CHAPTER 7

Carlotta's POV

The shock of Paxton's kiss slowly faded, leaving me feeling raw and exposed in the middle of the bustling cafeteria. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my lips still tingling from the unexpected contact.

What the hell was that? I thought, anger starting to replace the confusion that had frozen me in place.

I was about to give him a piece of my mind when I noticed something that made me pause. His shoulders, which had been squared and confident moments before, now seemed to slump slightly. There was something almost... vulnerable about the way he was standing now that Gabriel was gone.

Paxton turned to face me, his blue eyes searching my face with what looked like genuine concern. "Are you okay?"

That was it? No explanation for the kiss? No apology? Just a casual question like he hadn't just turned my world upside down in front of half the school?

"Am I okay?" I repeated, my voice tight with controlled anger. "You just kissed me without asking, used me to make some point to Gabriel, and you want to know if I'm okay?"

"That's not what I—" he started, then stopped himself. "Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped. But Gabriel was about to put his hands on you, and he doesn't take no for an answer."

At least he's acknowledging it, I thought, though I was still furious about the whole situation.

"I'm fine," I said stiffly, crossing my arms over my chest. "But next time, maybe ask before you decide to claim someone as your property."

"I didn't claim you as my property," Paxton said, running a hand through his sandy hair. "I just... I wanted to help."

"By kissing me?"

"By making Gabriel back off," he said firmly. "Trust me, you don't want his kind of attention."

I studied his face, trying to read the expression there. He seemed sincere, but I was still angry about being used as a pawn in whatever game these two were playing.

"What's your name?" Paxton asked suddenly, changing the subject.

"Carlotta," I said. "Carlotta Russo."

"I'm Paxton," he said, extending his hand for a handshake like we were meeting for the first time. "PaxtonWolfe."

I took his hand reluctantly, noting how warm and calloused it was. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

As we shook hands, I remembered something Gabriel had said during their confrontation. "He mentioned a racetrack," I said, studying Paxton's face. "Gabriel challenged you to meet him at a racetrack tonight."

Paxton's expression immediately closed off, his casual demeanor shifting to something more guarded. "Yeah, he did."

"When is it happening?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of my anger.

"It's not your concern," Paxton said dismissively.

"Could I participate?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Paxton actually scoffed at that, and the sound hit me like a slap. The look he gave me was exactly the same one Papa used to give me when I'd ask about the motorcycles in his garage - a mixture of amusement and condescension that made my blood boil.

Here we go again, I thought bitterly. Another man telling me what I can and can't do.

"You want to participate?" he asked, his tone making it clear he thought the idea was ridiculous.

"Yes," I said, lifting my chin defiantly. "I do."

"Carlotta, you don't understand what you're asking," Paxton said, shaking his head. "This isn't some game."

"I never said it was a game," I shot back, my anger flaring. "I asked a simple question."

"And I gave you a simple answer," he replied. "It's not happening. You don't need to know about it, and it's not any of your concern."

Just like Papa, I thought, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. Dismissing me before even hearing what I have to say.

"Why?" I demanded. "Give me one good reason why I can't participate."

Paxton shifted uncomfortably, and for a moment he seemed to struggle with his words. "Because... because it's illegal, okay? If you got caught, I wouldn't be able to bail you out."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Is that your only reason?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is the only reason you don't want me there because it's illegal? Or is there something else?"

Paxton's jaw tightened, and I could see him wrestling with something internal. "It's dangerous," he said finally. "People get hurt. People who don't know what they're doing get hurt badly."

"So you think I don't know what I'm doing?" I asked, though I could hear the edge in my own voice.

"I think you're a freshman who's never been on a motorcycle in her life," he said bluntly.

Wrong, I thought, but I didn't correct him. Let him think what he wanted.

"And I think," he continued, "that you have no idea what kind of world you're asking to be part of."

"Maybe I want to find out," I said quietly.

"No," Paxton said firmly. "You don't."

The finality in his voice sparked something rebellious in my chest. "You don't get to decide what I want."

"In this case, yes, I do," he said, his blue eyes flashing with something that looked almost like anger. "Because I'm the one who would have to scrape you off the pavement when you inevitably crash."

Inevitably crash. The words stung more than they should have, mostly because they sounded so much like things Papa used to say.

"You know what?" I said, stepping back from him. "Forget I asked. I don't need your permission for anything."

"Carlotta—"

"No," I interrupted. "You've made your position very clear. I'm just some helpless freshman who couldn't possibly handle herself in your big, scary world of illegal racing."

Paxton's expression softened slightly. "That's not what I meant."

"That's exactly what you meant," I said, my voice tight with hurt and anger.

He sighed and looked around the cafeteria, which was starting to empty as students headed back to class. "Look, just... stay away from the queen bees until they find some new soul to bully, okay? Madison and her crew will lose interest in you eventually if you don't give them a reason to keep targeting you."

"Is that your expert advice?" I asked sarcastically.

"It's the voice of experience," he said seriously. "I've seen what they can do to people."

"And what about Gabriel?"

"Gabriel won't bother you again after tonight," Paxton said with a confidence that made me believe him.

"Because you're going to race him?"

"Because I'm going to beat him," he corrected. "There's a difference."

I wanted to ask more questions, wanted to understand what this rivalry was really about, but the warning bell for next period rang, cutting our conversation short.

"I have to get to class," I said, picking up my mostly untouched lunch tray.

"Carlotta," Paxton called as I started to walk away.

I turned back to him, hoping maybe he'd changed his mind about the race, or at least about explaining things to me.

"Be careful, okay?" he said. "This school is more complicated than it seems."

"I'm starting to figure that out," I said, and walked away before he could say anything else.