P.S. I Hate You

He’s a bad boy with a chip on his shoulder.
She’s a good girl with nothing left to lose.

A High School Bully Romance

Check out a sneak peek of this high school bully romance!

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. "For your information, princess, he was the one stealin’ shit from his folks. I was just the scapegoat."

"Is that true?"

A dash of hurt streaks through the anger clouding his gaze. "What's it matter to you? You fuckin’ rich people stick together, and you’re all the same. You think your money gives you the right to do and say whatever the hell you want with no fault for your actions while the rest of us pay the consequences.”

“You don’t even know me. How dare you make a snap judgment based on how I was born? I would never do that to you.”

"Bullshit, Ellie. You did, and you know it. Did you see the shit you wore the first fucking day? You had wealth written across your forehead and couldn’t fucking wait to show it off. Now you’re cattin’ around with that shit-for-brains daddy’s boy, lettin’ him fill your head with lies while you eat ’em all up with your silver spoon.”

"You know what you are? A hypocrite. You judging me because I came from money is the same thing as them judging you because you don’t. You’re no better than anyone else, Jace."

I’ve seen the ugly side of wealth—I lived through it—but I never considered myself one of those airhead socialites who define themselves by what they have. I’m a good person, and I’m not going to stand here and allow myself to be stereotyped as one of those heartless few with money to throw around.

“You’re so fuckin’ blind.”

I throw my arms open. “Oh yeah? Then open my eyes.”

He invades my space. The riot in my chest only grows louder the closer he gets. He grasps my shoulders and pushes my back against the wall. Heat falls off his body in waves, his breath beating against my lips in violent whisps. “Mark my words: Troy’s a predator, Ellie. Don’t be his prey.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” My voice comes out as a wavering whisper. I press my palms to the wall to keep from sliding down and puddling at Jace’s feet.

The smell of smoke wafts around him, but my eyes fixate on the burning flame in his steely gaze. A messed-up mix of hate and rage, lust and longing that makes me shiver. “It’s your funeral,” he growls, his mouth so close I could rise to my toes and taste it if I wanted to.

“You know what I think?” I press my lips together to steady the tremble before continuing. “Your anger is a mask. You’re just as bad as Troy, except instead of using money to get what you want, you use fear.”

His nostrils flare. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard, letting my head fall back so I can meet his blazing stare. “But I’m not afraid of you, Jace. You’re just a big mamma’s boy crying on the inside because the big kids don’t want to invite you to play.”

“I ain’t interested in playin’ ’less I know I can win.” His snarl is low and evil. It radiates through my body, turning it to liquid. He wraps his long fingers around my neck, stealing a gasp from my lungs and replacing it with a feral need so fierce I can taste it. He wants me to be afraid. He gets off knowing I find him intimidating, but instead, he lifts a brow, watching me as I come undone. He leans in, hot breath feathering my ear as his free hand glides up my thigh. “You still a virgin, princess?”

“That’s none of your business.” I square my shoulders, trying to seem bold, but my feisty exterior crumbles the moment his thumb sweeps across the apex of my thighs. Chills slither down my spine, but the rest of me is so warm I’m boiling.

“I bet ole Troy hasn’t seen you tremblin’ like this, has he?” Another brush and my knees buckle.

I wrap my hand around his wrist. “Please stop,” I beg, but my hips arch against his knuckle.

He skims his nose up my cheek, his smile growing against my skin. I hate myself for letting him get to me like this. I’m a panting fool, melting against his light touch like an ice cream cone in the sun, and he’s lapping it up with delight.

Also by Jane Anthony