Granted Cole doesn’t have my number, but considering his brother is shacked up with my best friend, it’s not like he’d have to jump through hoops to get it.

Even a message on Instagram would have sufficed.

But nope. I got nothing.

Which puts me in the crappy position of having to reach out to him first.

I suppose I could ignore it and pretend nothing happened, but that’s dumb because something did happen.

Something that has the potential to make things awkward and weird.

I don’t want things to be awkward or weird between us.

And maybe there’s also a tiny part of me that’s secretly hoping he feels whatever this thing is between us too.

Womp womp…there it is.

The tiny kernel of truth I’ve been trying to shove down in hopes it will go away.

I have a crush on Cole Covington…and I hate myself for it.

He’s everything I despise in a person.

He’s cocky, ruthless, a womanizer, and worst of all—he mocks my faith.

Yet…there’s something about him I can’t ignore.

Stupid teenage hormones. They ruin everything.

My stomach somersaults as I pass his car in the parking lot.

I don’t bother hiding my grimace.

The bright green Ferrari is just as obnoxious, flashy, and arrogant as he is. Rumor has it not only did it cost a fortune, it’s incredibly rare. As in there are less than twenty people in the world with the same vehicle.

Can’t say I’m surprised. The Covingtons are as loaded as they are plagued with tragedy.

Cole’s mother was a former Bollywood actress before she passed away in a terrible car accident. According to the gossip mill, not only was she gorgeous like her children, she might have been part of some royal family in India.

I don’t know much about Jason Covington—Cole’s dad—apart from him being the head of a well-known pharmaceutical company.

I silently add another check mark to my con list. Everyone knows people who run pharmaceutical companies don’t have souls.

Must be where Cole got it from.

Okay, that’s not fair. Cole does have a soul.

He bared pieces of it to me the other night.

Steeling myself, I keep walking toward the entrance.

I feel it the moment I enter the building. The energy in this place is…off.

Or rather, it’s all directed at me in the form of side glances, not so subtle dirty looks from various girls, a few grins from some random guys, and lots of whispers.

Tiny beads of sweat break out along my forehead and down my back, but I force myself to breathe.

The only way you’ll survive this hellhole is to never let them see you sweat.

Forcing my gaze to the floor, I make a beeline for my locker.

A few rows down, I notice Cole standing by his while talking to Dwight Davis, Cortland Bennet, and a few other guys from his team.

Dwight’s a decent guy. Well, at least he appears that way every Sunday morning when I see him at church.

But Cortland? Dude is a prick with a capital P.

Not only have I caught him blatantly leering at my chest so many times I’ve lost count, he’s pompous and has a bad habit of bullying some of the unpopular kids for sport.

I guess it makes sense that he and Cole are friends. Birds of a feather and all that.

Either way, I’m not stupid enough to walk over and talk to Cole while he’s with them.

There are some things you never forget about a person, and when I was forced to walk the halls in a towel—it was Cortland who mooed the loudest and encouraged people to join him.

Reaching into my backpack, I quickly shift some books around.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but word on the street is Casey has a bullet with your name on it.”

My heart lodges in my throat as I stare into a pair of bloodshot cobalt-blue eyes belonging to Oakley.

“What?”

Why in the world would Casey—or anyone for that matter—want to shoot me?

Maybe cuz you hooked up with her boyfriend—my brain unhelpfully points out.

“Relax,” he says. “She’s not gonna kill you.” One shoulder rises in a shrug. “She’s just planning on kicking your ass by the time school lets out.”

The dumbass must have forgotten that the one and only time Casey and I fought, I was the one who came out the victor.

“Who tol—” I stop myself before I finish that sentence.

I don’t want to admit to any wrongdoing. Not without talking to Cole first.

Maybe we can explain to Casey that her boyfriend was drunk, and our hookup meant nothing.

My heart sinks. It’s clearly not a fan of that idea.

“I mean why would she want to kick my ass?”

Oakley gives me a pointed look. “Apparently your little CPR session with her boyfriend got back to her…make that everyone.” He holds up his hands innocently. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say shit. Someone else must have overheard you or walked in while you two were mouth to mouth.”

Motherfucker. That would explain all the looks and whispers I’ve been getting.

“Oh my God.” Everything feels like it’s spinning.

Casey kicking my ass I can handle, but everyone knowing my business, speculating about my personal life…

I don’t want to be the talk of the school. I don’t want people to talk about me, period.

I already know what they’ll say.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good,” Oakley notes. “Want me to call Dylan? I bet she’ll scare her off.”

“No.”

I have no doubt my BFF can put Casey in her place with a single punch, but this isn’t Dylan’s battle.

It’s mine.

I did something wrong, and now I have to own up to it and pay the price.

“I’ll be back soon. I just have to…” I gesture to the bathroom and start walking.

I need a second to breathe and compose myself before I deal with the fallout.

I’m grateful it’s empty when I walk inside.

Well, except for Bianca, who’s standing by the sinks applying mascara to her already long lashes.

“You look like shit,” she greets me when our eyes meet in the mirror.

I turn on the faucet. “I feel like it.” Splashing some cold water on my cheeks, I mutter. “Everyone knows about me and Cole.”

There’s no point in denying it any longer. She’s bound to hear the truth sooner or later.

“Damn. Word got around faster than I thought.” Smiling wryly, she fishes a tube of lip gloss from her purse. “You’re welcome.”

It’s all I can do not to shove that lip gloss down her throat.

“Wait…you were the one who started the rumor? What the fuck, Bianca? You promised.”

Rolling her eyes, she swipes the gloss over her red lips. “Don’t be so dramatic. I was doing you a favor.”

I can feel my blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. “A favor? What kind of fav—”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re a loser.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Now…not so much.” She smacks her lips together. “In the span of a weekend, you went from a mousy little Jesus lover to the girl who hooked up with the most popular guy at school. It makes everyone think of you as mysterious and sexy…instead of boring and weird.” Our eyes connect in the mirror again. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”