Page 52 of The Darkest Note

Dutch wasn’t trying to rescue me. He was just keeping other bullies from tearing into me so he can do it himself. The motives basically cancel the result.

Students move out of Dutch’s way as he leaves the cafeteria. The jock scrambles in the opposite direction. His football friends, all looking embarrassed, shuffle behind him.

I stand alone, surrounded by everyone’s stares. Once again, I’m the freakshow of Redwood Prep.

With a huff, I toss the rest of my lunch into the trash and storm after Dutch. The door crashes behind me, but when I look left and right, Dutch is nowhere in sight.

Determined, I choose a path and start running. The more I think about what just happened, the more incensed I become.

How dare he ‘claim’ me in front of the entire school? Do I look like a toy? Do I look like his plaything…

My riotous thoughts come to a screeching halt when I round the bend and spot a sensory spectacle.

Time seems to slow as Dutch Cross strips his shirt off and pours water from the tap all over his head. The muscles on his back flex and my eyes greedily trace the tattoos over his arm and across his shoulder.

There’s way more ink than I’d guessed. Not that I’d been able to see anything beneath all the sweater vests. But it turns out, Dutch has transformed his body into walking artwork and it’sthe hottestthing I’ve ever seen.

He turns, showing off his equally sexy abs and all I can think about is how dangerous it is to be standing here, alone, with him.

I step back, but it’s too late. He’s caught me. His expression tightens and he stares at me like he can see every dirty thought that flashed through my messed-up head.

I really must be insane if I’m thirsting over the boy who’s made my life at Redwood a living hell.

“Like what you see?” he asks darkly.

At his words, the illusion shatters and I’m back to hating his beautiful, tatted guts.

I drag my eyes away from his body and glare at him. “You ate my sandwich and drank my OJ. You need to pay for it.”

Amusement flickers in his gaze. His lips curl up a second before he coaches his expression back into its natural ‘I don’t give a damn’ state.

Feeling brave, I tip my chin up. “You’ve ruined my textbooks, ruined my practice piano, ruined my favorite teacher’slife. But I willnotlet you ruin lunch for me.”

“What?”

“You ate my sandwich. Am I not talking English?”

He studies me for a long moment in which I begin to second-guess every part of this hacked-together plan.

Then he starts moving.

As Dutch crosses over to me, every ounce of bravery I thought I had evaporates.

I start wheeling back.

Dutch is massive. His body is glorious, sure, but it’s also a weapon. I saw the way he flung that jock in the cafeteria and the other guy wasn’t small. I can’t imagine what he could do to me.

Nerves twisting in my stomach, I raise a hand. “Keep your distance, Cross or—”

The rest of my words are trapped in my throat when Dutch shoots his arms out and traps me against the sink. The small of my back collides with the protruding basin. Moisture seeps into my hip, meeting the surface of my heated skin.

I inch back, but Dutch follows me with his head. He’s so close, so intense. I battle the crazy urge to scrub my hands over his muscles. Heat bursts up my spine, sending a flush to my neck and face.

Dutch narrows his eyes at me. His hair is damp and hanging limp. I watch a drop of water skate down his strong nose to the top of his luscious lips, curving around it the way my tongue is suddenly begging to.

“I make the demands, Brahms.” He leans in a little closer. The pulse in my heart drops to somewhere between my legs. “And I ask the questions.” He tightens his grip on me when I try to squirm away. “Ah-ah, little mouse. You followed me here. You deal with the consequences.”

“Let me go.” I push against him. It’s like trying to move a mountain. A mountain that’s getting me and my clothes wet.