The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(10)

No, I refused to pity Cal.

“Not after he made me self-conscious about my nipples,” I mumbled.

An older woman gave me a sideways look as she passed by.

Whoops.

No, Cal could not live here too. He needed to be in Tennessee or Tallahassee or Timbuktu for all I cared. Somewhere far, far away from Montana.

But God, that man was stubborn. He’d stay here just because I wanted him to leave. Unless . . .

What if I made his life agony? Yes, he was pig headed, but if he was unhappy, maybe he’d reconsider. An evil grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I doubted it would work, but it was worth a try.

Calamity was mine.

“I got here first.”

The ice in my coffee rattled as it melted. The sound sparked an idea. With a smirk on my lips, I marched toward the group. The woman with the skirt looked me up and down as I approached, probably thinking I’d be a threat to her chances at scoring a famous, wealthy man.

I didn’t spare her a glance. My eyes stayed locked on Cal.

He shifted, taking another paper to sign, when he spotted me. For the briefest moment, there was relief in his gaze. Did he think I was coming to his rescue? That was Pierce’s job, not mine.

But I used his assumption to my advantage, and when he started nudging through the crush, pushing my way, I let him use that strong, muscled body to clear a path.

“Excuse me,” he told one guy.

Cal usually started off polite. It was when people didn’t budge that he’d snap a get the fuck out of my way. And those moments were typically the ones caught on camera, then posted to YouTube and Twitter.

I steeled my spine as he pushed past the edge of the gathering. My hand threatened to tremble, but I kept my grip on my coffee cup tight. So tight the lid popped free.

Perfect.

“Hey.” Cal jerked up his chin. “Can we go some—”

His question was cut short when my hand shot out for the waistband of his jeans. I gripped it, tugged, and poured the remainder of my vanilla latte down his pants. He gasped, jumping back with a yelp. Ice cubes traveled down his legs, escaping the hem and clattering to the sidewalk, breaking beside his feet. The creamy liquid darkened the denim of his crotch as it spread.

God, that is satisfying.

“What the hell, Nellie?” Cal swept at his pants, his palm coming away wet. Droplets went flying as he shook it out.

He glared down the straight line of his nose. The sharp corners of his jaw flexed. His gray T-shirt molded to the broad planes of his chest and accentuated the hard lines of his pecs as he seethed.

“That’s for sending a dick pic to my mom!” I lied.

A chorus of gasps filled the air. Men inched away. The woman with the short skirt turned on a heel and vanished. One of the younger teens looked Cal up and down and muttered, “Dude. Gross.”

My pulse raced. My hands shook. But I stood still, fighting to keep a straight face as I faced the man who’d been my archnemesis for nearly twenty years.

Damn, that had been satisfying. Almost orgasmic.

“The. Fuck?” Cal’s nostrils flared as he planted his hands on his narrow hips.

I stood on my toes, leaning in closer. “You threw water on me once. Remember? Consider this leveling the score.”

His eyes widened, the sun catching the flecks of gold and caramel in his irises.

Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him. Maybe I should have let him wonder why I’d doused him with espresso and milk.

But I remembered everything from high school. Every time he’d bullied me. Every time he’d made me cry. Every time I’d cursed his name.

It had taken me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin. Maybe that was normal for all women. The only treatment for our insecurities was time and age—even then, there wasn’t a cure. Some days, I was sure the self-conscious thoughts about my hair or my career or my success or my body were gone for good. Others, those familiar doubts would creep out from their depths and ruin a beautiful day.

Behind each of my insecurities was a face. Cal’s teenaged face. Intentionally and unintentionally, his high school antics had given me flaws. He’d shined a light on my imperfections, ripping away my youthful rose-colored glasses.

He made me vulnerable. He made me weak. No one could tear through my defenses quite like Cal.

I wanted to live here without the fear of him lurking behind every corner. So I’d use my memories, I’d steal the plays from his book and do my best to run Cal out of town.

This was my home now.

And Calamity wasn’t big enough for us both.





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Dear Diary,





* * *



Cal threw water on me today. He did it on purpose too. When Mr. Gregsmith confronted him about it, Cal lied and said he tripped. It was his word against mine. I think maybe Mr. Gregsmith believed me, but I’m just a scholarship kid so Cal got off with a warning not to walk around with an open water bottle. I was talking to John at my locker when Cal did it. Maybe John was flirting with me? I don’t know. Cal came walking down the hallway with his horrible jock friends. Why couldn’t he just keep on walking? Why can’t he just leave me alone? He didn’t even pretend to trip. He just flung out his wrist and I got freaking soaked. And you know those stupid white uniform shirts are really thin. Everyone in the hallway started laughing. Some guy cracked a joke about my nipples and then John started laughing too. Do you think maybe he was in on Cal’s joke? That maybe he was flirting with me to help Cal? Whatever. John’s not even that cute. His bottom teeth are crooked. Are my nipples big? I don’t know what size is normal. Is there a way to shrink them? Like a cream or something? Maybe Mom will let me buy a padded bra the next time we go shopping. I still have some birthday money left over, and Mrs. Murphy would probably pay me to mow her lawn next week. I was going to use my savings for a new backpack, but I’d rather Cal tease me for the duct tape holding the strap together than because I have weird nipples. I hate Cal Stark. Like, a lot.