Chapter 2

Little Brunette

Julian’s POV

I can't get that little brunette out of my head.

It's been twenty-four hours since the coffee incident, and I'm still thinking about it. Not because I care about the ruined shirt—Dad's credit card can handle a dozen replacements. It's the way he looked at me afterward that won't leave me alone. Like I was the bad guy. Like I was some kind of monster instead of the victim who got drenched in hot coffee.

The disrespect is eating at me.

I don't let things like that slide. Ever. When you're at the top of the food chain at a place like Blackridge, you stay there by making sure everyone knows their place. And that transfer student clearly doesn't know his.

"You're quiet today," Marcus says, dropping into the seat across from me in the dining hall. "Everything okay?"

I shrug, stabbing at my lunch. Around us, the usual crowd is gathered. It always happens like this—wherever I sit, people follow. It's been that way since freshman year. Being captain of the hockey team, having the Hayes name, looking the way I do... it all adds up to a kind of magnetic pull that draws people in.

"Just thinking," I tell him.

"About what?"

Before I can answer, Jake slides in next to Marcus, followed by Tyler and Sean. My inner circle, complete and ready for whatever entertainment I might provide.

"Did you guys see that new kid yesterday?" Tyler asks, unwrapping his sandwich. "The one who dumped coffee all over Julian?"

My jaw tightens. "He didn't dump it. He crashed into me like he was blind."

"Still," Jake laughs, "watching you stand there soaked was pretty funny."

"Hilarious," I say flatly.

The truth is, it wasn't funny at all. It was embarrassing. And the way that kid looked at me afterward—like he was disappointed in me or something—that made it worse.

Who does he think he is?

I scan the dining hall while my friends talk, looking for him without really meaning to. I want to see him again. I want another chance to put him in his place, to make sure he understands how things work around here.

And then I spot him.

He's sitting alone at a table by the windows, completely focused on a textbook. His dark hair catches the sunlight, and even from here, I can see he's wearing another sad outfit that probably came from some discount store. A plain gray t-shirt that's too big on him and jeans that have seen better days.

Perfect.

"Guys," I say, interrupting whatever Jake was saying. "Look who decided to show his face."

I nod toward the brunette's table, and my friends all turn to look. Marcus grins.

"Oh, this is going to be good."

The thing about having a reputation is that it comes with certain responsibilities. People expect things from you. They expect you to be entertaining, to be confident, to never back down from anything. And right now, they're all looking at me like they're waiting for a show.

I can't disappoint them.

"Come on," I say, standing up. "Let's go say hello."

My chair scrapes against the floor, and several people at nearby tables look up. Good. An audience makes everything better.

I walk across the dining hall with my trademark confidence, the kind of walk that makes people notice. My friends fall in behind me like they always do, ready to follow my lead. I can feel other students watching us, whispers starting to spread through the room.

The transfer student doesn't notice us coming. He's too busy reading whatever boring textbook has captured his attention. Economics, I think. How fitting.

I stop right in front of his table, close enough that my shadow falls across his book.

"Well, well," I say, making sure my voice carries. "If it isn't yesterday's coffee delivery boy."

His head snaps up, and those dark eyes meet mine. For a split second, I see surprise, then recognition, then something that looks like dread.

Good.

"Remember me?" I continue, loud enough for half the dining hall to hear. "You know, the guy you decided to use as target practice yesterday?"

His face starts to turn red, but he doesn't say anything. Just stares at me with those big dark eyes like he's waiting for this to be over.

"What, no apology?" I ask, tilting my head. "No offer to pay for dry cleaning? That's not very civilized behavior."

A few people at nearby tables have turned to watch now. I can hear whispers, see phones being pulled out. Social media at Blackridge moves fast, and everyone loves drama involving me.

"I did apologize," he says quietly, so quietly I have to lean in to hear him.

"Did you?" I pretend to think about it. "Huh. Must not have been very memorable."

Marcus snickers behind me, and I can feel my confidence growing. This is what I'm good at—commanding a room, making people laugh, being the center of attention.

"You know," I continue, gesturing at his outfit, "maybe the problem is that you can't see where you're going because your clothes are too big. Have you considered shopping in the women's section? They might have things that actually fit."

The laughter from my friends is immediate and loud. Other students start laughing too, and I watch the transfer student's face get redder and redder.

But his eyes... his eyes aren't embarrassed anymore. They're angry. Really angry. For a second, I think he might actually stand up and fight back. Part of me almost wants him to. It would be entertaining to see what this little nobody thinks he can do against me.

Instead, he starts packing up his books.

His hands are shaking, I notice. Actually shaking as he shoves his textbook into his backpack. He won't look at me now, won't look at anyone. Just keeps his head down and focuses on getting his stuff together.

"Leaving so soon?" I ask. "We were just getting acquainted."

He stands up without saying a word, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. For just a moment, his eyes meet mine again, and there's something in them that I don't expect. Not fear or embarrassment.

Disappointment.

He walks away without looking back, and I watch him go, surrounded by the laughter and approval of my friends and half the dining hall.

"Damn, Julian," Jake says, clapping me on the shoulder. "That was brutal."

"Poor kid looked like he was about to cry," Tyler adds, grinning.

They're all looking at me like I just won some kind of victory, like I've proven something important. But as I watch the transfer student disappear through the dining hall doors, I feel... empty. Hollow.

Like I've won something that wasn't worth winning.

"Come on," I say, pushing the feeling down. "Let's get back to lunch."

We return to our table, and the conversation quickly moves on to other things. Hockey practice, weekend plans, and a girl Jake's been trying to ask out. Normal stuff.

But I keep glancing toward the windows where the brunette was sitting, and I can't shake the image of his hands shaking as he packed up his books.

Later that evening, I'm in my dorm room trying to focus on homework when my phone buzzes.

Dad: School bonding party this Saturday at the Morrison house. Make sure the whole team shows up. Good for morale.

I stare at the text for a minute, thinking. A party means the whole student body will probably show up. Rich kids at Blackridge never pass up a chance to drink expensive alcohol and show off their clothes.

Which means the transfer student might be there.

The thought should annoy me, but instead I find myself wondering if he'll come. If he has the guts to show his face after today's humiliation. Part of me hopes he will.

Another chance to put him in his place wouldn't go amiss.

I text Dad back: Got it. Will spread the word.

But even as I send the message, I can't stop thinking about those dark eyes and the way they looked at me like I was something disappointing.

Like I was less than what he expected me to be.

The feeling bothers me more than it should.