The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) by Lauren Campbell

Author:Lauren Campbell [Campbell, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lauren Campbell
Published: 2017-09-19T18:30:00+00:00

Full, but satisfied from the dessert, Brooks and I stumble along the sidewalk, having opted to abandon his car after having too much to drink, and Uber being a twenty-minute wait. The air is pleasantly warm, streets brimming with objectionable spring break sluts in cheek-revealing shorts and crop tops. We pass two mini golf places and approach a drugstore when he stops.

“Mind waiting out here? I need to grab something.”

I shake my head, leaning against the brick of the store while he’s inside. Scroll through my phone. A group of college-looking guys approach, all clad in customary neon beachwear, cocky laughter spurting from their mouths. I’m expecting them to bypass me, walk in the store, but the most attractive of the bunch halts before passing. I let my eyes fall back to my phone, intent on ignoring him.

“Excuse me, but uh … you smell like trash.”

Immediately, my eyes cut to him, and a light gasp emanates from my throat. “Pardon?” I adjust my footing. Stand up straighter, ready to sniff my armpit and introduce him to the heel of my shoe at the same time.

Mr. Bold licks his lips. “I said you smell like trash.” He takes a step forward, his head craning back to his friends before whipping back to me. “So, can I take you out?”

The radiance of carefree youth flashes through his eyes, and I almost smile. Almost. But his friends’ obnoxious sputters and giggles incite old memories, ones I don’t like. I don’t have time for this shit—I’ll be damned if I’m the butt of their joke.

“No. I’d rather smell, thank you.” My icy words turn their smiles into frowns.

“Damn. That’s cold. Well, what are you doing later?”

“Fucking my boyfriend. Seeya.”

“You’re fast. We just met, and I’m your boyfriend already?” he cackles. “Name the time, sweetheart, and I’ll be there. But you don’t live in the ghetto, do you? Cuz I’m ‘bout to ghetto hold of that ass!”

On the last word, his hand reaches out to presumably touch my ass, when suddenly he’s on the ground, his body grating against the loose pebbles in the parking lot, eliciting a physical cringe within me. I search for the source of the blow, my eyes landing on Brooks—his nostrils flared, jaw tight, lips in a thin line, and chest heaving.

“I dare you to fucking touch her!” He advances toward the injured douche, who is now backward crawling in an attempt to get up. His friends don’t help him, but they mumble obscenities directed at my man.

Douche wipes a spot of blood from his lip, smearing it instead of removing it. Stands and backs up, his gait wobbly at first before balancing out. “Fuck. You busted my fucking lip, bro.”

Brooks grabs me, his thumb likely bruising my forearm. “Good. Get the fuck out of here before I give you two black eyes to go with it, you fucking punk.” He releases his grip on my arm, and retrieves his wallet. Pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and casts it to him, the money floating slowly to the ground.

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