Broken Beautiful Hearts(56)

Dylan takes a step toward Christian and pushes April behind him. “If you wanna be an asshole, we can go outside and take care of this.”

“You really want to go there?” Christian steps forward. The two of them are only inches apart. “’Cause basketball season is coming up, and your team won’t do very well if you can’t play. I think we both know you can’t take me.”

Owen shoves his way between Christian and Cameron. “Nobody’s going outside. Neither of you can afford to be benched.”

“I don’t have to worry about that,” Dylan says. “Basketball season hasn’t started.”

Owen stares him down. “I said, nobody’s going outside. Unless they’re going with me.”

Dylan backs off. “I don’t have a problem with you, man. Why are you getting in the middle of this?”

“You don’t need to worry about what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it,” Owen warns.

“You’re such a jerk, Owen.” April tries to step out from behind Dylan. “For, like, two years, you haven’t given a shit about anything, and now suddenly you’re playing hall monitor? For the last time, I didn’t put anything in her locker. And if I did, I’d take credit for it.”

What does she mean about Owen not caring?

April turns on her heel and grabs Dylan’s arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This conversation is boring.”

When she’s out of earshot, I turn to Christian. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I don’t need your help with April. She might need a guy to fight her battles, but I’m perfectly capable of handling my own problems.”

Owen rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor. Christian frowns, looking confused. I turn my back on them and walk to class.

“Peyton, wait,” Owen calls after me.

“I’m going to class.”

As if on cue, the bell rings.

April is looking for attention. Unfortunately for me, Christian and Owen just gave it to her.





CHAPTER 23

Killer Smiles and Almost Kisses

CHEMISTRY PASSES IN a blur of periodic table elements and unbalanced equations. I can’t stop thinking about the novel stuffed in my backpack. Reading it isn’t an option. I’ll have to find a summary online and hope Miss Ives doesn’t come up with lots of in-class activities that leave me feeling like a gutted fish.

I catch myself picturing Owen’s lopsided smile instead of copying the homework written on the board and I kill the thought.

He’s off-limits.

One hundred percent not an option.

But if things were different and Owen wasn’t a fighter … who knows?

The bell rings.

Books slam shut and chair legs scrape across the floor. I ease out of the chair quickly and try to keep up with everyone else, but I’m still the last person out of the classroom.

The moment I step into the hallway, I stop short.

Owen is standing next to the wall, thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans. He turns as if he senses me watching him.

“Ready?” Owen asks, pushing away from the wall.

Whatever he’s referring to, I’m not ready for it. “For what?”

He falls in step beside me. “Lunch. I hear you haven’t had the pleasure of eating in our one-star cafeteria yet.”

How would he know that? Did the Twins tell him? Or did he ask?

“I’m not a fan of school cafeterias. We’re allowed to eat off campus at my school.”

“Isn’t this your school now?”

“Only until March. Then I’m going home.” I steal a glance at him. “I have to be ready to play by then, remember?”

“Right.” Owen pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. “But you’re here now, and you have to eat.”

“And you’re offering me a personal escort?” I brush my hair over my shoulder.

I’m totally flirting.

Could I be more obvious?

“It’s a service I provide to all my English partners with killer smiles and knee braces. Don’t let it go to your head.” Owen cocks his head to the side, watching me.

I recognize the look. He’s sizing me up. I’m used to seeing the expression on the faces of my opponents on the soccer field.

He thinks I have a killer smile. Not cute or sweet. Killer.

Suddenly it feels like I’m standing on the deck of a boat. Is my knee giving out? But it’s not my bad knee.

Owen’s smile, the thump of my heartbeat, the fluttering sensation in my stomach—my legs have transformed into ramen noodles because of this guy.

I reach for the wall beside me and Owen catches my arm. His rough fingers slide under my forearm and leave behind a tingling sensation. He cups my elbow, my arm resting on top of his, and I grab his biceps for balance.

“Sorry…” I stammer. “My knee gave out.” It’s the first time I’ve used my knee as an excuse without resenting it.

Owen’s hand drops to my waist.

Not good.

Not the kind of good I’m looking for, anyway.

“Do you need help walking?” he asks.

Yes. I shake my head. “No.”

The pressure of his hand on my waist makes me wonder how it would feel on my skin.