Genevieve
QUINN AVOIDS ME ALL DAY.
Apparently, the world's against me today because I seem to spot her more often than not. Despite being in every class with me, she makes a considerable effort to distance herself as much as possible, and no matter how many times I try to actively reach out to her, she refutes my efforts. I don't blame her. But Talia's caught in the crossfire with us and that's so painstakingly unfair to her. I've been ostracised and it's killing me, but I don't want to surrender Ford either.
After my parents tried to talk some more sense into me yesterday once the initial shock ebbed away, it was still to no avail. My mind's set. How many times do I have to repeat if it ends up being a mistake, let it be my mistake to make so I can learn from it? But my parents are smart. They know they have no power over me by forbidding me to see Ford and punishing me with juvenile things such as taking my phone away. They also know that the more they push me away, the further it drives me into Ford's arms.
So it seems we've come to some sort of unspoken agreement, but the waters are only being tested now.
To add a little fuel to the flame, I told my parents I'm staying at Ford's tonight, and while their disappointment was blatant across their reflecting expressions, they said nothing to stop me. It's a small mercy for now. I'll take what I can get during this turbulent journey.
Speak of the devil, Ford messaged me only minutes ago to meet him in the parking lot. I'm already here because Quinn raced out of our final lecture and I hastened to follow, clinging to the remaining sliver of hope that she might at least talk to me, but it was to no avail. She zipped for the parking lot, eager to instil as much distance between us.
And now I wait aimlessly at the front of the building, eyes scouring the parking lot for any sign of Ford. I spot Clark on the other side, smugly chatting up a girl I don't recognise. She's pretty with strawberry blonde hair and enviable curves I wish I had.
Knowing what might be happening there as the realization dawns on me, the coldness spreading through my veins, I turn away, trying to centralise my thoughts on something else. We're surrounded by a multitude of other students so it's easy enough to get lost in their mannerisms and behaviour, fascinated by the various scenarios occurring around me.
Then I hear it.
I hear Ford way before I see him.
He hightails it into the parking lot—as promised—on his Harley. The roaring engine is enough to capture the attention of almost every student present, but he focuses entirely on me, going as far as to pull up right alongside me. He slaps his visor up, and devilish twinkle in his eyes is enough to have the warmth flaring in my stomach.
Resting his motorcycle on the stand, he tugs the helmet effortlessly over his head and places it on the seat. With the smirk that quirks at his lips, he bridges the distance between us and presses his lips firmly against mine. I'm all too aware of the beady eyes that must be witnessing every mind-boggling second of this. But before I can slip into that mentality, Ford draws back, and his eyes run appreciatively down my body.
"You knew I was picking you up on my motorcycle. You think that outfit's appropriate for that, princess?" he taunts.
My outfit consists of an entirely inappropriate miniskirt for the motorcycle, but it's pleated so it won't ride up on my thighs, and I've paired it with dark tights. I'm donning a little jacket—there's absolutely no breeze on this April day but I'll feel the wind on me during the ride back to Ford's—atop a plain little crop top, though no skin around my midriff is exhibited. I'm also wearing ankle boots with a heel, accentuating my legs.
