“I thought you weren’t attracted to me!”
“I wasn’t,” he agreed. His response was almost automatic, and the tone of his voice was leveled, meaning he didn’t even think twice about what he said, and I didn’t know why I wanted to hit him in the face at the moment.
I cast my disappointment aside and tried to keep a straight face. I’d deal with my feelings later. Right now, he cannot suspect that I was feeling even a little bit fond of him!
“Then why would you even suggest a kiss as a punishment to get even with me when I hit you?” I asked, keeping my voice as cool as possible.
Nick shrugged. “You said I’m Nicholas Atkins, and according to you, I’m interested in every girl I meet. And you just called yourself a girl. I mean, you’re unlike any of the girls I’ve dated before. I usually go for tall, curvy babes with long legs and supermodel looks. The chances of us ever getting together are from nil to a maximum of five percent. Kissing was probably the worst thing that we could do with each other. I’m just giving you the motivation to stop hitting me.” He gave me an innocent smile after that.
I knew he was joking, trying to get on my nerves, but I still couldn’t help getting mad at what he said. I was actually hurt, and I wasn’t sure why.
Many of the words he just said stung me now, when a few months ago, I would probably say them before he did. I would probably even vomit right on his precious parquet floor for added emphasis. But now, I felt heat behind my eyes, and I fought to keep a steady face in front of him.
I took a step back and gave him a haughty expression.
“Okay, I will try to restrain myself from hitting you because being kissed by a guy is totally gross!” I said. “Besides, you’re not even that gorgeous!” With that, I turned on my heel and left him.
I was really pissed. Nick was just joking, and he was absolutely right when he said that our chances of being together were non-existent because he only went after girls who were supermodel hot. With his looks and wits, he was most likely to score one every time.
Why would I even think he’d look at me twice? I was different, and I was weird. I didn’t have half the curves he was looking for in a woman. Why did I ever think he’d fancy me just because we’ve been living under the same roof for three days?
Nick was just protective and caring by nature. I was a charity case he couldn’t resist taking under his wing. When did I start confusing his intentions? Moreover, when did I start liking his attention?
I stood outside his car and refused to talk to him or look at him. For the past three days, he’d known me as Mackenzie Belle Clarke. I even allowed him to call me ‘kitten.’ But when he tried to reach for the handle to open the car door for me, I reached for it before he could, not giving him a chance to show me an inch of chivalry. As I sat quietly in the passenger seat, there was no mistake that I was back to who I was before. Who I really was. Who I was supposed to be.
“Are you okay, Mackenzie Belle?” I sensed a hint of affection in his voice as we neared my university. I didn’t answer. When he parked in front of the campus, he was about to get down and open the door for me.
“Don’t bother,” I said quickly. Then as I got out, I raised a brow at him and said, “Do not call me Mackenzie Belle. My name is Ken Clarke!” Then I slammed the door behind me, not bothering to look back.
What was I thinking? When did this start? Nick practically said that I was not his type and would never be. Why did that piss me off? When did the idea of Nick scoring a hotter girl make me want to punch something?
I’ve never even felt like this with Jen’s previous suitors. With Jen, I felt the need to protect her. With Nick, I began believing that I needed somebody to protect me for a change.
How the hell did he manage to break down the beliefs I built for years in just three days?
I went through my three classes. People were looking at me. Yep, I was dressed a little less sophisticatedly, with clothes that didn’t carry a designer tag on them. My hair was almost invisible under Nick’s cap, and they couldn’t see my eyes. I was supposed to look ordinary, but I’d never felt so visible before, as though I’d grown an extra head.
“Could you please take off your cap and sunglasses while you’re in class, Ms. Clarke?” one of my professors ordered.
I obeyed without an argument. My hair was brushed up over my head, so without the glasses and cap, my bruise was in plain sight. I heard people whispering to each other like a group of buzzing bees.
Mind your own business, people!
My eyes met with a familiar-looking girl. I remembered her well. I wondered if she was still with JD Collins after he slept with Jen behind her back. Terry Lakefield was staring at me, most particularly at the bruise on my face. I raised a questioning brow at her. She turned away immediately.
My phone kept ringing. I rejected all of Nick’s calls. I didn’t feel like talking to him. Besides, I was supposed to be in class.
He sent me a text message: “What time will I pick you up?”
I didn’t respond. My thoughts did not go beyond meeting Brett at four today. And to be honest, I wasn’t too excited to see Nicholas Atkins at the moment.
I was out of class as soon as the bell rang. I put the cap and the shades back on and hoped to breeze through the halls unnoticed. Finally, I was in front of the school by four, waiting for Brett to arrive. As soon as his Mustang showed up, I got in.
“Holy mother of crap!” he cursed when he saw my appearance. It was far from the usual Ken Clarke fashion. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” I replied.
“You were in a fight!”
“So?”
“What is happening to you? And why did you move out of your house? Did your ol’ man kick you out? I’ll get my dad to talk to him. My dad loves you. He’ll talk to his brother if it’s for your sake.”
That’s the problem, Brett! Your father loves me. He’ll kill his brother if he found out what he did to his daughter!
“I’m okay. I’m staying with a friend. I’m happier there, Brett,” I insisted.
True. I was happier. Until this morning when he slapped it in my face that I fell short of his standards in women. Now that I remembered it, I couldn’t help feeling pissed off again.
Not his fault, actually. I should be happy with the assurance that even if he held me at night, he didn’t find me attractive enough to fantasize about me. I was safe in his house, even from him. And that should give me more comfort and security. But I couldn’t understand why I felt so bad about it.
“You changed your phone; you changed your residence. Was it really that bad?”
I nodded. “I’m tired of his shit, Brett. You and your dad, of all people, should understand that.”
“But why don’t you stay with us?”
“Because I don’t want to cause more trouble between your dad and my father. Their relationship is strained enough.”
Yes. I didn’t want to add murder into that doomed equation.
“It’s no trouble. You’re family.”
“Please, Brett. Just trust that I’m okay. I’m taken care of where I am.”
“Where are you staying?”
I sighed. “At a friend’s.”
“You don’t have any friends!”
“Jennifer Gracie is hanging out on the school grounds. She just might hear you if you shout that out a little louder,” I said sarcastically.
Brett took a deep breath. When I looked at him, it seemed as if he had given up. He knew me better. He knew he wouldn’t be able to convince me. He reached over the backseat and handed me a bag.
“I took those from your room.”
“Who’s at home?”
“Just the maids. Your father told them it was fine for me to get your stuff. He didn’t seem to care that you were out of the house.”
“I’m sure.” Actually, I thought he was happier I wasn’t going to the police about this.
I went through the bag. Everything that I asked Brett to pick up was there. The jacket that my mom gave me before she died, the dog tag that Isabella always wore, which had my name and my mom’s on it, and some jewelry that my mother used to own.
I opened my wallet and took the ATM cards that were mine. I left the ATM and credit cards that were given to me by my father. I didn’t need anything from him. I found that I have a lot of cash in my wallet. I counted the money. It was around ten thousand dollars. I couldn’t remember withdrawing that much when I left the house.
“What’s with all the cash?”
“I don’t know. They aren’t mine,” I replied.
Is this my father’s way of keeping me silent?