Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)

I sigh after reading Professor Garcia’s text, but a little smile plays on my lips when I think back to what I’d done to Thorne’s portrait.

I’m sure the truth would suffice. Thorne is a complete asshole who is full of himself—everyone knows it. But telling Professor Garcia that he offended me by saying I was a jersey chaser feels… immature. So instead, I give her a truth that will quiet her.

I didn’t lie.

It’s the truth.

It just isn’t the entire truth.

I snort in the middle of class. The head football coach threatening to tattle on me to the dean doesn’t worry me. Dean Winters would give up his left testicle to please me and my parents. As long as we stay quiet about the psychopath who trapped me inside a burning building, he’ll bend over backward for us. He’s already made that clear.

The university wouldn’t want word to get out that there’s a student on campus who likes to play with fire. Not to mention, the police have no leads, which would make the rest of the student population fearful.

Never mind me.

Professor Miller dismisses class with a Go Knights parting, and I gather my things so I can rush to the locker room to fix my impulsive behavior. Marley asks if I need a ride home, and I shake my head while we wait for everyone to exit the room. It’s something I started after my accident—never wanting anyone to wait impatiently behind me while I limp out of the room.

“Why were you snickering under your breath during class?” Marley asks.

I smile because I can’t help it. I pull my phone out of my bag and hold it close to my chest. “I kind of… did something.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Did something? You look awfully naughty. Please tell.”

I roll my lips together and show her the before and after of Thorne’s portrait. Her jaw falls, and she covers her mouth with her hand. A laugh escapes in between her fingers, and a breathy laugh leaves me.

“You didn’t.” Marley snatches my phone and gapes at the photos again. She laughs even harder. Her blue eyes are as wide as saucers when she stares at me. “Why?”

I shrug. “He pissed me off.”

It isn’t until we’re outside that she hands the phone back and raises an eyebrow at me.

“He thought I was a stalker,” I admit. “Called me a jersey chaser. He walked in on me painting his face, and I don’t know—” I shrug. “It just irked me.”

Everything does.

“You’re such a boss,” Marley says in between a laugh. She grabs her phone and scrolls while we walk.

“Yeah, well, now I have to go fix it before their game, so joke’s on me.” I roll my eyes.

“No.” Marley laughs. “Joke’s on him.”

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust when she shows me the screen of her phone. My cheeks grow warm. Apparently the portrait has taken over social media, and there are endless comments and shares of the university’s favorite quarterback and his devilish face.

“Oh God,” I mutter.

At the time, painting him as a devil felt cathartic. I didn’t think it’d get this much traction. I’d only done it to get back at him, but leave it to the real jersey chasers to inflate his ego even more by sharing the locker room photo all over the internet and adding an emoji drool face beside it.

I read one conversation and can’t hold back the utter embarrassment for some of the girls.

@Cynthia_Thorne: Daddy always said to stay away from the devil, but I don’t think he’d keep me away from you, baby. @therealthorne

@Rhys: Jeez @Cynthia_Thorne, Did you really change your name to Cynthia Thorne?

@Cynthia_Thorne: So? None of your business, @Rhys

@Rhys: @Cynthia_Thorne, Should have changed it to Can’t Take No For An Answer.

I push Marley’s phone away. “Of course he’s still on a pedestal. Even with devil horns.”

“Do you want help fixing it?” she asks, sending me a pitiful smile.

I shake my head. “It won’t take me long. I’ll be in and out within an hour.”

“Okay, well, call me when you’re done. I’ll pick you up.”

She steps away with a half-smile on her face, and it takes me a second to register what she said.

“Pick me up? For what?

“For the game. You’re coming with.” She winks and then spins away.

“Says who?” I shout after her. “I’m not going.”

“See you in a few!” she calls over her shoulder.

I huff and turn toward the locker room. The entire walk there, I argue with myself over whether or not I want to put my foot down and refuse to go. But I’m getting a hunch that Marley’s goal for this year is to soften my hardened, thorny exterior—one I entirely blame on my secret arsonist.

The clock is ticking, and although I’m practically finished, I quickly add the last golden flecks to Thorne’s eyes before any of the guys show up for the game. If they’re anything like me, they’ll be here at least an hour before they need to be to get in the right mindset.

I lean back on the ladder, ignoring the burning pain in my knee, and make sure everything is proportionate on Thorne’s face. It should be concerning that I don’t have to pull up his photo on my phone to make sure I got everything correct. He’s the type of attractive that stays in your head after just one glimpse.

“My jaw needs to be more defined.”

I gasp and twist.

My paintbrush slips from my hand, and I grip the side of the ladder as my life flashes before me. A rush of heat whooshes down my spine, followed by tingly fear.

“Jeez.” Thorne settles the wobbly ladder.

Although I sort of hate him, I’m thankful. Falling off a ladder is the very last thing I need.

“You good?” He stares at me with those stupid warm eyes.

I bristle at his feigned kindness. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help you.” He reaches for my hand, and I stare at his palm in disgust.

After a few awkward stares from some of his teammates walking into the locker room, he slowly drops his arm. He chuckles. “You act like my palm is going to burst into flames if you touch it.”

My lips part.

Did he really just say that?

“You’re an even bigger asshole than I thought,” I say through clenched teeth.

His brow furrows. “What?”

My throat tightens. Ignoring the throbbing of my knee, I stomp down the ladder and shoulder check his hard stomach after gathering my supplies. I leave my fallen paintbrush on the floor because there is no fucking way I’m kneeling below him.

On my way out of the locker room, ignoring the stares I’m getting from his teammates, Stephen McDowell’s chuckle snags my attention.

“That was cold, dude.”

“That was a big yikes,” someone else adds.

“What did I do?” he asks, pretending not to know.

Thorne’s voice fades the closer I get to the door, but I can see right through his dense act.

“Bro—” I shut the door so I can’t hear the football team talking about my accident and head straight to Marley’s car.

Once I’m in the passenger seat, she does a double take.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Whose jaw do I need to break?”

I massage my leg and sit back farther into the seat to plot. “Do you remember when Jax broke it off with you and we wore the other team’s colors to the game to irritate him?”

She smiles. “How could I forget?”

“I think we should do that again.”

Only this time, it’s to irritate Thorne.