1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“Can you believe Masen Laurent?” Lyla sneers, standing next to my locker
as Ten texts on his phone beside her. She stares over her shoulder at Masen
and a group of guys on the other side of the hallway. “He probably got
kicked out of his last school for fighting, and Trey’s getting tons of shit on
Facebook for that fight.” She narrows her eyes on Masen. “Definitely hot,
but what an asshole. He should be arrested.”
Trey’s getting shit for that fight? I keep my smirk to myself. You mean
for getting his ass kicked.
I glance over at Masen who’s surrounded by four other guys, all of them
laughing and joking around as if they’ve been best friends forever. Masen
smiles at one of them and shakes his head, sucking a straw between his lips
as he takes a drink from a 7-Eleven cup.
I feel my cheeks warm. Those lips. I couldn’t get enough of them Friday
night, and he didn’t even kiss me.
What if Lyla and Ten found out right now that he had me in the backseat
of his car, and I didn’t want to stop?
He seems to sense me watching him, because he turns his head toward
me, both of us locking gazes across the crowded hall. His green eyes pin me
to my spot, something hot flashing in them, and I suddenly can’t move a
step. I spin back around, throwing my books in my locker.
“Yeah, well,” I reply, forcing my voice flat and bored. “He seems to be
finding his crowd.”
“Yeah, the bottom of the barrel,” Lyla jokes, looking at the guys Masen
is standing with. “All those guys will be in jail in a year.”
They seem like the type. Masen has been here less than a week and
already has a crowd of friends, all of whom seem to fit his style. A few
piercings here, some tattoos there, and probably all of them well-versed on
the bail process.