Psycho Ex Boyfriend (Standalone New Adult Romance) (The Alpha Brotherhood Book 2) (4 page)

“It’s more like a horror movie.”

“No, fairy tales were
super
messed up way back when. The little mermaid got her tongue cut out and disintegrated into sea foam when the prince married someone else.”

Demi is always full of fun facts. “Damn.”

“See, it could be worse.”

“Well, it isn’t over yet.”

“It’s over whenever you want it to be over, Sabrina. He’s not some sweet little boy anymore.”

The problem is, I don’t want it to be over. I need the bullshit to end, sure, but the last thing I want is for Adam to leave the picture completely. Losing the sex alone would eventually drive me to the psych ward. And he is still sweet, on the inside, even when he doesn’t want to be. So sweet.

I can say that aloud and look like the idiot I probably am or I can nod, smile, and start looking at potential drawings with my business partner. I obviously choose the latter.

When we’re done, I don’t know what to do with myself. I send him a quick text, just an emoji of a pair of kissing red lips in hopes that the promise of sex will lure him back. If he’s actually been celibate for the last week and a half, there’s a good chance it will.

After twenty minutes of staring at my phone, I just can’t take it anymore. There’s nothing going on at the office and the last place I want to be is waiting at home. So I decide to take a drive back in time, somewhere I haven’t been in years. The kids are all out of school, it should be empty. Maybe I’ll even go crazy enough to sneak inside.

Sabrina

Age 15

“So I guess I’ll look for
you
after school?” I ask my nanny while staring out the car window at the lawn full of uniformed students I’ll soon be joining.

“Your mother might be feeling better by then,” Heather answers.

“Mmhmm.” I look back at her skeptically, my eyes starting to roll before I catch myself and sit up straight.

“She can’t help that she gets migraines, Sabrina.”

Migraines. Sounds more sophisticated than a hangover. What a crock of shit. “She could, I dunno, maybe try
not
drinking seven glasses of wine every night. Or at least not the night before her daughter’s first day of kindergarten.”

Heather barely glances at me as she pulls up to the curb, saying nothing because it’s completely true, but she can’t speak ill against her boss without repercussions. She’ll never know what I’ll repeat, and isn’t sure how much my mother trusts me. Heather doesn’t even know if I’m a good kid and I can’t tell if she really cares. This should be an interesting power dynamic. New school, new nanny, new life.

“If for some reason you actually manage to get mom out of bed, please make sure she picks Sun up first, not me,” I insist. “
I
can wait for a little while. I’m not five years old and terrified.”

“Sun wasn’t terrified.”

“Mmhmm.”

Heather raises her eyebrows. I shouldn’t push her. I haven’t seen her tough side yet. The last thing I need is an actual power struggle. Life will be much easier if Heather likes me and believes everything that I say. Based on how long Mother searched for this crucial formative presence for this new stage in our lives, she’ll probably be around for a while. 

And my little sister was a trooper, not that I’ll admit it aloud. Sun didn’t seem scared at all, she was actually excited. Disappointed by her lack of parental support I’m sure, but at least I was there to hold her hand and walk her to the door. Mother will absolutely adore the candid pictures to hang on her wall. Better than being there.

“
You
have a good first day of high school,” my current surrogate mother says, encouraging me as best she can for someone who barely knows me.

“Thanks.” My heart starts pounding as I climb out of the car, reminding me that I’m not quite as brave as my sister. “Here goes.”

I scan the crowd for a familiar face, or at least one that’s the same color as mine. A group of three girls fall silent as they pass me on the lawn, one of them shooting me a sideways glance. I spot a biracial kid walking with his friends and give him a tiny smile, but he doesn’t return the favor, instead elbowing the boy next to him in the side. The mock fight that follows seems to occur just to inform me that he fits in, that he belongs here. Too bad I don’t have a white half to make friends.

Stop it
. Throwing myself an inner pity party isn’t going to help. I made friends at my old school easy enough. If any of them were here, I’d also be in a tight knit group checking out our new surroundings just like these kids are. It’s not like they all just met this morning. It’s the first day at a school none of us have been to, but I’m definitely still the new kid in town.

Holding my head high, but not too high, I try to keep my expression on the friendly side of neutral as I walk up the grass hill to the sidewalk. I just want to get to my homeroom, even if we do have another twenty minutes. It’s a lot easier to start a conversation while seated next to someone than it is by wandering up to a group of girls who’ve known each other for years.

“Ooo,” one such girl behind me coos. “I wonder whose Daddy sent them to school in an Escalade stretch limo.”

“No way!” her friend replies. “I bet its Jocelyn Bennet. She’s so spoiled.”

“She’s also standing right over there,” another girl laughs.

“Okay, then, who is it?”

I just can’t resist the urge to turn around and look. I thought over-the-top competitive displays of wealth were frowned upon here, that’s one of the reasons my father liked this school. But sure enough, there’s a black Cadillac monstrosity sitting right there, tinted windows gleaming in the morning sun, captivating all the envious students around me as we wait for the most adored and privileged of our classmates to emerge. The driver gets out, removes his hat, and holds the rear door open for the prince or princess who everyone will be talking about this week.

It’s a prince. Tall and broad shouldered with short, light hair and an arrogant grin to match his ride. Figures.

“Who is that?” one of the dumbstruck girls asks her friend.

I should stick around to hear his name, just so I know who to avoid. He’ll blend in with all the other boys once he’s in the crowd.

“I’ve never seen him before,” her friend answers.

No matter. Sure that I’ll steer clear of every jerk that looks like that guy anyway, I turn around and take a few steps up the stairs.

“Oh, my God. Who is
that?”

Get over it already.

“And
that
?”

“How many of them are there?”

“Do you think they’re brothers?”

Okay, now I have to look. With a sigh, I turn around to see the spectacle for myself and instantly understand what all the fuss is about.

The princes just keep coming, tumbling out of the limo one after another. The first boy is now flanked closely by two others, huddling together as if they’re planning something. How to take over the school, probably. Another pair leans casually against the limo, appearing unaffected by all the stares and speculations.

Then a smaller, skinnier prince pops out. Maybe he’s the runt of the litter, which makes him roughly the size of a normal freshman. His shaggy, nearly black hair and wide eyes rimmed by glasses closely matches my inner vision of Harry Potter. The three boys behind him exit in quick succession, practically falling out of the car in a heap. One of them tumbles forward and lands with his arm slung around the little guy’s neck, ruffling his hair playfully.

A series of inappropriate comments and adorations erupts from every group of girls surrounding me, remarks that I’ve been inwardly judging as immature and overly flattering. But that guy is as gorgeous as everyone is saying. The tallest one of the bunch with cropped brown hair and tanned skin, complete with stubble that could probably grow into an actual beard. And he has a killer smile, the charming kind that makes a boy look nice even though he’s probably not.

Then I see the last prince emerge from the chariot and my heart sputters in my chest. His face is virtually expressionless, but the lack of emotion makes it easier to enjoy the flawless symmetry of his chiseled features. Narrow brown eyes, exceptionally dark, even from this distance. A mouth that seems fixed in place as if it never smiles. Impeccably styled blond hair, the top longer and more fashionable than one would expect for somebody with such a serious demeanor. Perhaps he keeps it long to show off the color. Those perfect, subtle, maybe even natural highlights that reflect the sun.

Did I just allow myself to swoon over a guy? A guy like that? Geez. Time to get inside the school already. But I can’t get my head to turn away, let alone convince my feet to start walking. The driver closes the door and I start counting the princes. Ten. They can’t be brothers. None of them look particularly alike and they’re all around the same age.

The first prince to grace the school with his presence still commands attention as he moves further onto the lawn before the others. With a laugh, his fist flies toward the little one with the glasses. The boy flinches, dropping his bag from his shoulder. At first I think it was from the fright, but in a flash he’s lunging at his would be attacker with a look of pure hatred on his face.

The tallest guy with the easygoing smile stops the fight by grabbing Harry Potter by both arms and dragging him backwards as he shouts an obscenity. The troublemaker throws another mock punch and laughs along with some of the others. Unamused, the expressionless Blond Wonder steps in the center of the conflict, his head cocked to the side as he folds his arms across his chest.

Those two clearly don’t get along. Blondie’s defensive posture knocks the smile off his counterpart’s face. Standing eye to eye, their similarities are obvious. Light hair, serious faces, same height and build, actually quite an impressive build for a couple of freshmen. I’ve read about this in biology. Competition inevitably arises when two equally matched organisms occupy the same niche. There’s only room for one predator at the top of the pyramid.

Unless perhaps there are two separate hierarchies in this strange group of unrelated and unusually attractive male primates. The standoff ends with two false smile mirroring each other and then the bunch splits in half to go their separate ways.

Everyone around me is speculating about who they are and checking with other kids to see if anyone knows the scoop. It appears to be a mystery. A part of me clings to the idea that I’m too mature for this nonsense and pretends that I’m not just as curious as everyone else. The rest of me reluctantly admits that I am intrigued. I try to ignore the origin of my interest, but my heart starts beating faster and faster as they begin climbing the stairs, approaching me.

The students part to let them through and I get out of the way with the rest of the commoners. The tallest one flashes that megawatt smile, exchanging flirtatious glances with the gaping girls around him, inspiring a chorus of giggling. My cheeks would probably flush as much as anyone else’s if one of those smiles was directed at me, but none of them are. But I’m not disappointed, my attention fixed on the Blond Wonder at the rear of the group, stoically surveying the crowd.

His eye passes over me once, but then his head turns back and his gaze meets mine, lingering as every muscle in my body tenses and my mouth goes dry. A shiver runs up the length of my spine. It takes me a moment to process the response as what it is. Recognition. My pulse spikes and I waver on my feet, resisting the urge to turn around and give in to the sickening sensation that someone is walking up from behind me.

It’s just a coincidence, it has to be. A trick of the mind on a stressful day. I try to ignore the disturbing reaction and start heading to homeroom, but it won’t leave me alone. The weight in my stomach gets heavier, distracting me from the expected anxiety of my first class of high school. I’ve all but shaken it off by the time I get to second period and find that the two rival princes are in the course with me.

The teacher strokes his graying beard, staring at the unusual boys as all the rest of the students file in. “Adam Donovan,” he eventually says, standing in front of the first desk in the second row.

“Present.”

Adam. It’s exactly the name I’m expecting to hear, yet can’t believe that I’ve heard. It doesn’t become official until the instructor calls out my own name as he’s seating the final row of students. Adam stiffens up, barely turning his head in my direction. My lips curl into a tiny smile as he glances at me, but his face remains cold and distant.

Maybe he doesn’t remember me, or doesn’t want to. I should probably forget him, too.

********

I flop down on a bench, grateful that the school day is already halfway over. Now that the teachers have started assigning homework, I’m beginning to wonder if my course load will be overwhelming. Perhaps I should have taken an easy elective like art or theatre. But I want to graduate early, I have to stick to a strict schedule to get enough of the required credits and then some so I don’t look like a shortcut taker on college applications. No one gets ahead by taking the easy road.

I was lucky enough to take a year of French in eighth grade, so I got to start with French II and all the extra homework that comes with it. Flipping my text book open, I skim through the pages and wonder if I remember even half of what I learned last year. Maybe I should just read a few chapters of
The Bell Jar
, though if I wanted to watch someone lose their mind during an absurd series of quests to lose their virginity, I could have gone to the cafeteria to eavesdrop instead of coming outside. Not to mention I’ve already read every word Sylvia Plath ever wrote over the past two summers under the tutelage of Mother’s prior little helper, Martha, otherwise known as the Supernanny from Hell. I think she was hoping to get revenge by turning me into a black-eyeliner-wearing malcontent whose shameful behavior embarrasses her mother.

A breeze picks up, inspiring me to take a deep breath and look up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. It sure doesn’t feel like summer is over. It’s so warm I’m glad this school forces the girls to wear these outdated, hideous plaid skirts.

“Are you who I think you are?”

I jerk away from the unfamiliar voice, slamming my book closed. Adam sits on the bench behind me with his back to mine, just a little bit to my left. He’s staring directly ahead, almost like he’s unaware of my presence.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he continues.

He is speaking to me, right? Or does he have a contraband cell phone that I can’t see? I’m too nervous to say anything, convinced that he’d have sat next to me if he actually wanted to talk. I bend one leg to shift my body sideways, allowing me to subtly look in his direction.