Page 3 of Personal Foul
“Yes,” I croak in answer to the question. “Wait? How do you know that?”
Scoffing, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “We spent four years at the same high school. Everyone knew. It was a small school, Chastity. We all knew each other’s business.”
I blink in shock, both at the use of the wrong name that healwaysuses, but also at the realization that heknows.
He knows who I am. And now he knows about my dad.
I’m so screwed.
Closing my eyes, I force out the words. “Please. Please don't tell anyone.” Begginghimfor help is literally the worst thing I can think of. Unless he tells everyone who my dad is and that he’s under investigation. That might be worse. “I’ll do anything.”
His triumphant smirk turns into a leer. “Anything?”
I give him my best disgusted face. “I’m not going to fuck you to keep you quiet.I have standards.” And while I might be mortified at the thought of my friends discovering that I’ve lied about my background—or at least edited out significant aspects of it—and that my parents not only have plenty of money but also that my dad’s being investigated by the SEC—could he go to jail?—I’m not going to whore myself out to keep it quiet. Especially not to Dylan Thompson.
He laughs. More like cackles. His eyes track over my body, but in a calculating way that makes me feel like livestock being inspected. "You think I need to blackmail someone to get sex?" He scoffs. "No, I have something else in mind."
Oh god.
CHAPTER TWO
Dylan
“What?” Her question comes out as more of a bitchy demand, which is hilarious considering the fact that she’s asking me for a favor.
Begging, actually.
I tsk. “Manners.” Crossing my arms, I look her over, not sure why I’m leaning into this act of smug superiority, but unable to help myself for some reason. Maybe it’s the same thing that’s been driving my desire to get a reaction out of her every time I’ve seen her for the last few weeks. In high school, she steered clear of me as much as possible. IF we were in close proximity, she acted like I didn’t exist. This way, she at least has to acknowledge me. “My last cleaning lady quit a few weeks ago.”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me expectantly like she needs me to spell it out for her. I know she’s smart, though. She’ll figure it out.
I see when the penny drops because her kissable lips part, and her mouth falls open. “You want me to clean your apartment? You can’t be fucking serious.”
I shrug as though it makes no difference to me. It doesn’t, really. I’m not a slob. I pick up after myself for the most part. But it’s nice to have someone do the regular weekly stuff like dusting, sweeping, laundry, bathrooms, etc. If Chastity takes it on, then it saves me the trouble of finding a new cleaning lady and gives me a reason to keep her secret.
Not that I really intend to tell anyone. Sure, I like needling her, but I don’t actually want to blow up her life. And she’s acting like that’s what would happen if her friends found out about her dad. Not sure what the big deal is …
But it’s not like I plan to go spreading rumors about her. That’s not my style. Though I guess I can’t entirely blame her for thinking so, since my friends in high school spread some pretty nasty rumors about her back then. I never participated. Every time I heard something—whether about her or someone else—I did my best to shut it down. I guess she can’t be faulted for being unaware of that.
She’s made it clear that she can’t stand me in particular, even though I never did anything to her. The fact that I deliberately call her the wrong name all the time probably doesn’t help. It’s hilarious watching her get all mad about it, though. Her nostrils flare, and her cheeks turn pink, and with that red hair, I just wanna see if the redhead reputation for having a hot temper is true. She’s feisty as all hell, which seems to lend credence to the theory, but she hasn’t actually blown up at me. Yet.
There’s something about her that makes me want her attention. Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t want to acknowledge me, and I want her to. If we didn’t have our high school history—which is what fuels her overt disgust at the sight of me, I’m certain of it—I’d have asked her out already.
Actually, our high school history is part of the reason I want to ask her out. Back then, I thought she was a meek little mouse, and I felt bad for her. I even tried to make friends with her, hoping that my friendship would offer her some protection from the harpies at our school. But the few overtures I made were completely ignored.
Maybe that’s what’s driving my behavior now. She ignored me then, but she’s not now, and I like that. Even if she doesn’t want to spend time with me, I like spending time with her.
It feels dangerous. I’m not sure what changed her from that meek little mouse who never made a peep about the bullying she experienced to the spitfire in front of me, but I like it.
And being the one to cause her fire to flare higher?
I guess I might get burned, but it seems worth the risk.
Given the fact that she obviously remembers me and my friend group from high school, I can see why she’d be worried I’d blab. And it’s not like I’d planned to keep a lid on it on purpose, either. Who knows if or when I might let slip that her dad’s been doing bad things with company stocks?
She stares at me, and I’m not one hundred percent, but I think she might be trying to murder me with a death glare. That or she’s just so pissed she can’t keep it under control.
Wait, is this it? Will I get to feel the full force of her temper?
