” He holds the last syllable on his name as the lights shift to the corner of the room.
Robbie comes down the aisle, his fists pounding the air as if he’s trying to mutilate it. For a split second, I’m afraid he will. A shaved head gives way to a ruddy complexion. He’s massive. A mountain of thick muscle bulging from his stout frame. He treads to the ring and ducks in through the doorway before settling into his corner.
“And in the red corner, the defending champ! The all-time undisputed Mad Dog champion, standing six feet, one hundred and seventy pounds, Jace ‘The Wild One’ Wilder!”
The spectators leap from their seats. I wince at the sound of their brutal cheers as the spotlight catches Jace strutting from the back room. His hands raised in a V, he juts out his chin as if he’s the king approaching his subjects. And from where I’m standing, that’s exactly what he is. Local mixed martial arts royalty, climbing into the octagon, his glistening face twisted in a determined sneer.
Heat pools in my gut. I shake off the sudden onslaught of desire flooding my veins as Jimbo continues his spiel, but I can’t take my eyes off Jace. He glimmers in the light, his tanned skin taut over lean definition. He turns his head and catches my stare. A wry grin pulls at his lips, but I realize seconds too late that he’s not smiling at me. He’s mocking me because I missed my cue.
Scrambling into action, I hold the number up high and trot around the outside ledge. Pretending I’m at another modeling audition, I use my pageant training to saunter in a circle around the perimeter of the ring. I finish with a wink at Jace and scurry down just as the bell rings.
The two men go at each other like animals in the wild. Grunts and growls, blood and sweat. I’m glued to the energy, my mouth agape as Jace pummels The Wrecker into chopped meat, yet he refuses to fall. Jace connects each punch and blow as if it’s effortless. The way his muscles flex and ripple does something to my insides that I refuse to let surface. Call it awe, but it’s more than that. It almost feels like … longing. Whatever it is, I need to keep those types of feelings buried deep, deep down inside me.
When the bell dings, they both return to their corners. Their coaches flutter around them, but I don’t have time to watch. I snatch the next card and do another twirl for the audience. I prance past Jace with my oversized number two as if I have no cares in the world. But my inflated confidence comes to a crashing halt when I slip on my heel and tumble from the height.
Lucky for me, strong arms break my fall.
I tilt my head back, coming face-to-face with my green-eyed savior. “I’ve had women fall for me before, but this is ridiculous.” He helps me to my feet but doesn’t take his hands from my body. They burn on my bare skin, hot like his smoldering gaze as he gifts me with a magnetic grin.
“That was embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think anybody saw.”
Nice of him to try, but everybody saw. I fell off the ledge like a buffoon, and I would have face planted if not for him.
I shuck away, staving off the warmth of his touch, but he doesn’t stick around. He turns back to his side—the blue side.
I swallow hard. Did I just have a moment with the enemy?
One quick look at Jace answers my question. His eyes bore into my knight in shining armor as if he wished death upon him. His gaze drifts toward me, and the scowl remains upon his lips as his chest rises and falls with each frantic breath.
The ringing bell brings me back to the present. Jace charges, a stampeding bull knocking his opponent off his feet. His back slams to the mat with a thud. He puts up one hell of a struggle, but Jace is agile and quick. He lands a right hook to Robbie's chin, followed by a strong uppercut. Blood spews like a geyser. His head bounces off the mat, but Jace doesn’t hold back. He pummels Robbie without mercy. When he wraps his arms around Jace to stop the massive beating, Jace uses his shoulder to whale him in the face. It’s bone-crushing brutality, and I’m whimpering on bated breath as I watch it unfold.
Jace wraps his legs around his torso and hooks his arm around his neck, pinning him to the mat. The ref hits the ground, counting the seconds before calling it. Jace is the winner.
He stands tall, pumping his fists in the air before running toward the chain-link fence. He jumps, using it to fling him backward in a flip. People go nuts. Chants of "Jace" and "The Wild One" ripple about as they knock into other participants in the rambunctious crowd. The reverence pours out of them as if he’s a deity to be worshiped.
I reach for my dress and throw it over my head, but I can’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into my back. Green eyes and a set of dimples that could make even the hardest girl blush. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I reply with a shy grin. I run my fingers through my tangled tendrils and pull it over my shoulder, finger combing the waves.
“I didn’t get a chance to give you my name. I’m Troy.”
I slide my hand into his waiting palm. “Ellie.”
“I know who you are.” That wipes the smile from my face, but his dimples only deepen. “I’m sorry. That came off creepy, didn’t it?”
“A little.”
“My father is big on investments, although he never did care much for cryptocurrency,” he says with a wink.
I offer a tight-lipped grin. “I should get going.”
“Wait.” A pink hue grows on his cheeks as he slides his fingers through his sandy hair just as I did a moment ago. “If you ever want to see Texas through the eyes of a local, I’ll be around.”
“I’ll think about that. Thanks.” The tingling starts at my neck and slicks down to the tips of my fingers. Troy is definitely cute, but I’m not interested in dating right now. My main goal is to finish high school and get out of this hellhole as unscathed as humanly possible, not fall for the pretty blond boy who clearly already has a stake in the game. Besides, for all I know, it’s just another trick. Maybe he’s heard of me, or maybe Jace told him about me in another attempt to build me up then break me down.
If I’ve learned anything during my first days in Hell’s Bend, it’s that trust is yet another luxury I simply cannot afford.
***
The house is dark, save for a single light over the stove. Jace flips the switch and huddles into the cold cavern of the fridge before stepping back with two beers. When he silently offers one to me, I hesitate to take it. “Go ahead. You earned it.”
“Thanks,” I say, accepting his supposed peace offering. Wishful thinking, I know, but hopefully, tonight turned a corner for Jace and me. Maybe he realized I’m not as easily shaken as he thought. Perhaps he’ll begin treating me with a little respect.
I pop the bottle cap and watch the fizz dance from the mouth before bringing it to my lips. Cold and crisp, it slides down my throat like an elixir from the gods themselves. I’ve never been a drinker, especially not beer, but something about this frosty brew is refreshing on the tongue.
Jace falls into a chair, letting his long legs sprawl wide in front of him. Blood trickles from his brow. He wipes it with his fingertips, then stares down as if he’s surprised to see it. “Oh shit.”
I wet a paper towel and press it against his skin. He winces. His eyes flutter closed, but he doesn’t push me away. Instead, he sits still and allows me to gently swab the wound until the bleeding subsides.
“How long have you been fighting?”
“A couple of years now. Jimbo’s real nice. He lets me work off my trainin’ fees.”
“It seems to me that you’re making him more money than he saves you. The place was packed.”
He grins. “Maybe so. But it’s good exposure.”
“I think this is gonna need a bandage.”
He looks up at me through thick black lashes, his fingers closing around my wrist. Goose bumps prickle my skin. The hair on my neck rises the way it did the day I first saw him. From this angle, he looks less hard, less angry. The light glimmers above, casting a glow over his brilliant blue eyes. They draw me in like a moth to a flame.
“I think I’ll live.” His husky whisper slithers down my spine and swirls at my tailbone. Being alone in this house with a man I despise—a man who makes me feel things I don’t want to be feeling—is dangerous. I should walk away and close myself in my room, but the heat in the kitchen is a tether twirling around us. I can’t seem to tear myself away.
An alert chimes on my phone. I whip toward the sound, my gaze narrowing as if it’s a personal attack. But it knocks the sense back into my muddled brain. A momentary flash of friendliness and I’m a millisecond from lowering myself onto his lap. Get a grip, Ellie. This is still the asshole who doused me with water and made me bike to school. The one who provoked the entire student body to bully me to the point of tears, then laughed at my pain. This is a mistake.
I back up and chuck the towel in the trash before tapping the notification. A friend request highlights the screen: Troy McNamara.
My audible gasp piques Jace’s attention. He leans in, his gaze going hard as it drops to the screen. The air between us turns cold. A shift in the atmosphere crumbles our newfound friendship to dust as quickly as it started. “I’m going to bed,” he grumbles.
“Wait.”
He stops at the threshold but keeps his back to me. “We’re not friends. We made a bet, and it’s over. Now we can go back to staying the hell away from each other.”
And just like that, the flicker of our friendship has been snuffed out. But for a moment, I saw a shard of the man he’s hiding from sight. The humbled Jace who makes polite conversation over a beer like a real person. I don’t understand why he’s bubbling to the brim with all this anger, but I’m hard pressed to believe it’s because of me. Something deeper is hidden inside Jace Wilder. I just need to find out what it is.
