“What?” I ask with a little more frustration than I want to display.
“Just wanted to ask if you’ve decided,” he states coolly.
“Decided what?”
“Option one of getting that swimsuit or option two of stripping down.”
Ugh. I don’t care if he knows he infuriates me. Because he does. “Neither.” I wave over the pool. “But here’s a whole-ass pool just for you to use and you don’t have to trespass.”
He shifts in front of me. And I see the glint in his eye that worries me. “I’m tired of getting wet without you. So, option three it is.”
And before I realize it, he has his arms wrapped around me. I struggle to get loose, but his grip is locked, and he jumps into the pool before I can get free.
Even when we plunge into the water, his grip stays clenched firmly around me. I struggle to get free to swim to the surface, but he has a hold on me. I manage to shift away from him a little, but it’s not enough. He’s still holding on to me, and I swear I see a smile on his face. What the actual fuck is this guy’s deal?
I slam my palm into his nose as hard as I can before he finally releases me and I swim to the surface.
He emerges a few seconds after I do, and I take another swing at him. But his arm blocks me from knocking him in his face again. But apparently my first hit landed because there’s blood dripping from his nose.
I swim to the side, cursing him as I feel the stiffness in my shoulder. I climb out of the pool and strip my drenched blazer off before unfastening the tie and kicking off my tennis shoes and socks. When I watch Luca climb out of the water with an amused expression on his bloody face, my anger surges. I attempt to go after him again. Just one more good hit is all I need. And I don’t know what is making me madder, the fact that I don’t get the chance to deck him or the fact that he forced me in the pool. The precise place I don’t want to be.
13
LUCA
When I glance over to Ivy, I spot her murderous glare still on me. If Coach doesn’t get back to his office soon, I’m guessing she’ll try to hit me again. Her arms are folded across the Belgrave T-shirt she’s wearing, and the athletic shorts barely cover her ass, which only makes me itch to grab it.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
I shouldn’t answer. But I do. “You.”
Her palms slap against the armrests as she shifts in my direction. “Me? Really. What have I done to you that you felt the need to pull me into the pool fully clothed with my phone and my bag with all of my belongings inside? Everything in it is ruined.”
“Don’t worry. Daddy can replace it.”
“Fuck you.” She flops back; her arms folded over her chest again.
“Ah, Daddy is a sore subject. I can take care of it for you then.” I reach for my wallet, which I’d failed to take out of my pocket before jumping in the pool, and toss her the first card I grab.
She scowls at me with such hatred, I know I’m accomplishing exactly what I set out to do. This is just the beginning of how much she will hate me—I’m barely getting started.
“I don’t need your help.” She grabs the card long enough to throw it back at me. It hits my chest before falling to the floor.
“Are you sure? I heard you talking to Coach about your state title. And you’re quitting the team. Sounds like you need a lot of help to me.”
Her head turns slightly away from me, her mouth in a hard line.
“What’s the problem? Scared you can’t keep up?” When she doesn’t react, I keep on. “I doubt you could since you’re not used to elite competition.”
She slowly looks back to me. Distain and loathing on her face. “Then it’s a good thing youreliteopinion means even less to me than you do.”
I stand, moving in front of her as I place a hand on each of the armrests and lean into her personal space. “Then why are you about to cry?”
She lets out an unsteady huff. Instead of backing down like I thought she would, she leans closer to me, her breath on my lips as she speaks. “Is that what you want? To make me cry.” I almost think she’s going to remove the distance between us and press her mouth to mine. But she falls back against the chair with a snicker instead. “You’re going to have to try much harder than that. This moment doesn’t register on my attempt-to-give-a-fuck radar, and you rank even lower.” Her fuck-me eyes look up at me as she asks, “Does this usually work for you? The I’m-a-dick routine? Does it get you what you want?”
Reaching behind her, I methodically entwine my fist in her hair, gripping tightly as I slowly pull her head back, exposing her neck. I watch as it contracts with her too-composed swallow. I don’t register any fear in her unwavering eyes. “If I wanted you, I’d have you.”
“That makes sense. You don’t have to use your social skills to get someone’s attention. You just take what you want.Charming.” Her stare stays locked with mine. Maybe she will make it out of this place in one piece. There’s no hope for me.
