“That was a mistake,” I say, shoving my flannel into my bag with a little too much force. Like I’m trying to shove that idea into my brain. Forcing it until I submit.
It can never happen again. Can it? Nope.
It’s morning. We’re fully clothed. And I haven’t said a word to him since Ben interrupted us last night.
From the hours of one thirty until ten minutes ago, I thought I was never going to sleep ever again. I thought I was going to have to march into Dr. Waitley’s office and tell her she’s got two insomniacs now.Congratulations! You’ve just discovered insomnia is contagious. Now please submit my body for further study in solitary confinement.But as my eyes fluttered open this morning, I realized that I did manage to get some shitty sleep among the squirming. And squirm I did. Every time I closed my eyes, there he was.
His hands. His lips. His moans.
It shouldn’t have been that good.
Chapter nine of Mom’s book:The Illusion of Rekindling Desire & Why It Usually Fails.
I glance up at Xander, who’s studying me from his side of the bed. “Are you telling me or you?” he says, one eyebrow raised.
“Both,” I say. This makes Xander bust out in full-body laughter. I look past him toward the door. Longingly.
“Will I see you tonight?” he says, a strain in his voice as he catches me fantasizing about walking out of here and never coming back. Never seeing Xander again. Never having to deal with the aftermath of my lapse in judgment.
His eyes widen when I don’t answer immediately. Those red-rimmed eyes. I ignore how it tugs on a piece of me that I usually reserve for Em and instead focus on my empty bank account.
“I’ll be here,” I say, reassuring him with a tight nod. “But I think we might need to set some—”
“Rules?”
“Exactly.”
“No dating. No sex. No falling in love,” Xander says, reciting the rules we made the day we met eleven years ago. When we decided to become friends. That we inevitably broke, because you can’t deny chemistry. I can’t believe he remembers. “Looks like we didn’t break any rules last night.”
Technically, he’s right.
But my brain is still trying to make it make sense. How was it so fucking good? Why is my body still vibrating six hours later? And how is it possible to feel like I’m one flashback away from coming undone? I squeeze my eyes shut. Ignore it.
“Ash?”
“What we had was nothing more than chemistry,” I say, trying to find an explanation.
“Right, Miss Ashleigh,” Xander says, anchoring into the frame of reference for this conversation. I am a chemistry teacher. I will use chemistry to explain this.
“A chemical reaction,” I say, looking down at my hands.
“Is that why it felt so good?” he says, his voice thick like smoke. My eyes snap to him.
“Yes.” I breathe out. His voice pulling me in. And for the second time in my entire life, I wonder if breaking my rules might be worth it. And then I remember the reason I don’t break my rules. “Wait.”
“Can’t a chemical reaction ever be repeated?” he asks. Normally, the teacher within me would perk up that someone has expressed genuine interest. But when it comes to Xander, I have to tread carefully.
“A chemical reaction is irreversible,” I say. “Like when a log burned in a fire turns to ashes, but the ashes can’t be changed back into a log.” I omit the new evidence thanks to last night that our chemical reactioncanbe repeated.
“Okay,” he says, accepting his fate. “So just to clarify then, what we just did was so incredible, it changedyourlifeirreversiblyforever?” He says it like he’s delivering his closing argument to the jury.
“No,” I scoff. “It’s not my fault you’re too dense to understand.”
“You’re an excellent chemistry teacher. Don’t sell yourself short,” he says, smirking.
Fuck. And just like that, I’ve managed to walk myself into another battle of the comeback. Every time I think I’ve got him, I realize too little too late he’s got me. It seems our dynamic is that I set him up, and he knocks me down.
I literally have nothing to say to this. It’s true. The awards hanging in the dark room of Principal Holland’s office, in the empty hallways of a school that’s shut for the summer, are proof. And yes, I am smart. Regardless of how good Xander is at making me squirm.
