Pretty Reckless (All Saints High, #1)

by L.J. Shen

“I asked them to ignore it.” I choke. “I made them promise.”

“Why?” he croaks.

“Because I can’t take another disappointment.”

Adriana is not my girlfriend.”

I always wondered what a royal bitch would find in a dirty stray. But I know now. Oh, I know very well why girls of pedigree love the mutts. They’re forbidden. Exciting. And taming them is a challenge no silver-spooned princess can turn down.

“You never pull away when I kiss you.” He still holds my gaze. “I don’t?” He shakes my head, looking down at me, his longish hair falling across his eye. “You want me,” he says simply. I snort. “Jesus, you are conceited.”

He leans in until our noses touch again. His hand is still wrapped around my throat. He squeezes it lightly as his tongue brushes from the base of my chin all the way to my forehead, where he kisses my hairline.

I realize that it’s what Penn has really become. A family of sort. I’m sleeping with someone who’s supposed to be my relative. Giving my virginity to someone I should feel brotherly feelings toward. Marx help me.

“Tell me not to kiss the shit out of you.” When I remain silent, his lips crash on mine.

“Tell me you don’t want all my firsts,” I challenge.

“Tell me you don’t want to take my virginity,” I rasp.

“Tell me that you don’t,” I whisper. “But I do.” His forehead crumples in anguish. “There’s nothing I want more than every single thing you have to give.”

Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me.

He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

We both watch in fascination as he knots the open end and tosses it behind the tree trunk.

“Tell me you still want to be my friend.” I gnaw at my lower lip. “I do. I am. I’ve always been your friend, Skull Eyes. Even four years ago.”

“What makes you say that?” He blinks at me, dead serious. “Because if I weren’t your friend, I’d have fucked you over and made sure you paid for what you did.”

“You know what I feel like?” he asks. “What?” He can barely contain his wolfish, twisted grin. “An apple.”

“FYI, you smell like dirty forest sex.”

“You smell like a cheap beer,” I murmur as his lips find mine, drugging and perfect.

“You smell like my new, steady ride.” His lips mo...

“You smell like a lot of really fun nights.” I pretend to sniff his...

“You smell like you might be right.” He smacks another wet kiss on my lips and pushes the door open.

“Marx, Penn! You’re so clumsy.” I laugh breathlessly. “You dropped your—” “Via?” His voice is thin glass, waiting to be shattered.

She stares at me, not Penn. “Surprise.”

They brought my sister back.

Melody, of course, is the first to cry. I swear, this bitch should’ve been born into a One Tree Hill episode. The drama is always high when she’s in the room.

You made me the fucking tin man, sis.

Who in the hell is this girl?

She is timid, shy, and doesn’t look me in the eye. My real twin sister from four years ago would eat her for breakfast.

I would probably kill my mom if she had pulled shit like that. Lucky for me, she’s already dead.

believing Via was dead was heartbreaking but comforting. Knowing she was alive and ignoring my existence, however, is pure hell.

“My Via wouldn’t leave me.”

“Bleed for me,” I hiss. Like I bled for you. Every sleepless night. Each excruciating day.

Our blood is dripping between us on the lush cream carpet of the Followhills’ mansion as we shake on the promise that we’d never betray each other again.

“Stay strong, baby. We’re Followhills. We literally follow hills. Always on top. Show me what you’re made of.” “I’m made of the green goo of the Hulk.” “You’re made of fucking gold, Daria. And soul. So much soul.”

“Four years ago, you flaunted all you have in my face while I had nothing. Now, I’m going to take every single thing that belongs to you and make a show everyone in town is going to have fun watching while doing it. I want it all, Daria. Your dedicated mom, sweet sister, loyal dad, and popular friends. If you have a boyfriend, I’ll take him, too. And fuck him better.”

“Oh, and good luck convincing them that I’m a bitch. My brother and me, we have one thing in common. We play a really good game.”

“After all, I spent the past four years being good.”

Daria Followhill is no longer the prettiest girl at school. Sylvia Scully is. Consequently, Sylvia Scully is going to pay for that little declaration of war.

“And you are?” “Not interested,” he deadpans.

“If you think you have a shot with my brother, for as long as I have a breath in me, you’re about to be proven otherwise, Lovebug.”

I wish I could rewrite you out of my life But all your pages are highlighted Dog-eared and thumbed to death I can no longer read you But you are still my favorite poem

I’m already suffering from PPSD. Post-Penn Scully Disorder.

“Well, thanks for deflowering me, then ignoring me while you figured the situation out.” “You’re welcome,”

Penn makes his way to me, jerking me up to my feet and wrapping his arms around me. I drown in him. In his touch. In his body. In his soul.

“I’m not even sure how I feel about her being here. It’s like being born with a limp and given a second pair of legs. Supposed to feel good but it’s an actual shitshow. I already learned how to live without, you know?”

I pull him back into our hug because I miss him already. I miss him even when he’s here. There’s not enough of him to satisfy me, and maybe I’m dragging my feet about college because life post-Penn doesn’t even register right now.

“Fuck. I missed your lips.” “I missed your ass.” I squeeze his ass, biting his lower lip.

“You’re a solid hobby, Skull Eyes. Just remember that it’s nothing more, and the minute you get attached—that’s around the time I’ll probably cut you off.” “See if I care, baby. You’re just a phase. Maybe my future surgeon husband will fix up your broken leg if you ever make it to the NFL.”