Born To Be Your's

Chapter 8

Blake’s return to Northwood High was already notable—the fading bruise on his jaw from the Xander fight was still visible, a testament to his suspension. But today, the spotlight belonged entirely to the new girl.

As Blake and Travis walked through the main doors, Liv was already surrounded by a small crowd of administrators and guidance counselors, her figure a defiant monument in the sea of beige walls. She didn’t look overwhelmed; she looked bored.

Blake quickly found that Francis and Paul’s cash-grab had an immediate impact on his schedule: Liv was in his Chemistry, English, and Pre-Calculus classes. She was like a perfectly tailored, antagonistic shadow.

The morning was a passive-aggressive battle for control. Blake was used to commanding the room—his reputation, intelligence, and looks ensured he always had the best seat and the easiest path. Liv, however, moved with a silent assumption of superiority.

In Chemistry, Blake paused to sit in his usual back-row corner seat, the spot that offered the best view of the classroom and the fastest exit. Liv was already there, leaning back in his chair, her heavy boots propped casually on his desk. She was scrolling through her phone, her thumb resting directly on a small, dark image.

Blake stopped, his hand resting on the back of the chair. “That seat’s reserved, princess.”

Liv looked up, her gray-green eyes meeting his. The corner of her full lips curved into the faintest, cynical smile. “Didn’t see a name tag, Copper. Finders keepers.”

Blake just scoffed, his sarcasm cutting. “It’s fine. It just gives me a better chance to see who’s in need of cheating. I might need a new client now that Shawn's paid up.”

Liv’s smile widened slightly, an acknowledgment of his sharp wit, before she returned to her phone.

The day continued in this hostile rhythm. They traded sarcastic jabs across the desks and during passing periods. Liv didn’t engage in full conversations, but her retorts were instant and lethal. She targeted Blake’s obvious role as the family provider and his need for control, while he targeted her obvious lack of attachment and her predictable rebellion. They were two highly intelligent egos fighting for dominance, and the rest of the school became their audience.

The final bell for lunch was Blake’s signal to head to his locker. As he turned the corner near the gym, he saw Xander, the football captain with the recently broken nose, leaning against a wall, flanked by two meat-headed friends. Xander’s nose was a purple, swollen testament to their last encounter, but his arrogance remained intact.

Xander was blocking Liv’s path.

“Hey, new girl,” Xander slurred, adjusting his position so he was closer to the fragile feather tattoo on her neck. “Look, I heard you’re staying with Francis and Paul. My condolences. But if you need some real protection from the trash on that side of the river, I got you. You’re too pretty to be hanging around Copper trash.”

Liv stopped, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked Xander up and down, her expression a study in sophisticated boredom.

“I prefer trash with better survival skills,” Liv deadpanned, her tone slicing through Xander’s bravado. “And better dental work. Did you get that nose job covered by your mommy’s insurance, or did that come out of your tuition fund?”

Xander’s face instantly flushed. He was used to girls giggling or retreating; Liv was dissecting him. “Listen, b***h. You got a mouth on you. I like that. But you need to learn who’s in charge here.”

He reached out, his hand sweeping roughly, and made contact with Liv’s ass.

Blake, who had been watching the confrontation with detached, predatory amusement, suddenly felt the cold surge of pure, violent instinct that only struck when his own was threatened. He wasn't sure why he was about to intervene for a girl who hated him, but the casual violation was a trigger. He took one step forward, ready to deliver a definitive lesson to Xander that no one touches a Copper's property—or, in this case, his designated rival.

But before Blake could move, Liv laughed.

It was a sharp, sinister chuckle, devoid of joy, but full of threat. She took a step closer to Xander, her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you like to touch, huh?” Liv murmured, her voice suddenly low and seductive, a perfect mask of compliance. “You know, I do, too. You just have to come a little closer.”

Xander smirked, entirely misreading the switch. He was already leaning forward, intoxicated by the sudden promise. “That’s what I like to hear, beautiful. I was just gonna say that I know plenty of places away from these hallways where we can get real acquainted. How about this, you give me a kiss right now, and I’ll forget everything.”

Liv didn't hesitate. She looked like she was leaning in to accept the kiss then, with a sudden, vicious speed that betrayed her controlled appearance, she threw her head back and headbutted Xander right in the nose.

The sound was a sickening, wet crack, followed by Xander’s surprised, choked roar of pain. Blood instantly gushed, spilling over his lips and down his chin. He stumbled backward, clutching his face, looking utterly bewildered.

Blake stopped his forward movement, pulling his fist back. He stared at Liv, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his handsome face. He raised an eyebrow, the challenge in his eyes now mixed with reluctant admiration.

Liv at Xander, who was rapidly bleeding onto the linoleum floor.

“Sorry should have told you, I like it rough. Asshole,” Liv announced, her voice returning to its normal, flat rasp. She ignored the surrounding students, looked directly at the stunned Blake, and gave him a tiny, satisfied nod before walking calmly past the bleeding football captain and disappearing toward the cafeteria.

Blake stood there, his own violence momentarily diffused. He had been ready to fight Xander for her, but she had handled it herself—with brutal, surgical efficiency.

“She’s a keeper,” Travis whispered, emerging from the crowd, wide-eyed.

Blake didn’t disagree. She hadn't asked for his help, and she hadn't needed it. She was dangerous, smart, and utterly magnificent. The war had just escalated to an entirely new, fascinating level.

The rest of the school day was eerily silent regarding the incident. Xander, bruised, bloody, and nursing a possibly re-broken nose, vanished after the attack. Blake realized quickly why the principal hadn't been called: Xander was too humiliated to admit to the student body—and especially his football buddies—that a 5'5", 105-pound girl had single-handedly rearranged his facial structure. The silent victory belonged entirely to Liv.

Blake and Travis went through their classes, occasionally passing Liv in the halls. Their eyes would meet—Blake’s full of a cold, challenging admiration, Liv’s consistently flat and guarded. She never acknowledged the shared moment of violence.

Last period was Gym. Blake wasn't surprised when he saw Liv wasn't participating. He made his way to his usual spot high on the bleachers, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his recent texts. A message from Claire, a junior cheerleader who was chronically failing chemistry, popped up.

Claire: Can you help me study for the midterm? I need to get a B ;)

Blake smirked, licking his lips. The code was clear: he ensures she gets a B on the test, she provides a blow job. It was a familiar, easy transaction, strictly physical, exactly how Blake preferred to deal with girls.

He quickly typed back, Wednesday works. Be ready to take notes.

A little ways down the bleachers, Liv was seated, her black aesthetic clashing sharply with the school's faded blue paint. She wasn't dressed for gym, having simply traded her jacket for a tighter black t-shirt. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she had earbuds in, staring intently at her phone, the vibrant dark waves of her hair shielding her face.

The class was playing kickball. Blake watched them, bored, his mind already calculating the logistics of the upcoming transaction with Claire.

Xander finally appeared, his nose a spectacular shade of black and blue, taped up under a massive bandage. He looked like a defeated prizefighter. Blake saw Xander narrow his eyes—now malicious pinpricks of hatred—on Liv. He whispered something to his friends, nodding toward the beautiful, detached girl on the bleachers. They chuckled, playfully punching his arms, cheering him on to his next act of retribution.

Xander was up to kick. The pitcher rolled the ball.

Blake watched, his attention instantly snapping away from his phone. Xander didn't look at the bases; his eyes were fixed on Liv. Xander didn't care about the game; he was going to punt the ball straight at her face.

Normally, Blake would let this play out. You start a fight, you deal with the consequences. That was the rule in the Copper house, and Liv had certainly started this war. But for some reason—the memory of her small, defiant form standing over the bleeding captain, the shocking vulnerability of her neck tattoo, the raw trauma he knew was simmering beneath her cool exterior—he couldn't stop himself.

Xander kicked the ball with explosive force. It was a line drive, low and hard, heading straight for Liv’s beautiful, unaware face. She was completely engrossed in her phone, totally oblivious to the incoming projectile.

Blake moved on pure instinct. He slid down the bleachers reaching out his hand. He didn't have time to think, only to act. His open palm connected with the hard, leather shell of the ball, smacking it violently down and away from Liv’s head.

His hand instantly stung, a hot, throbbing pain that resonated all the way up his arm. That ball would have done some serious damage if it had hit her face like Xander intended.

Liv looked up, startled, pulling one earbud out. She stared at the ball skidding across the gym floor, then at Blake, who was leaning back slightly.

“You’re welcome,” Blake said, the sarcasm automatic, masking the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Liv tightened her jaw, her eyes flashing with anger rather than gratitude. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I don’t need your protection.”

Blake chuckled, pushing his messy hair back with his aching hand. “I know you didn’t. But if I hadn't, you’d be going to the nurse’s office with a f****d-up face. Then Francis and Paul would have chewed my ass for letting you get damaged, Liv. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Liv looked down at her phone, her expression becoming dry and flat. After a long moment, she muttered, “Thanks.”

Blake smirked, the verbal sparring already feeling like a necessary, dangerous ritual. He glanced down, peering at her phone screen, intrigued by her taste. He could make out the song title and artist.

“You listen to Bryce Savage?” Blake scoffed, genuinely surprised.

Liv didn't look up, answering with her usual quick wit. “Wow, you can read.”

Blake chuckled, the sound easy and smooth. For the first time, the tension between them didn't feel purely hostile; there was a flicker of complicated, mutual recognition. She was a puzzle, and he loved solving problems.