No Prince

by Stevie J. Cole

Guys like Zepp and Hendrix could bang all the rich girls they liked. But the second a Dayton girl picked a Barrington guy over them, especially the quarterback, the guy had hell to pay and she was a slut—then again, weren’t girls always the sluts, while the guys were studs?

I hated the idea of her but loved it at the same time.

Maybe she had the same problem as me: she wanted me just as much as she hated me.

“Zepp and Monroe sittin’ in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G,” he sang.

“The thing is, Hunt. She was completely worthless to me, just a way to get off. At least until I realized she was supposed to be yours. Now, every time you kiss her, you're sucking on my dick.”

Part of me knew I should leave it alone, that there were some parts of our lives meant to stay in the darkness, but I wanted to prove myself wrong.

All of us here, we were only surviving, just trying to make it to the next day and possibly find a little bit of enjoyment from a quick high or a good fuck. Because a few seconds of bliss was honestly as good as it got for us.

“I don’t belong to you, Zepp. I’ll wear whatever the hell I want.”

Like an eclipsed sun, he blocked out everything that wasn’t him until even my cold heart beat a little faster, pining for the very thing I hated.

“I’m trying to decide where I’ll fuck you first.” His whiskey-laced breath fanned across my lips, causing heat to unravel in my stomach. “On the hood of your boyfriend’s shiny car or one I steal.”

Part of me wanted to know what it felt like to be desecrated by Zeppelin Hunt. But the bigger part refused to be another notch on his metaphorical bedpost—no matter how hot he was, or how much beer I’d drunk.

Fighting him was pointless. He always won because I’d sold my soul. For three whole months. For a shitty car.

“You know,” she finally slurred, patting my cheek. “You’d be pretty if you weren’t such an ass.”

“And just so you know, Roe,” he tossed the helmet to me, and I caught it against my stomach. “I won’t let anyone hit you, either.” There was no missing the threat in his voice.

I didn’t need a white knight or a savior. This was not a fairytale. I was no damsel, and Zeppelin Hunt was certainly no prince.

“I’m gonna go to jail for something, Roe. Might as well be you.”

“I’m not a nice guy, Roe.” “A bad guy wouldn’t bother with the warning.” “And a good guy wouldn’t have girls crying over him, would he?”

“You should know, Monroe. Girls don’t really want a bad guy.” I grabbed a pebble from the ground and pushed to my feet, skipping the rock across the creek. “They only want one they can fix.”

“Who doesn’t drink milkshakes? You really are a psychopath.” “And you really are hot.”

Her tear-filled eyes fixed on the road. “How are you okay, Monroe?” “I’m not,” I admitted. “I’m just good at hiding it.” I would never tell anyone else that.

“The first time I noticed you was two summers ago when you were washing some shit car in your drive. I told the guys you were off-limits.” He nudged me. “You’re welcome. Hendrix would have tried to screw you.”

We were loners when it came to relationships, but the more time I spent around her, I was finding it hard to believe that anyone would really want to be alone. Even her.

“Do you trust me?” “Yes.” Another flipped page. “Why?” Her fingers gripped the edge of the book, and this time she hesitated before her gaze met mine. “Because you gave a shit. And no one else ever has.”

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever given a shit about.” I grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of me. Her hands went to my face. “Good.” And then she kissed me.

Her hand brushed my shoulder before her arms wrapped around my waist, her chin pressing to my shoulder. And goddamn, that broke me. I buried my face in her neck. Monroe was making herself a lifeline, and I was fucked. “That’s shit, Zepp.” “It’s just life, Monroe.”

Then it hit me like an eighteen-wheeler barreling down a road: She was a stripper and a virgin. How messed up was that, that we lived the kind of life where she was rubbing her tits in men’s faces and straddling their laps when she hadn’t even had sex. Something about that was downright tragic. Monroe James wasn’t at all what I had thought she was—what anyone thought she was. And she was so much better than I deserved.

“You once said I was broken. But you’re only really broken when you lose hope.”

He may have been a bad boy, but he was the best person I had ever known.

I had never given a shit about a girl before, and somehow, this girl had managed to break me apart without even trying. Because I was pretty damn sure I was in love with her.

He felt like home when I’d never truly had one, and I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Two days ago, I had told her I loved her. I had every intention of spending the rest of my life with her, and now it felt like none of that ever mattered.

Yeah. Right. Don’t forget who I am. A guy who used to be a player and was taken to his knees by a girl who stole his heart.

“I could never love anyone else, Roe. You’re it for me.” And he was it for me. Because no one had ever loved me like he did. And I wasn’t sure I could live without it.

He said he loved me, but he didn’t try to stop me from leaving. He had just let me go. He let me go…

“I’m not a knight in shining armor. I’m an asshole. Don’t know if you remember that or not.” He was right, but I’d never cared. “But you were mine!” My voice broke. “And you left me when you said you never would.”

“I meant it when I told you I would never love anyone the way I loved you. Because I won’t love anyone but you.”