Loathing Temptation (Lockgrove Bay #1) - Caz May Page 0,2

fake smile. She’s done up to the nines, like she's going out clubbing—not to school—her face caked in makeup that’s the wrong shade for her skin tone. And she quite frankly looks like a clown who’s been dragged through the bush backwards and then drowned in the ocean.

Her heavily made up cheeks are streaked with mascara from tears.

And I couldn’t give a flying fuck.

She stops me from continuing to walk inside with Zeke, grabbing my arm.

“Hi Ash,”she bleats at me, all sweet but her voice is grating on me.

Whatever the fuck I saw in her, I have no idea. Probably the fact she can suck a dick like a damn vacuum.

“Ash, I’m sorry baby,” she says again, looking at me with tears starting to drip down her cheeks again.

“Whatever, Fallon. You’re a skank, and a shit root. Go fuck a tree.”

“Ash, why? Why are you being like this?”

“Like what? A guy who had enough of your clingy bullshit?”

“I...I...I’m not clingy. I love you, Ashton.”

I laugh at her, starting to walk away and again she grabs my arm, clinging onto me like a damn monkey.

She hadn’t exactly done anything wrong, unless you count scaring the ever loving shit out of me by telling me she was pregnant over the summer holidays.

It was in fact a lie, and I dumped her arse the second I found out she was trying to trap me.

I fucking loathe liars.

Daddy dearest spits lies out, every second word out of his mouth. And I hate admitting to myself that I’ve told my own fair share of lies—to protect my mum and sister from Fidel Castello—that my own self loathing runs deep.

He also constantly feeds me the ‘you’re useless Ashton, you’re not worthy of the Castello name.’

I want to make him proud, but I probably never will. Nothing I do, nothing I want to do, my Basketball first and foremost is good enough for him. And it’s the one thing I’m actually good at.

Fallon breaks my thoughts with her whining voice, “Ashton, please. Please just give me another chance.”

Her begging is so fucking pathetic.

“Seriously, Fallon. Fuck off. We are done.”

I snatch my arm back and head inside, just as the morning bell sounds.

And stepping through the double doors heading to my locker, my eyes lock on an ash blonde girl walking down the hallway towards me.

My stomach twists. And bile rises into my throat.

It’s been ten years, but I’d know her anywhere.

And fuck.

I’m fucking dreaming.

I have to be fucking dreaming right?

She isn’t here.

She doesn’t even live in Lockgrove Bay anymore.

But my eyes are not deceiving me, because even when I rub them to stop myself from hallucinating, she’s still here. And she’s opening a locker, stretching up on her tiptoes.

Her short tutu dress rides up, practically giving me a view of her breakfast and a hot curvy arse that’s covered by shiny white tights.

Fuck. She’s gorgeous. A temptress.

But. No. Fucking. Way. I hate her.

I hate Tempany Davies.

And now she’s here I’m going to make her life hell, just like mine has been for the last ten years, because of her.

Two

Tempany

Hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder I take slow steps into Lockgrove Bay preparatory.

My stomach is in knots and I’m regretting my outfit choice of a pink tutu long-sleeved skater dress with white opaque tights.

I don’t know why I yanked it out of my wardrobe this morning—maybe nostalgia—but it’s short, and heading down the hallway I’m stretching the jersey fabric down so it at least reaches my knees and not halfway up my thighs.

This outfit is the old Tempany, not the new me.

Not, Te.

And coming back to Lockgrove Bay after ten years I want to blend into the background, not stand out.

Blending in will hopefully ensure that he—Ashton Castello—doesn’t notice me.

Leaving him behind when I was seven broke my heart.

He gave me butterflies in my belly, and his smile made me want to giggle.

Not a day has passed where I haven’t thought of him, but Facebook searching over the years has made my feelings for him more intense.

He’s beyond gorgeous, and so far out of my league. I’d have more chance of snagging a boyfriend from my fave romance novel than having Ashton notice me.

He’s most likely forgotten about the shy little girl who learnt how to play basketball so she could play with him.

Turning the corner, I’m in front of a row of lockers, and glance at the piece of paper I’m clutching in my sweaty palm.

Locker 1220.

I yank it open, haphazardly pushing my backpack in the bottom,