Rich Riot: A High School Bully Romance (Arcadia High Anarchists Book 3) by Max Henry

Author:Max Henry [Henry, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance
Publisher: Max Henry
Published: 2019-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

COLT

“Everyone’s out,” Libby states, throwing the front door wide. “Shut it behind you, would you?”

I step into her depressingly dark home and do as I’m told, checking the street for anybody we might know.

“And for God’s sake, take that stupid hat off.” Her perfume leaves a trail to follow—a line of flowery breadcrumbs from the entry to the staircase.

I slide the cap off my head, ruffling the blond locks beneath while I traipse upstairs to find her. A swish of cotton, a flash of pale blue, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of her as she disappears into her bedroom.

Ditching the cap on her set of drawers, I step inside the room and shake the coat from my shoulders.

“Damn, Colt.” She backtracks toward me. “You look like shit.”

Her words aren’t offered from a place of sympathy; there’s a distinct disgust to her tone.

Sharp nails edge into my cheeks as she twists my chin side to side. “Richard said he made a mess of you, but I didn’t think he was capable of this.”

“I guess I’m lucky Arthur couldn’t be bothered joining in today, huh?”

“Funny,” she sasses with one raised eyebrow.

I used to think she was angelic; a doll with delicate features and perfect blonde hair. But the longer you know someone, the more quirks you pick up on.

Libby’s quite plain to my eye now. Another girl with a perfect face in a world of perfect people where everything’s broken anyway.

“Have you two …?”

She drops to her bed with a dramatic flop, ankles crossed and hands out wide to support her. “Split up?” She scoffs. “No.”

“Really?” I stay rooted to the spot.

“You didn’t think I’d ditch him for you, did you?”

Take another swing at my already bruised body, why don’t you? “I more thought he’d drop your arse,” I snap.

“Baby,” she coos. “He’d be a fool to give up on my family name after one setback.”

She talks about relationships as though they’re mutual funds. Love as though it’s a clause on a much more detailed page. Her parents have raised her well.

Libby’s hands lift to the two ribbons at her side. Her chin dips, eyes sultry as she tugs the ends to let the sides of her wrap dress fall away. Her fully naked body is presented at the perfect angle, her form impeccable as usual.

I sometimes wonder if there’s a back room at the debutante academy for a more advanced style of curriculum.

“Come touch me,” she purrs. “Arthur won’t play, and I’m bored without school to keep me busy.”

I should walk away. But then again, if I hadn’t intended to let off some steam of my own, I wouldn’t have come in the first place.

She watches me with a satisfied smile as I cross the room, shedding my polo shirt on the way. Her lithe fingers lift to my pants, eager to set me free before I can so much as kick my damn shoes off.

What we do isn’t love. It isn’t even lust.

We sleep with each other to fill our voids.

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