"Little Miss Perfect," he murmured, which made her frown at the nickname she had heard countless times. It was what people called her, but her life was anything but that. She was a cheerleader with a handsome boyfriend and a group of friends. People saw what they wanted to and not necessarily the truth.

If there weren't a void she was trying to fill, she wouldn't be standing on the edge of a cliff trying to feel something more than emptiness.

"Bad boy," she shot back. His mouth tipped up on the one side as he tried to suppress a smile.

"Touché."

They both had reputations, but the difference was he lived up to his.

"I have to go," she stated, looking briefly to the dusty path that had led her to this point. There was a lone daisy flower beside the path. She loved daisies. It was another part about being there, every now and then she would pick some daisies to take home.

She bent to touch the petals. It was so beautiful.

"I thought you were a roses-type of girl," Maddox noted.

"I hate thorns." She shrugged.

She stood and began to walk down the path, before noticing he was following silently behind.

"What are you doing?" She frowned, stopping to face him.

"What does it look like?" He gave her a chance to answer, but she refused. "I'm walking you back."

"That's really not necessary."

He shrugged dismissively and remained where he was. She let out a frustrated breath before she swung around to stomp away, but his annoying footsteps remained steady behind her no matter how fast she tried to walk to lose him. He was infuriating.

There was a chill in the air even though it was late afternoon, and it made her shiver. She felt a warmth envelop her, suddenly noticing that Maddox had draped his jacket over her shoulders. She stopped to turn and face him. She wasn't sure what to say but she held the sides of his leather jacket tighter to keep herself warm.

"Thanks," she mumbled, feeling overtaken with the small act. She wanted to hold on to her annoyance but it was more difficult now.

"You're welcome."

She continued the rest of the ten-minute walk in a subdued silence, fully aware of the proximity as he followed behind. Maddox Larson wasn't someone who disappeared into the background. He stood bold, demanding attention. When they walked out of the forest and the road lay before them, she recognized his beaten-up old Ford parked on the side. She took off his jacket to hand it back to him.

"Where's your car?" he asked, looking around, clearly noticing there wasn't another car parked nearby.

"I didn't bring it."

"Get in. I'll take you home."

She shook her head, not wanting to be in his company for a minute longer.

"That's really not necessary," she replied, as her house was only a short walk away.

"I insist," he said, refusing to take back his jacket. "It's getting dark."

"Chivalry will ruin your reputation," she remarked.

He smirked. "I promise not to tell if you don't."

She crossed her arms, feeling unsure of how to deal with him. He didn't seem to react in ways she expected him to.

"Get in," he repeated, this time opening the passenger door.

She studied him for a few seconds, debating which was the lesser evil. He was the bad boy of the school, breaking every rule in place, constantly pushing against authority. She didn't know if she could trust him. Statistically, most rapists were known to the victims.

"I don't have all night," he reminded her with a frown. He was an extremely good-looking guy and it was hard to find her breath when he fixed his eyes on her. She hated her unwelcome reaction to him.

She glanced down the road, wondering if it was a safer option. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he could have done it already.

"Come on, little Miss Perfect," he sighed, obviously growing tired of waiting for her to make up her mind.

At the mention of the nickname she detested, she shot him a glare. Nothing about her was perfect. She was flawed like everyone.

"Don't call me that."

"Get in." He motioned for her to get into the passenger seat.

Finally relenting, she carefully slipped his jacket back on and got in. He walked around the front of the car and slid into the driver's seat.

Even though it was messy inside, it wasn't dirty. Some discarded bottles and takeout boxes were on the floor, but it smelled nice—reminding her of the scent coming from his jacket that she was still wearing.

He started up his car. It groaned a little before the engine shot to life with a rumble. The radio blared, giving her a jolt, so he turned it down quickly.

She couldn't pull her gaze from his, seeing this different side to him was surprising. She was determined not to be one of his many followers, though. Besides, she had a boyfriend. Logan. She had to keep reminding herself. They hadn't been dating for long, officially it had only been three months.

She shot a side glance to the boy driving her home. His concentration was on the road ahead, and it gave her a few moments to study him.

He tapped one hand against the steering wheel and the muscles in his arm flexed. It reminded her of his ruthless strength she had seen in action during more than one school fight. A scuffle had erupted right beside her once. He had taken down a guy with one hit straight to the face before a crowd of spectators could form around the two of them. The brutality of it had left her breathless. She could still remember the rage she had witnessed in the depths of his eyes when his gaze had momentarily caught her as he had rubbed his bleeding fist. His eyes were fierce.

She made a point of looking away. She believed she was only unsettled by him because he had caught her off guard. It wouldn't happen again. Her walls were back up.

"Address?" he asked distractedly, glancing in her direction.

She gave him the directions and clasped her hands tightly together. Time seemed to slow down and she felt like the ride was taking forever. She couldn't wait to get home and out of his car. The close proximity to him was making her feel more self-conscious with every minute.

"Do you go there often?" His question took her off guard. She stubbornly refused to answer.

"Seriously, do you do that often?" He wasn't going to stop with the questions.

"What?" she asked, resentful even though she knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Standing on the ledge like that?"

He was digging deeper, and she was in no mood to share.

"What does it matter?" she snapped.

"It does." She studied his features while trying to read him, but he wasn't giving anything away. She would bet he was a good poker player, since she had no idea what was going on in that mind of his, but she assured herself she didn't care.

"If you need someone to talk to, there are people who can help you?" he said in a murmur.

Her exasperation level rose. Why didn't he believe her?

"How many times do I have to tell you I wasn't trying to hurt myself?" she snapped, her patience running out.

"That's what it looked like."

She rolled her eyes before turning her attention away from him. It wasn't too long before he pulled up in front of her house.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she got out of his car as quickly as possible, hoping to limit the goodbyes.

"You're welcome, Miss Perfect."

That stopped her just as she closed the door, her hands lingering on the handle. She gave him a scowl.

"Don't call me that," she told him angrily.

The dance of light in his eyes told her that he was baiting her, and she had taken it hook, line and sinker.

"Then what can I call you?"

"Ashley," she told him firmly. Like everyone else. Just because he had intruded on a private moment and now seemingly felt in some way that he knew her more than he had before, it changed nothing between them. She was Ashley Rae, little Miss Perfect, and he was Maddox Larson, the high school bad boy.

They weren't friends and she had no plans to change that.

"Okay, Ash."

That pulled another glare from her. He started the car and smiled at her, refusing to be intimidated by her obvious anger.

"See you tomorrow, Ash."

She was about to tell him she didn't want him to call her that either, but he pulled away, leaving her with her mouth open.

For a few seconds she remained fixed, watching his car drive away. With her arms crossed over her chest, it was then she realized she was still wearing his jacket.

How was she going to get it back to him without drawing attention to why she had it in the first place? She put a hand to her temple. This was a complication she didn't need. What would people say? And, more importantly, what would Logan say?