This is what he usually did; he acted like nothing ever happened.
I opened my eyes again because the kiss vanished into nothing, and noticed James and Jackson passing behind him. Jackson joined a group of guys, while James headed to his locker.
Brian squeezed me harder as soon as he saw him.
“Sorry about yesterday,” I murmured.
But he was too preoccupied with staring at James.
“I’m going, sweetie. Don’t stay here too long,” he ordered, without taking his eyes off James.
“I just hang up the last flyers, and I’ll—”
“You’re the best girlfriend in the world,” he whispered in my ear.
Oh, no, Brian. Not at all.
James flung his locker door open and paper flew onto the floor.
“Damn that tramp! Taylor!” he cursed.
Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.
“Hey, asshole. So you’re finally gonna run?” she asked, trampling on a flyer with her heel.
“What the fuck do you want?” he spat, leaning against the lockers.
As usual, James was wearing the fire engine–red vest that belonged to Jackson instead of his uniform. It certainly looked better on James. His broad, powerful shoulders jutted prominently out of the sleeves. Jackson had a pale complexion like milk while James was a tan muscular statue.
“Now that I won’t be taking care of your campaign, we’ll see what you do alone. Since you don’t know how to do things alone.”
Taylor pointed her finger at his chest, but James seemed unperturbed.
“No, you’re right. I prefer when your friends help me,” he answered, amused, pushing a vape pen behind his ear.
“You son of a bitch. Don’t talk to me ever again.”
“And quit sending me those pics first thing in the morning. It has the opposite effect on me than what you’re looking for.”
Taylor stormed off in a rage, swaying her hips like she felt like the most beautiful girl in the world, impervious to insults like that. I wanted her self-esteem.
James scoffed indifferently and closed his locker. Then he saw me.
“Ariana.” He pronounced my name, and his hoarse voice hit me like a lightning bolt.
“James, look . . .”
“Enjoying the show?” He placed the vape between his lips and stared at me.
“I didn’t want stay and watch you. But I have to talk to you.”
“Let’s hear it,” he said, annoyed.
“James, I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” I retorted.
