Vicious Love (Barrington Heights #1) (3 page)

chapter 6

jennet

What is wrong with me? Did I just interact with a student like that? He’s a student! Dammit, Jennet, get your act together!
But the way he read me immediately, how he understood my expressions, it was all so…new. So exhilarating. He had actually been flirting with me—something that hadn’t happened to me in a long time. It didn’t matter though. I had to finish this day first. Then, and only then, could I dwell on what had happened.

The rest of the day passed without interest. I told my third and final class for the day the same exact thing I’d told my other two classes. We did the same activities, with the same videos and almost the same conversations. After my last class, I went to my office to finalize my paperwork, and even there, nothing happened. All of the teachers seemed to be absorbed in their work. They paid minimal attention to each other and their surroundings. It was just another average, ordinary day for them. All of them except for one—Mr. Davidson. He seemed to be trying to interact with everyone else to no avail. That was until he noticed me.

“Ah, good afternoon, Miss Beaumont. How was your first day on the job here at Barrington High?” He appeared to be genuinely interested in my day, and I felt compelled to tell him about it. Everything about it. From my first few minutes on campus to my last few, including both my daydream and interaction with Christopher Wells.

Before I could start blurting everything out, I composed myself and simply told him the basics. “Good afternoon, Mr. Davidson. My day was an interesting one. I met so many new faces, and I’m very excited to continue with the rest of my year.”

He didn’t seem pleased with this answer, and I immediately felt obliged to apologize, but I didn’t.

“That’s nice to hear. On days like this, it’s moving to see new, young, and talented faces teaching our youth. Even so, I think that I should impart some advice on to you, seeing that I am the oldest teacher here.” He looked concerned, almost like he knew something had happened.

My mind sprinted through the different possibilities of what he would say next. Sweat built up under my brow, and my heart rate increased violently.

“In order to most effectively teach these students, you must try to understand them. The only way to do so is to first understand yourself. To help others, you must first help yourself.”

I was taken aback by this. He seemed to read me just as Christopher had not even three hours earlier.

He finished off his ‘lesson’ with a simple, “Do you understand?”

On my way home, I contemplated what Mr. Davidson had told me and how it could relate to my life.
I first must help and understand myself. Well, who am I?
I determined that a list would be useless. It would take too long and bring more doubt to myself. Rather I thought on those who had influence me and were important to me. That list, unlike the one about who I was, was very small.

I loved my fiancé, Barry, and he loved me. Barry had the most influence on me, and he treated me like a princess, which was always nice. Then, of course, there were my parents. They always tried their best with me, even if it didn’t go so well. Finally, I included myself. I must have had influence over myself. It was essential for my sanity, and my sanity was what kept me going when times were tough.

As I thought about it though, I realized that I had been losing control over my own actions. First, I reflected upon the fact that I’d moved here, from a lucrative teaching career and part-time economic writer job, for my fiancé. He could’ve moved. His work also had an office in New York, but we’d chosen not to go that route. He’d chosen not to.

Next, I realized that my whole life had been planned out by my parents. They’d made me do the activities they’d wanted me to do, not the ones that had interested me. They had essentially picked out a life for me that I didn’t want to live, and it had taken me almost twenty years to defy them. Even then, I’d still followed their plan. My parents had wanted me to get married to Barry before I’d even had the chance to meet him! True, I’d ended up falling in love with him, but I had first been forced to leave a man I was deeply head over heels for. They’d made me leave him for a man I had never even met. It had worked out perfectly in the end, but it still hurt.

I arrived home on that thought, and as I looked up at Barry’s home—my home—it lingered there. Getting out of the car seemed hard, but I managed. I wasn’t in physical pain, just deep in thought. The level of thought where it becomes hard to do much else but think. I glanced back at my Mercedes—the car Barry had bought me for my birthday last year. It was a very nice car, expensive, but it never felt right to drive it. I didn’t know why yet, but it didn’t feel right at all.

When I turned towards the door, Mary, our housekeeper, opened it and greeted me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I mum
bled a simple, “Thank you,” or “Greetings,” or something like that. I wasn’t paying attention, even to the words I was uttering. Everything was on my mind, and it was coming in all at once. Who I was, where I was, why I was who I was, etc. I hadn’t thought like this in years, and I wondered why I was now. Was it what Mr. Davidson had said? Or perhaps my interaction with Christopher? My head was spinning and I needed to sit.

“Miss Beaumont, are you okay?” Mary looked at me with her large, brown eyes full of comfort, and I was almost immediately put to ease.

“Yes, thank you. It was just a long day at work is all. The first day always is.”

She saw through my response, as she always did. She and I had become close in the last nine months I’d been here, and we’d become good friends. It was easy for her to tell when I was stressed, and she knew I was right now. She could read me so easily, yet I could read her. Which was strange—I could normally read people quite well.

“Of course, Miss Beaumont. If you need anything, just call.” She walked away and left me to my thoughts.

I leaned on the arm of the sofa we had in the foyer and just breathed. It was an ugly sofa, but it was a comfortable one, even on the arm. Barry’s house—our house—was so much bigger than what I was used to. His family came from money, and he was a patent lawyer at his family’s firm, so he made a good amount. My parents were wealthy, but never quite like this. It felt so unfamiliar, so unlike home. But it’s where I lived. I’d chosen to be here, and I was here with the man I loved, which made it homey enough.

I lingered on the thought of a home until Barry arrived thirty minutes later. When the door opened, I immediately changed my position and watched him walk in. I continued to look as he took off his coat, slipped off his shoes, removed his watch, and loosened his tie. It felt so comfortable to me, looking at my future husband. He was so gentle, and it carried over into everything he did. He didn’t just throw off his coat; he carefully lifted it off one sleeve at a time.

Barry didn’t notice me at first, but he did when he began to call for me. His look was priceless; it was every time he saw me.

“You get more beautiful every time I look at you.” Not a hello. He never said hello because he hated saying goodbye.

“I’m already marrying you. There’s no need for flattery.” I smiled at him as I always did, and he smiled back.

He took a second to give a response. He tended to think about everything he said. “Who said it was flattery? Maybe I was just stating a fact, which happened to flatter you.”

I got up and gave him a kiss. He blushed, which made me kiss him harder. Our lips parted and our tongues met. His gentleness was even more pronounced when it came to me. His kiss was soft and caring, still passionate, but not the traditional passionate kiss. We stopped after a few seconds and held hands as we walked to the kitchen, where Mary was preparing dinner.

chapter 7

chris

Mondays. I fucking hated Mondays. My phone buzzed and I looked down to see that I had a text from Claire. Too easy.

It read, “Hey, it’s Claire Voltaire from calc class, sorry for calling you those names. Coffee?”

She was asking me for coffee? That was new. Normally I had to do all the work. Maybe I had been wrong about her. There’s a first time for everything, right?

I quickly replied, “Hey, Claire. Coffee sounds great. Corner street café in 15? See you there.”

I always responded quickly; it was courteous and it kept things going. I hated it when someone tried to play all cool and took their sweet-ass time responding.

My phone buzzed and I looked at it again. It was a good thing she responded quickly, too. She was starting to grow on me.

“Sounds great. I’ll be 5 minutes late though. I have to meet with a teacher.”

Corner Street Café was just a couple of minutes from school, and it seemed that she, too, had an early dismissal. That could get interesting. I liked to tell people to meet me at places five minutes later than when I’d get there. That way, I was always there first. It was easier to control the situation if the person was meeting you rather than the opposite.

When I got to my car, I checked the front window and noticed a note there. I picked it up, thinking that it might have been a warning from the school or a ticket or something like that, but I was wrong on all accounts. It was from the principal. She wanted to meet with me tomorrow. I’d only ever met Mrs. Nugent once outside of school, after her husband’s accident. The prick had deserved what happened to him. Mrs. and Mr. Nugent had been friends with my mother and father, and Mrs. Nugent still was. I put the note into the hidden compartment I’d built underneath the driver’s seat and locked it. It was better if no one else knew that I was meeting her.

I opened up the door and turned on my car. It purred with perfection. Quiet in park and a monster on the streets, just as I liked it. I pulled out of the school, drove down the road to Corner Street, and parked at the café. I got out of my car and took a small walk down Corner Street. It wasn’t downtown, but it was still packed with local stores and shops. Down the street a bit was Mick’s pawnshop, and I headed that way. I still had fifteen minutes to kill and I knew exactly what to do.

“Yo, Mick, you in?” I asked as I opened the door.

Mick popped out from his office behind the counter. “I’m always in for you, man. What do you need? Pickup isn’t until next week.” His eyes grew a little wide as he glanced back at the calendar on the wall, like he was counting down the days to make sure he was correct.

“I know, I know. I’m just here for something green.”

Mick and I are business partners of sorts. He’s a larger man with a handlebar mustache and a ponytail. If I remembered correctly, he was fifty or something like that.

“Oh, something green. I’ve got you. Jack delivered it this morning.” He went back into his office and unlocked his hidden safe back there.

“Which Jack?” I asked.

“Hearts, man. He always has the best stuff to deliver.”

I looked around the shop for a bit. Mick ran a tight shop, which was why he’d never been caught. That and the fact that, unlike the fucking Cartels, he had respect for those with power here. I perused his weapons selection and noticed a new knife that I liked. It was black with an easy flip blade and utility edge.

“Here we go. Some good shit for my main man. Ah, you like the new blade, huh?” he asked, noticing that I was staring at it with a genuine smile that was rare for me.

“Yeah. It’s very nice. How much?”

“For you, it’s on the house. I have to make sure that my customers are always happy.” He handed me my bag and unlocked the knife cabinet. “It’s a good blade and it can’t get traced back. I don’t actually own it. Joker gave it to me.” Joker was a big brute of a man, ex-Army Ranger and all that shit.

“Explains a lot. So what did you give me? California or Afghan?” It better be Afghan. He knows that’s my favorite.

“Afghan, of course! C’mon. What do you take me for? I’m not a street dealer. I actually appreciate my customers.” He knew me well.

“Good, man. Hey, I have to go. Having coffee with a girl. Wish me luck if you want.” I turned to leave but remembered something. “Oh, yeah. Mick.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m meeting with Mrs. Nugent tomorrow. Have Tim send me some info on her.”

“Yes, boss.” He turned and grabbed a burner phone as I walked out.

I looked down at my phone and put the bag of pot in my messenger bag. I still had four minutes until she was supposed to get to the café. That meant that I could get her drink for her. I sent her a text asking what type of coffee she wanted as I made my way back up the street towards Corner Street Café.

Just as I reached the door to the café, she sent me a response. “You don’t need to buy mine. I’ll get it. Thanks though. Just left school. I’ll be there in three.”

I went up to the counter, ordered a black coffee for myself, and gave the barista twenty extra dollars to make sure that I paid for Claire’s drink. I told her my name and Claire’s name. She made my black coffee and handed to me. I headed towards a table while sipping on my coffee.

“Chris, hey!” Claire came in as I was sitting down. “Good, you didn’t get me a random coffee,” she said as she turned to the counter and ordered her drink.

She told the barista her name and tried to pay, but the barista informed her that I’d already paid ahead. Claire shot me a dirty look over her shoulder and tipped the barista. After getting her drink, Claire came to the table and took the seat next to me rather than in front of me.

“I told you not to pay for my drink, Chris.”

“What can I say? Chivalry isn’t dead as long as I’m still breathing.” I winked at her and she blushed.

“Fair enough.” She bit her lip as she hesitated to tell me why she’d asked me to coffee.

I took the opportunity to gain the upper hand even further and secure my dominance. “So, what did you want to talk about? Please don’t tell me it’s calculus.” I laughed and looked her dead in the eyes.

“No, it’s not calculus.” She laughed. “But I did want to apologize for what I called you during calculus. It was mean.” She peered at me with her large eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was genuine or just playing me, so I gambled.

“Oh, I don’t know if I can accept your apology, Claire. You did hurt my feelings and they aren’t so easily fixed by simple apologies.” I smiled with my dimples showing. That usually worked and kept me seeming genuine, which was always important.

“If simple apologies won’t work, what will? I feel really bad about it.” She added extra emphasis to the word ‘really.’ She looked me in the eyes, and I knew this had the potential to be very fun. A great way to end a shitty day.

“I don’t know exactly. I tend to wing things until they turn out well in my favor. Maybe if we brainstorm together on how to fix this problem, we might come to a solution.”

Her reaction didn’t change, which alerted me to her attentions. She was trying to trap me, get me to ask her to sleep with me. She wanted to run to all of her friends and tell them how much of a perverted piece of shit I was.

“I’m not sleeping with you, Chris.” Dead-on prediction. “I can’t believe you’d even hint at that. I’m not one of your little sluts.”

So typical, but I respected the game she was playing. She just wasn’t doing it well. She was doing it like every other girl I knew, always judging before they even initiated conversation. Teenagers. I needed to switch everything around. She was pissing me off, which was never smart.

“Why would I sleep with you?” Blunt and hurtful. Good. She deserved it.

“Wha—“

I cut her off before she could finish her first word. “Why would I even want to sleep with you? I have actual standards I like to meet, so next time you try to trap somebody and increase your popularity with your little clique, make sure you can pull it off.”

This time, I got a reaction from her. Tears started building up at the corner of her eyes, and I could practically see the questions in her eyes before she glared at me. She tried to get a word out, but I stopped her again.

“Seriously, what were you thinking? Why would you even propose something like sex when you know I would never say anything like that to you? Not because I don’t like sex, but because it’s you.”

This implication that I didn’t find her desirable must hurt even more because she was getting choked up.

I continued. “You’re too boring. Dull, flat, and predictable. Not worth my time to even pursue sex. Stop wasting my time.”

She looked horrible now, almost on the verge of breaking down.

“What were you thinking?” This time, I allowed her to respond, but she didn’t get much out. 

“I-I don’t know.” She just stared down at the floor and tried to stop herself from crying.

I didn’t feel bad about what I’d done. She deserved it and more. I didn’t show mercy to those who tried to attack me or my friends.

I was about to go in for the kill when she looked up at me with tears in her pretty, green eyes and said, “I’m sorry for trying to do this to you. I really am.” At that, she broke down and started crying. I had no choice but to take her in my arms.

“Claire, it’s okay. You’re not the first girl to try to hurt me. Or use me for that matter.”

The tears still streamed down her cheeks and doubt clouded her eyes as she peered at me like she was searching for answers. “I’m boring? I’m not worth anyone’s time?” These questions were genuine. She was done playing games.

“From what I can tell, yes, you are boring. But I can only say that you’re not worth my time. I don’t know about anyone else. Why did you try to pull this on me?”

“Sara told me to…”

Bingo. Sara, my ex-girlfriend from last year, had been trying to undermine me for a while now. She was an overemotional, overdramatic bitch who wanted nothing else but to be the center of attention, and anyone else who was different from her could go to hell. I was surprised that Claire friends with her. I would have thought that Claire would threaten Sara with her looks.

“You’re friends with Sara?” I honestly didn’t know if she was or not. Sara wasn’t a traditional popular girl. She was a thespian, and she controlled the theatre department with an iron fist.

“Yes, I am. We met, like, six times before Tristan’s party.”

I never really bothered to learn who Sara’s friends were.

“My bad, Claire. We should leave. School is almost over and you don’t want people seeing you like this. Let’s get you to your car.” I might have been a ruthless psychopath, but I did have a soft side every now and then. We went to her car and I rubbed a tear off her cheek. “You’re okay. Trust me. My opinion changes. Just not very often.”

“Can I change your opinion now? Do you want to go somewhere where it’s only you and me?”

Wow. Just wow.

“No, Claire. You just tried to catch me on saying, ‘Let’s have sex.’ I’m not going to sleep with you.”

She drove off and left me alone at the café. I went back inside and finished off my coffee. The barista came over and sat next to me. She was cute, looked to be in her early twenties, and had blond hair and blue eyes.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just dealing with average teenage girl stuff, you know?” I laughed and checked her out. She was very attractive.

“I’m Christine. And you?”

“Christopher. We have similar names, Christine. I hope you don’t mind sharing that similarity with me.”

We locked eyes for a second. Then she shifted her gaze.

“How old are you, Christopher?” she asked.

“I’m eighteen, you? And please call me Chris. All my friends do.”

Her eyebrows raised over narrowed eyes at my response. “Twenty-one. Chris, you look old for your age.”

“And you look perfect for your age. What’s your point?”

She laughed and continued. “Smooth, smooth. Why don’t you come back to my place? I need a lift home anyways. My friend gets off after I do and she was going to take me home. My car’s in the shop.”

“That sounds great.”

We got up and headed to my car outside. When I stopped at my Corvette, she laughed.

“Seriously, where’s your car?” she asked.

I clicked the unlock button and winked at her.

Her eyes widened in response. “Some kind of eighteen-year-old,” she said as she got in.

“This car is my baby,” I said while smiling. “Now, where’s your place?”