Page 36 of Shattered Saint
"Come on, Bianca," he drawled. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
I wanted to smack the smug look off his face. “This is a swift jump from sending me flowers as an apology.”
He ran a hand through his hair, but this time it looked anything but innocent. “It didn’t work, so it was time to try something else. Let's not play games here. I know all about your little escapades with alcohol, and what you’ve been doing when you’re wasted. If you don't want your parents—or better yet, the local media—finding out, then I suggest you reconsider my offer."
“You’ve got to be shitting me! Is this seriously your attempt at blackmailing me into sleeping with you?”
“You call it blackmail; I call it ensuring that I get what I want.”
“You’re a miserable son of a bitch.”
“That is an accurate description.”
He knew that he had me where he wanted me. There was no way I wanted any of this to get out because I honestly didn’t know what would be worse: the media reporting on it, or having my parents probably disown me for ruining my father’s chances at reelection because the general public would think he needed to spend more time disciplining me.
“What I don’t understand is what you want from me. There’s no shortage of people on this campus that want to fuck you, so what the hell do you want from me?”
Easton stood up, causing me to look up at him. “I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I want you, princess.”
His boldness made me take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. I’d spent the last few hours going over and over in my head possibilities for what he wanted with me, and him blackmailing me into sex had not been on the list. And I couldn’t believe how casually he had just laid it out on the line. This whole incident felt like one big case of whiplash, with no signs of stopping.
“I’ll be somewhat nice and give you a bit of time to think things over.”
“You call that being nice?”
Easton scoffed. “I mean, I don’t need to do that.” He paused for a moment at the door before he opened it. “I’ll be seeing you around, Bianca.”
“Wait.”
Easton stopped and turned to look back at me, his eyes reading every inch of my face.
“Why now? You had the opportunity to have this discussion with me two years ago, and you made me feel like shit.”
“There were some things that happened a couple of years ago, which stopped me from making a move on you then. Now, I have no issue taking what I want, by any means necessary. Good night, Bianca.”
With that, he walked out of my apartment, leaving me reeling from our encounter.
14
EASTON
Iglanced at the sun hanging low in the sky as it cast a golden glow over Brentson University’s football field. I stood beside Nash, slightly out of breath as the sweat felt like it was coming out of every pore. Our teammates were spread out across the grass, running drills and plays to prepare for our next game.
"Man, I can't believe we are already halfway through the season,” Nash said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Feels like it just started."
"It really does," I replied, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. Things had gotten better since the last time I saw him. It almost looked as if things were back to normal with him, but there was still that feeling in the back of my mind since we met up to study in the library.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach Klein yelled, his whistle swinging from a lanyard around his neck. "One more time!"
I could feel the excitement pouring off everyone after the announcement. Although adrenaline was flowing through our veins from practice, I was willing to bet all of us were tired and ready to crash.
We got into position and the ball snapped. With my heart pounding in my chest, I took off, running down the field. I tracked the ball and saw the instant Nash hurled it in my direction.
I stretched out my arms in an effort to catch the football. For a split-second, everything blurred around me. Then, with a resounding smack, the ball collided with my palms, and I brought it into my chest, sprinting the final few yards into the end zone. I could hear the cheers and shouts converging on me as I spiked the ball triumphantly, since I couldn’t do that in a real game.
I walked over to Nash and found him sitting on the ground. He looked exhausted, but I didn’t blame him because I felt the same. He slapped my helmet and said, “That was a hell of a catch.”
“Thanks, dude.” I waited a beat and then said, “Done?”
