“I don’t need your money,” I stuttered, my womb tingling with fuzzy warmth. His mesmerizing eyes widened, and he flashed me a dimpled smirk. How can someone so young be so arrogant and self-assured?

“It’s not money I’m going to give you.”

I felt his thumb brushing across my stomach from side to side, barely touching, teasing, making me quiver through the thin fabric of my dress.

It was like he’d shoved his whole fist into me and attacked my mouth with his. I licked my lips and blinked, astonished.

Holy shit.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Jaime Followhill was hitting on me. Bluntly. In the parking lot. In plain sight. I guess I wasn’t a troll. I still had a dancer’s body after all, green eyes, a nice California tan and soft chestnut curls. But I didn’t exactly give the cheerleading crowd a run for their money.

Tripping back, I swallowed a groan, feeling my pulse everywhere, eyelids included.

“That’s enough, James. Drive safely and please be sure to do your homework for tomorrow,” I had the audacity to say before I tucked myself back into my Ford.

I accidentally bumped into the Range Rover one more time before I fled the scene, smearing the ugly bump into a full-blown white scratch across its right side. From the rearview mirror, I watched as he cocked his eyebrows at me in a challenge.

I drove so fast, I swear my curls transformed into a dramatic blow-out by the time I parked under my building.

At home, I slouched on my couch in front of my phone and waited for Principal Followhill to call and tell me she was firing my ass and suing me for every single penny that I (didn’t) have.

Long hours passed, but the call never came. I crawled into bed and closed my eyes at 10 p.m. but couldn’t sleep to save my life. All I thought about was that gorgeous asshole, Jaime Followhill.

How he smelled like the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

How he looked like the most delicious thing in the world when he rubbed his tan six-pack.

How he helped me out of a shitty situation without flinching, knowing that I’d have probably gotten clubbed for this by his mother…and now he wanted something back.

On paper, he was still a kid, but every other part of him felt like a man this afternoon.

It was unwarranted, almost infuriating when I thought about it.

This morning, I woke up with the impression that I hated the Followhills.

But after this afternoon, there was no denying it—there was at least one Followhill I wanted to get very friendly with.

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