Devious Kisses: A Bully Enemies -To-Lovers Romance (It's Just High School Book 1) Read online

  Devious Kisses

  Thandiwe Mpofu

  Devious Kisses

  Copyright © 2020 by Thandiwe Mpofu

  Cover Design by Cat Imb, TRC Designs

  Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

  Model: Chase Mattson

  Copyright Law:

  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, this book has been pirated and you’re stealing. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.

  This book, Devious Kisses, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  First Edition July 2020.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Playlist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Headlines

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  The End

  Coming soon…

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Thandie Mpofu

  Keep In Touch

  To my Grandmother; you should see how crazy this is.

  And to all the first loves, first kisses and first hate—we can all agree that they rocked our worlds

  Some rivals can be fatal to your heart, but, It’s Just High School.

  Here’s the 411 about high school, well, at least for my high school, Clintwood Academy.

  It’s a fucking warzone.

  Everyone has a grudge against someone else.

  It’s the breeding ground for losers, jealous broken-hearted girls and acne covered fools with zero game.

  The disgustingly rich kids are vile, vindictive, popular and the mecca of social life worth a damn.

  Lastly, high school is simply, survival of the fittest.

  And I was the fittest of them all. Once.

  Once, before I was set up to take the fall for an attempted murder of one of the Fitz brothers, the golden boys of St. Jude High, our sworn rival enemy.

  Before I was played for a kiss and it worked.

  Now, the Fitz brothers hate me.

  They suspect me.

  They want to destroy me.

  They know everything about me, and I hate them for it.

  And now, we’ll all be living together, like one big, happy step-family. With secrets brimming, hatred festering, and other feelings I have no business having for my step-cousin-brothers or whatever, haunting me night and day.

  Now, let’s kiss and be forever rivals…

  “Do U Dirty” by Kehlani

  “Kissing Other People” by Lennon Stella

  “Streetcar” by Daniel Caesar

  “Hard Place” by H.E.R

  “I’m A Mess” by Ed Sheeran

  “Figures, A Reprise” by Jessie Reyez, Daniel Caesar

  “Falling” by Harry Styles

  “Teenager In Love” by Madison Beer

  “Better Off” by Ariana Grande

  “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

  “Hate The Club” by Kehlani ft Masego

  “Fate” by H.E.R

  “1950” by King Princess

  For more, check out the Devious Kisses playlist on Spotify.

  “There is some kiss we want with our whole lives.”

  —Rumi.

  In this book, they’d rather die than admit this.

  1

  Slamming the door shut behind me, I stalk down the stark white hospital hallway, the shitty smell of cleaning detergent and sickness stinging my nostrils, making the blood in my veins rush hot.

  Fists clenched as tightly as my jaw; I can hardly make out anything in my head other than the residue of shock from the past twelve hours.

  It doesn’t fucking matter what I do, I can’t shake it off my skin. It’s lodged deep in my damn throat making it hard to breathe. My shoulders are strained with so much tension and anger. And all I can see in my mind’s eye is a replay—in sharp contrast of brilliant color—of last night’s events.

  One moment, he was alright. My older brother was fine. He had his secretive, ‘I-know-something-you-don’t’ smile on his face all evening.

  He was responding.

  His eyes were bright.

  He had just talked to our younger brother, Liam on the phone, who was away for summer camp.

  And the next, he just wasn’t.

  I’d like to blame it on the fact that Mom switched on the TV at the wrong time, because that’s where everything went to hell. I’d like to think it’s my fault for leaving him alone for those few minutes.

  Whatever the reason may be it doesn’t fucking matter, we’re here now and these godforsaken doctors won’t tell me shit! Goddamn it all to hell.

  Where did I go wrong? What did I miss beside chalking off Aiden’s fever for a cold that would pass?

  I start pacing from one end of the hospital hallway to the other, deciding to go through last night’s events with a fine toothcomb.

  See, I left Aiden in his room, which is conveniently close to the TV room where Mom was waiting, dressed to the nines for dinner with her husband; but we both knew even then, he wasn’t going to show.

  Feeling sorry for her and naively casting away my responsibilities to my brother, I sat with her, driven by this stupid need to turn her constant frown upside down, not that she deserved it, but she was still my mother. Maybe I wanted her to forget about how shitty her husband really is, but she should know this. The douchebag constantly showed us his true colors, one of them being his deep resentment—bordering on hatred—for his oldest son.

  She decided to pass up time by watching her favorite gossip channel, E! But when she switched it on, I watched as her face paled like she was witnessing the goriest horror movie, but she couldn’t look away.

  Mom always had a habit of watching that damn channel all day like it was her religious duty to do so. I don’t know why I thought she did it to get her gossip points for when she met up for brunch with other wealthy housewives, with too much time on their hands and nothing productive to do.

  But las
t night, I realized something else. Mom didn’t watch that channel for other people’s messy gossip. She stalked the channel for news, any kind of news, about her whoring, cheating jerk of a husband.

  Last night, she put the truth to that adage; if you’re looking for negative news with bated breath and desperation, you’ll find it. Mom got more than she bargained for last night.

  With a scream, she grabbed the nearest object she could get her hands on, which so happened to be her wedding picture frame, and threw it at the TV, smashing both the screen and the photo, like she had had enough and it was finally time to just…break.

  And why not, it’s not like she didn’t know. She did.

  But the thing about living a life filled with secrets and deceiving yourself is that it’ll eventually catch up with you. I’ve learned earlier in life that self-deceit is like a lethal poison that you concoct yourself, then shoot up your veins like it’ll blind you from the extremities of your fucked up reality.

  But Mom saw it coming, though.

  The drunken white lies she always accepted from him. The twisted, neatly wrapped expensive apologies she always welcomed with open arms. She saw it coming and now it all blew up in her face.

  Okay, and then what happened? Was there a sign? Was there a rumbling of thunderous clouds? Fuck, what happened to my brother? What did I miss?

  When Mom threw that picture, I guess she realized there wasn’t a need to wear her ‘everything’s perfect’ mask anymore. Unfortunately, that also meant that she didn’t have to pretend to be a loving, attentive mother anymore.

  All it took from her was three piercing, earth shattering screams to bring me here, in this damn hospital, exhausted out of my mind and so damn angry, I can’t think straight.

  It only took three screams with short, barely-take-a-breath, intervals, like she’d been holding it in for long time. While at the same time, Aiden had been holding whatever’s wrong with him in. Like a ticking time-bomb.

  It took just three screams from her to mentally check out from this fucked up world, shedding her responsibilities and surrendering to the sorrow and pain that was always there in her eyes when she looked at her husband every morning like he didn’t creep in at four am for as long as I can remember.

  Three screams.

  With the first scream, I heard a loud crash coming from my brother’s room. It was so loud and so sudden, my head snapped around so fast I didn’t have the time to notice, let alone catch my mother from falling as she lost her footing, fingers scrambling to tear her evening gown apart.

  With her second scream, I quickly got up to catch her, my ears perked up to the nerve-racking distinct sound of choking.

  That sound. It paralyzed me to the spot, turning my insides into cement blocks.

  I was hoping Mom was listening when three seconds passed after her second scream. I shook her shoulders, begged her to stand up and come with me to check on Aiden but instead, dead eyes filled with an emptiness that’s been eating at me since I was three years old, met my gaze. I don’t think she could see me, but when she belted out the last shiver inducing, horror movie scream, I knew.

  “Fuck!” I bellow, every inch of me coiled so tight, anger making my vision hazy. For a second the white walls look like they’re glazed over by bloody red stains.

  Did she know? When she screamed like that, did she already know what was going to happen to Aiden?

  I mean, that’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why she didn’t get up to help her son with Down syndrome, but instead sought out three bottles of her favorite wine to console her.

  But if we’re being honest, Aiden hasn’t existed for my parents since he was born. How can the Fitzgeralds be so flawed?

  Fuck them! Aiden’s still their son!

  But he isn’t supposed to be in this fucking hospital. I took care of him. I gave him medicine when he complained about a headache and when his temperature shot up yesterday afternoon. I was with him the whole time up until that point.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, but just like the past four or so hours, I ignore it.

  If either of them can’t be bothered to be here for their son, then they don’t deserve to know what’s happening.

  I screamed at Mom to help me, to come help with Aiden, but she didn’t.

  I called my asshole of a father to come home, but as usual, his phone was answered by a sultry sounding whore, no doubt enjoying her after-hours work perks of sucking his dick, literally.

  I shake my head, trying to erase the image of Aiden, lying on that cold floor, his body cold to the touch, his breathing short and labored like he was taking his last and the fear in his eyes…

  Over the years I’ve experienced a lot when I looked into his eyes. There was sadness mixed with anticipation. Happiness and joy clouded by pain. Excitement and cleverness coupled with anxiety and shyness.

  But goddamn it all to hell, this is fucking different! His fear and mine are different, much more heightened and on another level, and neither one of our parents are here.

  “Fucking hell!” I bellow. With a burst of anger, I kick the damn chairs neatly placed by the wall, sending them tumbling down. They scrap the floor with a loud screech that I’m sure will draw attention, but no one would dare throw me out. Not if they know what’s good for them and their funding.

  It shouldn’t shock me that my parents aren’t here, but it does. I’m stunned at the level of selfishness my parents have sunk to.

  So, I kick the chairs again and again, all my pent-up rage and frustration that I never allow myself to feel when I’m around my family comes bursting out from within, like a volcano erupting. White hot anger blinds me for a second, demanding to be felt. Demanding to be expressed with immediate effect and the hospital hallway is my best outlet.

  I grab an ugly painting hanging on the wall and throw it as far as I can. I hear the glass shattering, but all that noise isn’t enough to drown out the noise in my head. It’s not nearly enough to relay how twisted and fucked up the Fitzgerald family is.

  Headline after headline, my father always finds a way to drag our family through one scandal after another; and my mother, ever the sensitive heartbroken, money-loving woman she is, forgives him.

  I ball my palm into a tight fist and drive it into the wall beside me.

  Blinding pain shoots through from my knuckles up my hand, but for some reason, that felt good.

  Because I’m a fucking unfeeling jerk and a glutton for punishment, I do it again. And again, aware that I’m hurting myself and that what I’m doing is stupid, pointless, and reckless.

  My knuckles start bleeding. I feel some satisfaction as I watch the metallic red staining the otherwise unharmed white wall, dismantling this clean façade that hospitals carry.

  Breathing hard and fast, I can still hear the loud beeping of machines they hooked my brother on in his hospital room.

  But then it’s the look on Aiden’s face when he woke up two hours ago, looked around the room, a look of hope and optimism on his face, only to find the large hospital room empty of the faces he wanted to see. It was just me, without a good explanation for the absence of his family.

  “Fuck!” a hoarse whisper escapes my lips like a litany. There’s a ball in my throat I can’t get rid of.

  “Are you done?”

  A sweet, amused, and sarcastic voice speaks from behind me. I spin around, ready to tell her off. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy, let alone if it’s someone from my school. Worse if they’re from our rival school, here to get some dirt on me to exploit me.

  Paranoia or caution? I don’t know, they both kind of bleed together for me.

  When I turn around, words fail me when I come face to face with her, the girl I saw dancing in the rain earlier today.

  Twirling and spinning in puddles, her delicate arms reaching up to the heavens, as if she was trying to catch raindrops. She had her beautiful face up turned to the sky, as if to let the rain wash away the sadness in her eyes. But as I l
ook at her now, I don’t think the rain did a good job—though it tried.

  She’s still sad. Pissed, curious, annoyed, yes, but still sad.

  My chest expands, I stand there frozen, knowing better than to breathe because if I so much as breathe wrong, she’ll disappear. I mutely stare at her for a full minute, as if I’ve just seen an angel but the more I stare, the more I notice the devil’s glint in her eyes.

  “What?” I grunt.

  “I said are you done punishing the wall for your sins?” she questions, this time walking toward the chairs I kicked. “Because if you are, then you should apologize to the wall. It did nothing to receive your wrath.”

  For some fucked up reason, that annoys me and intrigues me all at the same time. The fact that she somehow thinks whatever’s going on is my fault, makes me frown. That I sinned and now we’re here, makes me suck in another breath, watching her because it’s true. I did cause all of this. I wasn’t there when Aiden needed me.

  “Who are you, the hospital hall monitor?” I mock, rolling my shoulders back, standing at my tallest, knowing that my height intimidates almost everyone, and I’m still growing.

  “Please, I last did that in middle school.” She places a hand on her hip, still watching me like I’m a feral, wounded animal. But the thing is, she’s not afraid. Not one bit. “And I was quite good at it if I remember correctly. I never allowed a slip-up, from anyone.”