Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(22)
Come on, girl. But what...
“But was raised with a whole lot of bad.” Her eyes, they lift to mine. “So, can I even be me without at least a little bit?”
My pulse kicks as I focus on Brielle.
On the void of her gaze.
On the truth in her words.
On her.
In my peripheral, I watch as goose bumps raise along her arms, but she doesn’t break eye contact, and I can’t fuckin’ seem to either, so I fight for a way to cut through the fog building in my mind, the questions I suddenly want answers to and the possibility of what those answers might be, but she beats me to it.
“Oh look.” She swallows. “It’s Franky.”
I glare, whipping around in my seat, but the place is as dead as it was when we walked in, nothing but a few trucker-looking couples sitting on the opposite side.
I swing back, but as I do my frown flips.
She has my straw between her pink lips and is drinking my shake when hers sits half full right in front of her.
Brielle laughs, chocolate spilling onto her chin as she wipes it off with a smile. “You still had whipped cream. I already ate all mine.”
I don’t say shit, stuck staring at the little thing beside me.
She goes back to stealing my fries as if they’re hers and dips them into her glass.
I tell myself to grab our shit and get out of here, that the questions floating in my mind don’t belong, but it doesn’t happen.
Instead I scoot the fuckin’ things in the middle of us and do the same damn thing.
Chapter 6
Brielle
I flip my hands under the little air dryer and turn to look at myself in the mirror.
My uniform is wrinkled and has a few grass stains I’ll need to soak out before I can climb into bed tonight, but at least the swelling around my eyes has gone down some. I lean over the counter to inspect the whites of my eyes. They’re a little red, but better than they were when I woke up this morning.
That’s a good sign.
My hair is a ratted mess from the breeze, so I quickly run my fingers through it and loosely tie it back, more than ready to fall into bed and aware it’s going to be a while before I’m able.
I push out the restroom door, jumping when I nearly collide with Royce.
He leans against the wall only inches from the door with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What are you doing?” I laugh lightly.
He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look away as the door to the men’s room opens, a group of four guys step out.
The men’s room that is located directly across from the woman’s, both hidden down a short hallway and out of view from the dining area—out of view from where I left Royce sitting.
Each of the guys slow when they spot us, me still half in the doorway, Royce seemingly keeping me trapped there.
Travis, a guy from school, recognizes me, his light eyes moving to Royce as he stops walking altogether.
“You good, Brielle?” he asks, his gaze shifting to mine.
Royce is sliding in front of me before I can even blink, let alone answer.
He’s slowly sliding forward, and I’m not sure Travis realizes it or not, but he’s taking wary strides back, his friends already stepping behind him. I know for sure Royce is unaware the guy isn’t asking because he cares. Travis is simply being nosy and hoping for something he can use to slam me with later.
“Is she good?” Royce gives a cocky chuckle.
Not a second later, my hand is swallowed by his large one. I’m tugged, spun, and placed before him, my back pressed into his front.
He walks us past the guys, waiting for the perfect moment to be an ass, and glances over his shoulder.
“Oh, she’s good, pretty boy,” he says smugly. “Take my word for it.”
Oh my god!
I lock my feet in place, causing his chest to bump my shoulder blades slightly.
When I tip my head back to look up at him, an arrogant-ass grin is what I’m met with.
I tear from his grip, and he’s either stuck on stupid, fully confused by my need for a quick escape, or he decides to let me get ahead as I somehow manage to stomp my way out the exit. Of course, not before Travis and his buddies get a good laugh in.
Fantastic.
The loud whack of wood against wood lets me know I’m no longer alone, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.
“Keep walkin’ away from me, and Imma start to think you’re looking for a reaction,” Royce calls, officially following behind me now.
“That’s because you’re a narcissist!”
“Oh, mini’s mad,” he mocks. “This’ll be good.”
I roll my eyes, tearing at the door handle of the car, but it’s locked.
With a huff, I spin on my heels and glare at him.
He simply stands there, five feet away, and waits.
After a solid twenty-second stare off, I throw my arms out. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” he throws right back.
“How about everything you just did.”
“What, you wanted a vanilla shake?” He raises a brash brow.
“I don’t like vanilla.”
“Me either,” he says loudly.