Free Living Violet by Jaime Reed Page B

Davenport was the textbook definition of a Chad .

    Chad [chad]—noun.
    A young Anglo-American male with athletic build, typically named Chad, who is very popular with the opposite sex, and usually the alpha male of a social group. Chads are often found in fraternities, tailgate parties, sporting events, and anywhere within the vicinity of a light-beer kegger. Staple attire consists of the following: baseball cap, wife-beater undershirt or T-shirt with ironic slogan, cargo shorts, and leather sandals. Prone to utter inappropriate phrases like, “What’s up, bro?” or “Yo, dog.”

    â€œHey, Cha—I mean Garrett,” I corrected. “What up?”
    Hiking his chin in greeting, he browsed around the store. “You’ve seen that little bitch Doug around?”
    â€œNo. I heard you two had a misunderstanding.” I tucked my lips to stave off the laugh.
    He dragged his tongue over his top row of teeth and nodded. “Something like that. You tell him to stay out of my way, if he knows what’s good for him.”
    I gave him a firm salute. “Will do.”
    â€œYou coming to Robbie’s party next Saturday?”
    â€œWouldn’t miss it.”
    Garrett looked over to the bookshelves and spotted Alicia. “Doesn’t she go to our school?”
    Seeing the predatory lust in his eyes, I dropped my box of straws and rounded on him with both barrels loaded. “Yeah, but the thing is, you don’t anymore. Back off, Garrett. She’s only fifteen.”
    He lifted a blond eyebrow. “Your point?”
    â€œI can sum it up in two words: jail bait! ”
    The words hit him like a bucket of cold water. “See ya on Saturday, Sam,” he mumbled and left my sight, but not without stealing another glimpse at the forbidden fruit on the book floor.
    Once I finished my cleanup, I tossed off my apron and went to clock out. At customer service, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun and saw nothing but violet.
    â€œHey, you.” Caleb’s voice carried more enthusiasm than any normal person should have while at work.
    â€œHey, yourself.” A smile crept through despite my efforts to keep cool.
    â€œI listened to the music you gave me. It’s good. Thanks.” He went to the opposite computer to clock in.
    â€œGlad you like it. I like your stuff, too.”
    He looked over his shoulder. “Oh yeah? You’re not just saying that, are you?”
    I was about to reply when an unmistakable tune rang from my bag. The man must have ESP or something, because he seemed to know when a guy was in the general area of my person. Dad sure knew how to kill a mood. He had blown up my phone all day, ensuring that I didn’t back out of our agreement.
    Groaning, I reached in my bag for my cell. Caleb watched with an amused look on his face. “Is that The People’s Court theme song?”
    â€œYeah.”
    He snorted. “As your ring tone?”
    â€œMy Dad’s anyway. He’s a lawyer. It’s our little joke.” I groaned, digging into the dark recesses of my bag.
    â€œWell, I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you on Monday.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then left the desk, both actions so random and awkward that I wasn’t sure they had actually happened. I just stood there, probably wearing “shell shock” on my face for all to see. Shaking out of my trance, I went back to my hunt. By the time I found my phone, the music had stopped.
    Passing through the main aisle toward the entrance, I saw a tall, muscular man talking to Caleb. Seeing them together made it painfully obvious they were related, but the heated subtext of the exchange reached far from loving. I wasn’t prone to listening in on others’ conversations, but what little I did hear sounded ominous and shady as hell.
    Caleb glared up at the man, his jaw tight and fists clenched. “Don’t come here again, Haden. I told