I follow along behind him, noting that the students at least pretend to avert their gazes. They're afraid of Havoc, same as everyone else. The only kids from Fuller willing to stand up to the Havoc Boys are the players of the varsity football team. Their turf wars last year were epic.

Hael swaggers up the curb and pauses to hold open the door to the shop for me, pretending to cringe slightly when I give him a look.

“Right, you don't like gentlemen,” he says, leaning forward and letting his hot breath tease the shell of my ear. “But don't worry: I'm more than happy for you to suck my dick on campus again.” I elbow past him with Callum following behind. He makes a straight beeline to the counter for coffee and pastries.

Me, I find myself staring across a crowded room at what can be the one and only Brittany.

She's sitting there with long, dark hair shimmering over her shoulders, skull patterned tights, and a plaid miniskirt.

I'm so beyond confused.

But I know it's her by the way Hael's staring, his eyes narrowed, mouth pursed into a thin line.

“She's more nuanced than I expected,” I admit, and Hael coughs out a harsh laugh.

“It's almost Halloween, Bernadette,” he says, and then he starts off across the café, pausing in front of her and not bothering to take a seat. I could make myself scarce, join Callum at the counter, but it's more fun if I follow.

“I'm here. What do you want?” Hael asks, and Brittany snaps the PopSocket on her phone in, looking past him and over to me.

“Who's this?” she asks, her voice a harsh clip as she looks me over with dark brown eyes, clearly not all that impressed. “Are you off to the Halloween party tonight, too, then?”

“Everyday is Halloween for me,” I retort, enjoying the way her face crinkles up. I used to want to be like her, this beautiful, untouchable goddess among teens. I think most little girls entertain that thought at some point or another, the wish to be popular, to fit in but still stand out.

Havoc broke me of that.

The world broke me of that.

“I'm not talking to you with your new plaything in tow,” Brittany spits back, and I have to curl my hands into fists to control my temper. Her use of the word of plaything better just be a coincidence. If I find out that Hael told her anything about my deal with Havoc …

He slams one of his tattooed hands palm-down on the table, his usually cocky expression dead-serious.

“Do not talk about or to Bernadette. You hear me? I'll fucking destroy everything you hold dear, starting with that perfect relationship you have to dear old daddy.” Brittany's beautiful face cracks into a million pieces at his statement, and her eyes flame as she flicks her gaze over to me again.

Hael notices the path Brittany’s attention takes and a cruel smirk curves across his lips. One of his inked hands slides around the curve of my waist to rest against my lower back, pulling me in so that his hot, hard body is pressed up against mine. With practiced ease, he cups my chin with the tattooed fingers of his other hand and lifts my face for a kiss.

His tongue practically sizzles as it slides between my lips, taking over the empty space that Vic left, making all those shiny new emotions inside of me sparkle like diamonds. Heat races through me, curling low in my belly, making my already sore insides throb and ache for more.

As quick as it happened, it’s over and Hael is stepping back. He grins as he releases me, but that, too, fades as he flicks a look back at Brittany and frowns.

“You have two minutes starting now. What do you want?”

Now that I’m satisfied that Brittany—who the hell knows what her last name is—looks properly homicidal, I decide to give Hael some space. Because you can’t fucking stand watching her look at him, huh, Bernadette? I grit my teeth.

“Got you a coffee,” Cal says, and I turn around to find him pointing at the only free table in the entire place. There are three coffees waiting, three pastries. I decide I truly don't care enough about Brittany to stick around and listen to her BS on Hael. Instead, I join Callum at his table.

But on the inside … yeah, my stomach is churning, and my gaze keeps flicking back to them. I just feel anxious, and I can't figure out why. Maybe when Vic mentioned speaking the truth, he didn’t just mean to other people—he probably also meant to myself.

“Don't worry about them,” Cal says, splitting his croissant in half and looking over at me with bright, blue eyes. “Hael is done with Brittany for good.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, and he shrugs. The tattoos on his right arm are so eye catching, I find myself staring at them instead of his face. He's got these black ribbons twisted around his muscles, the shine and linework on them so crisp that they look real. The ribbons lead to a broken girl lying in a heap in a spotlight. I can't see her face, but her blond hair cascades around it in a curtain, the detail so fine I feel like I could reach out and touch it.

“She cheated on him with one of the Fuller football boys. There's nobody Hael hates more.” Callum's voice is low and rough, but in a pleasant sort of way, this husky darkness that traces like velvet across my skin. Curiosity is going to get this kitty killed because I’m dying to know the real story behind Cal’s scars. “They've cheated on each other before, but this is like, last straw shit for him.”

I focus on my coffee and let my eyes wander the crowd, taking in the designer labels, the fancy diamond tennis bracelets, and the think-their-shit-don't stink VSCO girls with their stupid ass Save the Turtles metal water bottles, hair scrunchies, and vacuous facial expressions. If you don't know what a VSCO girl is, Google it. Maybe you'll be as disturbed as I am, having to look at them with their fair-trade coffees in their biodegradable cups. Guess they can save the world with paper straws while still driving gas-guzzling cars, using makeup tested on animals, and calling me an asshole for smoking. Good on them.

“How did he even meet Brittany?” I ask, running my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. “I thought Fuller and Prescott were rival enemies to the bitter end.”

“On the spring break trip last year,” Callum says, eyes darting around the room, taking note of anyone who looks like they might have balls or ovaries big enough to pick a fight with us. We are very clearly the outliers here, dirty Prescott High trash daring to mix with the Fuller elite. They think of themselves as savage royals, but they're nothing but petty cowards and liars. “Prescott High stays on one side of the lake, Fuller on the other. I guess Hael and Brittany got drunk and stumbled on one another.” Cal shrugs his shoulders again, dismantling his entire croissant before he eats it.

I take a sip of my coffee, and I'm pleased to discover that it tastes like dirty dishwater. On the other side of the tracks, in this crappy hole-in-the-wall that uses Styrofoam cups (sorry turtles, I want to save the environment, too, but sometimes socio-economic problems get in the way), that has coffee a hundred times better than this hipster hellhole.

“Brittany's using him to get back at her father,” Callum continues, realizing that Hael's not likely to want his food, seeing as he's white-knuckled, face pale, jaw clenched and shaking over there. Fortunately, Cal takes care of this for him, once again dismantling the croissant before eating it.