Chapter 1
If I thought Sunday morning was the worst I would ever feel in my life, I was wrong. The spitting headache and frequent regurgitation were nothing compared to the dread of facing the entire Padua High School after my drunken escapades and off-key karaoke throughout Saturday night. Even my dad's punishment couldn't touch my desperate need to never have to see Patrick Verona again and reduce the risk of sustaining the embarrassment of learning what exactly I did say to him on the phone that night.
Bianca's chipper attitude at staging her first extremely successful party was not encouraging, either. She just couldn't wait to get to school and hear the results of how high she had risen on the popularity scale.
"Come on, Kat. Get out of bed. You have to face him sooner or later," she said, throwing off her sister's covers.
"No, I don't. Besides it's not like I even want to ever see him again anyway. I don't care what he thinks," I unconvincingly replied.
"Right." Bianca's sarcasm is anything but inconspicuous. "Here, just look really hot and no one will even care." She starts going through my closet and then throws some clothes at me. I can't help but think, it couldn't hurt.
I throw on the grey band shirt with the deep square neck-line and pull up the black tights and mini-skirt before slipping on my boots and hate to say it, let alone think it, but Bianca was right.
"I look good."
After arriving on campus, I took a deep breath as Bianca jumped out of the car in search of Chastity. I looked around but didn't see Patrick's motorcycle anywhere. He must not have arrived yet. Maybe he won't even show up at all. My lack of courage depresses me even more. He's just a guy. He's not even a guy. He's a chauvinistic miscreant. I've had to face much more intimidating oppositions in the past: female oppression, Hilary Clinton's loss of the Democratic Party nomination and of course the lack of success during the fight to save the naked mole rats.
It was now or never. If I was going to get into the school before seeing Patrick pull up, I had to move fast.
"One foot after the other," I told myself. "Almost there." And then I was in. I headed to my locker and felt washed with relief as Mandela appeared, drawing my attention away from all the snickers and people staring when I walked by.
"So are the rumors true? Have you succumbed to the pressures of adolescent delinquency?" she asks with a raised brow.
I look at her, pleading for forgiveness. "Worse, I called Patrick Verona under the influence. Not only am I just like every other high school nimrod, I'm a ditsy twit, too."
"Well, at least you're a hot, ditsy twit. He probably won't even care," she attempts to be supportive.
I look back at her skeptically. "You really think that Patrick Verona will give up on any opportunity to rub my affections for him back in my face?"
"Affections?" Mandela asks curiously.
I stand up straight. "No. Absolutely not. That was a mere slip of the tongue. I despise him."
"Sure," she says before heading to class.
I turn back to my locker and grab the book that I need. Then I close the door and turn to head to class. There he is, staring directly at me. Those piercing eyes were driving intensely into me. He almost looked angry. What could he possibly be thinking? What was he going to do next?
My questions were quickly answered as he began heading straight towards me, those incredible eyes leading the way. I began to run my fingers through my hair and attempted to adjust myself and fidget about, but there was no way of even attempting to pretend I hadn't noticed him. I had to face him.
I tried to prepare as many quick, witty comebacks and excuses as my brain could muster, but I wouldn't need them. As he approached, he did the last thing I expected and grabbed my hand pulling me close to him, very close. Then he charged off, leading me down the hall as the bell for class rang. We turned the corner and ended up through a door that I had never noticed existed until now. We filed down a staircase to the basement of the school where finally, he stopped.
The next things I felt were his soft, wet lips crushing mine with an intense passion that I had never experienced before with anyone. He pulled me close, so vigorously that I couldn't help but comply. The heat was radiating between us as his hands slid all over me, finally resting, perfectly cupped around my backside.
My fingers ran through his tousled curls as he pushed me back against one of the old woodshop tables in the middle of the room. He picked me up at the knees and rested me atop the table. I could feel his heart pounding as he pressed himself even closer against my body, between my legs.
He dropped his hands back down to my legs and began to slide them up my thighs, his giant hands wrapped around them. I released his shirt from my own tightly fisted hand around his back, and lightly pressed my fingertips to his chest. His hands slid higher as he kissed his way around my neck.
"Patrick," I breathed out.
"Mmm…Kat," he sighed, clearly not sensing the hesitation in my voice. Before I know it his lips are back on mine and while 95% of me wants them nowhere else, the other 5 can't help but wonder what is happening. His hand moves from my thigh to cup my breast and I finally push harder on his chest.
"Patrick…" he doesn't stop and I can feel that at the sound of my voice he wants me even more. "Patrick," I push with a little more force and he stops to look at me. "What are we doing?"
He gives me that famous, smart-assed smirk and simply states, "Ditching first period," before going back to attacking my tongue with his. I can't help but desperately want to give in as he continues to rub his massive fingers all over me.
Then, my brain suddenly betrays my desires and I am reminded of the last time we kissed. "Wait," I say. "I mean, what is happening here? What are we doing?"
He is obviously frustrated. "Who cares?"
I have to push him off again. "I care, and I want to know what is going on here?"
"God, why do you always have to ruin things just when they're getting good?"
Now he's said it. I get up and pull down my skirt. "Right, because since I'm not all into relationships and stuff I should just get back in my place and let you do me right here on the basement floor!"
"What?" he looks at me incredulously. "You're crazy."
"Yeah, and I'm also late for first period." I grab my books and storm back up the stairs. At least the outfit worked.
