CHAPTER THREE
Prior to my earlier thoughts, I avoided Orton completely — tried to — the universe seemed to be his personal wingman. He was everywhere—hallways, the computer lab, the cafeteria—always leaning against something with that knowing, mocking smile. It was revolting.
With a month left until Christmas break, my morning ritual involved pep talks in the mirror. I just needed to survive four more weeks of this madness and the confusing, heated emotions Orton sparked in me. But he wasn't the only problem.
There was Bridget.
I had made sure to wear a permanent scowl to signal my irritation, but she was a leech that refused to unlatch. She was constantly clinging to me, giggling and chirping sweet comments that made me want to retch. Right now, she was hanging off my arm as if she'd die if she let go. I secretly wished she would. She was rambling about a party, giving me hyper-specific details about her outfit that I hadn't asked for.
"Are you going?" she asked, giving me a sickeningly sweet smile.
"No," I deadpanned, my eyes fixed on the seniors training on the field.
"Why?" She sounded genuinely crushed.
"I have plans." I didn't, but I wasn't about to be stuck in a room full of sweaty, intoxicated teenagers. Neither could I shake off the possibilities of being raped or drugged. It was always a 50% in one of this parties.
"That's sad," she moped.
Silence finally fell, and I was grateful for it as we watched the soccer team. Unconsciously, my eyes tracked a particular blue-eyed guy sprinting across the turf. I couldn't deny his athleticism. His muscles flexed as he called for the ball, his jersey clinging to a defined six-pack. With sweat slicking his skin, he looked—objectively—hot. A sudden rush of heat pooled in my stomach, and between my legs and I cursed internally. Hormones. Just hormones.
I forced my gaze back to my book. Something I've read three times already, mostly because I loved the part where the male lead came crawling back to the female lead, begging for forgiveness. I loved a man who knew how to beg.
I was so immersed in my reading that I didn't notice the three shadows falling over me. A loud, deliberate cough made me look up. My heart stopped.
"Hi!" Bridget squeaked. I nearly face-palmed.
Orton's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a frown the moment he noticed her. "What is she doing here?"
"Ophelia is my best friend!" Bridget replied, as if it were obvious. I frowned and yanked my hand out of hers. She didn't even notice; she was too busy staring at Orton.
"No, I'm not," I murmured, crossing my arms. Bridget just giggled and gave my shoulder a playful pat making my frown deepen. Had I said something funny ?
I ignored her and turned to a scowling Orton. "What do you want?"
His gaze snapped from Bridget to me, and the grin returned.
"You were watching me play? " It was more of a statement than a question.
"No, I wasn't. I was reading." I lifted the book from my lap. It was a half-truth, but I wasn't about to admit I'd been ogling him like a thirsty cheerleader.
"Oh." His smile faltered.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. I looked at the blond guy and the dark-skinned guy standing in Orton's shadow.
"Are you going to introduce us, Orton?"
Orton straightened up. "Yeah. Guys, this is Ophelia. Ophelia, this is Mario," he pointed to the guy on his left, "and Iver."
I knew Iver. He was Orton's best friend , always lurking nearby. He was just as tall as Orton, with messy blonde hair that gave him a moody, emo edge. He was attractive, I'd give him that, with eyes a rare shade of liquid amber. He raked his gaze over my body judgmentally. I couldn't imagine why, I was putting on an oversized hoodie and leggings with a pair of leggings.
He gave me a curt nod, and I was happy to leave it at that.
"I finally get to meet the great Ophelia." Mario stepped forward, offering a hand. I stared at his sweaty palm with visible disgust. He saw my expression and barked out a laugh, pulling his hand back. "Sorry about that. You're beautiful, though."
"Uh, thanks?" I had no idea how to handle a compliment.
Mario leaned in, a wicked glint in his eye. "Now I see why Orton won't shut up. If you ever get tired of him, let me know. I promise I'm a lot more fun behind closed doors and under the sheets. "
I scrunched up my nose in disgust.
Orton's face darkened instantly. He snarled, slamming his elbow into Mario's ribs.
"Ow! Relax, man!" Mario raised his hands in surrender. "She's all yours. I was just playing."
All yours? My blood boiled.
"Can I talk to you privately?" Orton asked. Iver's brow furrowed, matching my own expression.
"Why?"
"Come on, Ophelia, stop being difficult." Before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and hauled me up from the seat.
He dragged me toward a secluded corner of the field while I hissed insults at his back. When he finally stopped, I ripped my hand away, rubbing my sore wrist.
I looked up, ready to scream a few choice words at him, but the air left my lungs. He was close. Way too close. He was looking down at me with an amused smirk that made my skin prickle.
"What's so funny, you cunt?!" I balled my fists, ready to swing at his perfect face.
"You," he chuckled, closing the remaining inch between us. He reached out, his fingers hooking under my chin to force my eyes to his. My glare intensified but so did my heartbeat.
"Such colorful words," he whispered, his thumb grazing my lower lip. "They shouldn't be rolling off those pretty lips of yours, Small "