* * *
The morning startsout so cold, I half believe Zach’s evil plan is to freeze me to death. Without the addition of a coat, jacket, or jumper, the dress—basically a fitted silk camisole—doesn’t offer any protection against the elements.
While waiting inside the common room, I try to gain some heat by curling into an overstuffed chair. Zach walks in and I straighten, worried that something’s wrong, that I’ve misunderstood, but he smiles and nods.
The flood of relief is followed by the shame that I sought his praise.
“Looking good, Lily. You want a jacket?” Before I can say anything, he drapes a rugby team puffer around my shoulders.
Not only are the multi-layers warm, but it retains all the heat of his body. Much as I’d love to throw the jacket back in his face, I snuggle into it instead.
He draws a line along the edge of my jaw with the back of his forefinger. “I knew that colour would suit you,” he says in a low voice, eyes dancing with appreciation.
Before I can stop him, he jerks me upright, takes a seat, and pulls me onto his lap. “Just checking you followed instructions,” he whispers into the side of my neck as his fingers stroke my arse, finding it bare. “Good girl.”
“Can I get up now?”
“You can do what you like,” he says, patting my rear end as I get to my feet. When I shrug the jacket off, he shakes his head. “Keep it. I didn’t realise it’d be this cold out.”
After homeroom, I head to English class. The lesson drags on and my tension builds as my mind continues to worry about what game Zach is playing.
My second class is a free period and I scurry to the common room, tucking myself into a corner and studying the packet of materials I’m still using to catch up with the rest of the class. Despite my distraction, I’m making progress as the bell for morning break rings.
Two boys from the rugby team nudge each other as they walk inside. One gives me an east coast wave and I return the brow lift with one of my own, puzzled. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to either of them before.
The jacket.
Of course, that’s it. I should return it, but I have enough problems with circulation without inviting back this morning’s chill. Just thinking about it is enough to have me snuggling lower into it, hiding my chin beneath the neckline.
My next class is in the modern block, at the far side of the school. I walk there with my hands buried deep in my pockets, almost jogging to get there in time.
At the door, two boys hang about outside, fitting in a last-minute chat. They nod to me, and I smile back, still feeling weird that anyone would be kind to me just because of my clothes.
My clothes.
I glance down, checking my dress is still there and accounted for. Nothing obviously out of place. The faint reflection from the glass on the door doesn’t highlight any surprises. Still, a creeping sense of dread swamps me from head to toe.
A boy approaches me, holding some glittery fabric in his hands. Between his broad shoulders and missing neck, I guess he belongs with the rugby team. That, and the lettering across his shirt reading first fifteen.
“You left these behind,” he says. Maybe he’s trying for a whisper, but his husky voice is still audible to the room at large.
My hands automatically cup to accept the fabric he drops into them, and I realise after a second, they’re some fancy ankle socks.
“Uh, thanks?”
“No worries, sweetheart,” the boy drawls, touching my shoulder while his eyes fix on my chest. “I owe you more than a delivery service.”
I bite my lip, trying to think one step ahead, and my gaze travels to Zach, who’s staring at me with a blank expression, leant so far back in his chair he’s practically level.
“Put them on,” the delivery boy says. “They should’ve been in the box with your dress, so they count as part of your outfit.”
My blood sinks to my feet, leaving my upper extremities cold and pale. I force a smile as I nudge off my shoes and pull the socks on before stepping back into them.
Socks I can handle. But I now know what’s coming.
Trent is next. I haven’t seen him since the night with Robbie, but his face is welded into my brain, along with everything else that happened. I’m not surprised to see the same symbol on his shirt as on the boy before him. Not astonished when he dangles a bra from his outstretched fingers.
“You’ll need to take your jacket off,” he says in a genuine whisper that only I can hear. I shrug it off my shoulders, steeling my spine to get through the next few minutes.
