After school, I drive around aimlessly for an hour. When I finally get home, I’m too beaten and pathetic to even slam the door. Savage doesn’t look up from an old episode of Friday Night Lights blaring on the TV as he lifts and waggles his beer bottle to taunt me.

“You won the bet,” he calls over his shoulder. “Papadopoulos bagged Leslie Holmes’s dad last night. I’m guessing you’re no longer interested in collecting your right of first refusal prize.”

When I don’t answer, he turns, notices my expression, and sits up straight. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like a wilted shit salad suffocating under a blanket of bruised tomatoes with a side of Woe Is Me dressing.”

I plop onto the couch beside him and drop my head in my hands, rubbing my hair. “I fucked up. Big time.”

Savage snorts and gulps a couple swallows of beer. “Roxie-with-an-ie, I presume.”

“The very Roxie,” I mumble.

“What did you do this time? Beat her in a pickup game? Give her herpes? Or did she give it to you?”

I snap my head up and scowl viciously at him. “No one has herpes. Don’t say shit like that about her.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, his fingers still curled around the brown bottle’s neck. “Sor-ry, Mr. Touchypants.”

I sigh and lean into the cushions, hoping they’ll eat me. “I confronted her about the thing with Isabella.”

“It didn’t go well.”

“No.”

“She didn’t do it,” Savage says.

I turn to him. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, good guesser. She was never as bad as you thought she was. You just got it in your mind that she was a horrible kid, and you never let her get away with anything after that.”

“She was a horrible kid.”

He shrugs again. “I didn’t think so. Though, her stealing your car was pretty classic.” He laughs as if replaying the memory and drinks another swig.

I steal the bottle from him and polish it off in three big gulps. He scowls.

#BeerBurglar

This is Savage and me. We’re like brothers, intentionally annoying each other, but always there when the other needs it.

Not that two guys like us ever need it.

Except maybe for me right now.

“Roxie thinks Darcy did it,” I say.

Savage nods as if he’s not surprised. “It fits her profile. Darcy’s hated both of us since the end of our first year at Bracken. She’s just jealous.”

“I know. She couldn’t stand that the kids liked us better.”

“No, you idiot,” Savage says. “Don’t you remember how she used to flirt so bad with us before Keith came along? She was jealous of Isabella. And maybe our way with the kids too, but definitely Isabella.”

My mind wanders back to my first year. At the lunch table, Darcy did stare at Savage and me a lot. She’d lick her lips and do that hair-tuck-behind-the-ear thing, bouncing her gaze between us as she bit into a banana or a juicy strawberry. We used to joke that she fantasized about having a three-way with us.

How’d I forget that?

Post-traumatic stress disorder. Had to be.

“Ugh!” I shout, suddenly feeling like I’m covered in bugs. I wipe down my arms to slake the invisible crawlies.

Or maybe I was just so in love with Isabella that I didn’t notice Darcy’s ogling. Love—at least, what little I remember of it—makes you pretty damn blind to everything around you that doesn’t involve the person you care about. You spend all your free time staring off into space thinking about them and miss the obvious stuff screaming in your face because it’s not nearly as important as her.

“Darcy propositioned me once. I never told a soul,” Savage says with an amused grin.

“No fucking way,” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, it was years ago. I saw her at Oscar’s after everyone went home from staff development. She’d been sitting at the bar the entire time. I stopped by on my way out to flirt with that cute bartender with the buzz cut that used to work there—”

“Sheila?”

“—Sheila,” he agrees, “and Darcy’s sitting there, so bladdered, she’s gone top-heavy. I mumble a ‘hi’ because I’m not a complete dick. She grabs my arm and starts slurring in her loud, high-pitched voice about how good I look in my jeans and how I should come over to her house tonight so she can show me her ‘lesson plans,’” he makes air quotes and strongly enunciates the last two words, “blah, blah, blah. Winking and running her hands up my arms, trying to be sexy or some shit. I looked her square in the face, pointed my finger at her, and said, ‘Bitch, you are drunk. Go home.’ I made sure everyone at the bar heard me too.”

My jaw drops, and I burst into laughter. “You did not.”

“Fuck, yes, I did.”

I bend over, giggling like a girl as I imagine the scene. Damn, how I wish I’d been there to see her face.

“Of course, all eyes turned to her,” he goes on. “Everyone started laughing and shaking their heads. Darcy piped down after that and buried her attention in her drink, pretending like she hadn’t just thrown herself at me in front of all those people. I might’ve shook my ass excessively on the way out the door.”

More laughter. Savage can turn on the charm when he wants to.

“I’m very sorry I missed it,” I say, wiping the gathering laugh-tears in my eyes. “Thanks, man. I needed that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifts a dismissive hand. “There are some chicks you brag about, and then there’s Darcy Kuntz. You’d never have let it die if I’d told you.”

“Truth,” I acknowledge. I’d definitely have roasted him relentlessly over that one. And I’ll keep this information in my back pocket for future roasting, just in case.

Savage tosses an ankle over a knee. “Man, we’ve had some good times with the ladies,” he reminisces.

I exhale long and hard. “We certainly have.”

He side-eyes me. “No more though, huh?”

I press my lips together tightly and shake my head slowly. “I don’t know. I got it pretty bad. In the loins. And maybe somewhere in this vicinity.” I point to the left side of my chest.

“Pussy,” Savage teases.

There’s no denying the label. I am a pussy. Roxie made me one.

#RoxieRamblingsPussyBitch

I moan like a dying manatee and crumble forward over my knees again, furiously rubbing my hair. “Why, why does it have to be her?”

Savage changes the channel to car races. “Because opposites attract? Murphy’s Law? Hell, I don’t know. Pick a reason. It doesn’t matter why, just that it is what it is.”

“That’s deep, man. Thanks,” I grunt, shaking my head. Savage isn’t exactly a thespian, but I get his point. “I just … I like her. Despite everything that happened in the past. She’s smart and caring and … she has a big heart.” Something I know very little about. “She’s special.”

“Let’s not minimize the salient point that she’s hot as fuck,” Savage adds. “In other news, if you decide at any time, now or in the future, that you can’t take her shit anymore, feel free to throw me a bone. I’m fresh out at the moment.” He pats down his pockets and comes up empty.

“You’ll be the first person I notify,” I say. And I really would. If I were into sharing Roxie.

I’m not.

“And if you decide to stick with her,” Savage sighs, “well, I guess I can live with that.” He pauses, studying the spackle on the ceiling for a few seconds as if thinking. “Maybe I’ll ask Straight to be my new wingman.”

I lay a hand over my heart. “You’d ditch me for him? You wound me, sir.”

“They don’t call me Savage for nothin’.” He stretches his arms over his head and yawns loudly. “For real, though. Roxie’s a prize. Whatever happened between you two, you better un-fuck it and fast. Ass like that won’t sit in the butcher’s window for long. You gotta give your booty call or ‘relationship,’” more air quotes and a snide tone, “whatever-the-fuck, a chance to shine. She’s not gonna wait around for you to come to your senses. That chick’s got places to be that ain’t here.”

“You know, underneath all the macho shit, you’re a semidecent bro.”

Savage purses his lips and glances at me in his playful way. The one that says he wants to get into some trouble. “You know, if you really want revenge on Darcy for calling Isabella, there may be a way to get her back.”

“Yeah? How?” I ask, not believing him. Darcy’s untouchable, especially with Dragov’s scaly wings furled around her golden girl like bulletproof armor.

A furtive gleam shines in his eye, and he smiles. “Leave it to me. You can consider it your prize for winning the Papadopoulos wager. You’re welcome.”

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