“Give her enough time and she’ll report you to staff services and you’ll be banned from the shop,” Esme retorts, rejoining me with a wealth of crisp packets and chocolate bars in her lap. “You want some?”
“Is this what you usually eat?”
She rolls her eyes, shooting me a smile that genuinely contains humour. It’s like she stepped away and found a new personality available for her loose change. “Sorry, but the salad vending machines were all non-existent.”
I pluck a Moro bar from her selection, alternating bites from my makeshift bacon butty and the sweet, chewy treat.
“Dude, your diet is horrendous. Aren’t you meant to be all healthy and shit for your game?”
“I’m meant to eat about five thousand calories,” I shoot back. “Two thousand maintenance, two thousand for training.” I place one hand high up Esme’s thigh, covered in her usual leggings but still familiar enough to draw a glance of envy from my friend. “Another thousand for extra-curriculars.”
There’s still an edge in Esme’s eyes, but it’s harder to see through her laughter.
The rest of the afternoon passes without incident, and, after classes, I escort Esme back to our rooms, deliberately walking past my door when she does and earning a glance of concern. “You want to come in?”
“Yes, please.”
The frown is back. Her movements are stiff. A trio of laughing students pass us, going quiet, then resuming their amused chatter farther down the hall.
It’s enough to make my back stiffen and I doubt I’m the lead topic in their conversation.
Esme pauses, then puts her key away. She lets her hair fall down so I can’t see her face as she clears her throat and says, “How about we go to yours?”
I retreat the two metres to my door and open it for her, sweeping her inside ahead of me, before locking it behind us. I try to take her in my arms but she’s all angles, knees, and elbows. “Is something wrong?”
“I want…” She falters, digging a knuckle into her windpipe before she tries again. “I need my scissors.” When she raises her eyes to me, the blue is so pale it looks like her unshed tears have watered down her irises.
The rush of desire whirls through my head, leaving me dizzy. Behind it is a more sensible emotion, wariness. Concern about what bad thoughts she needs to get rid of.
In the surge of raw emotion yesterday, I hadn’t thought what I would do if she wanted something it wasn’t good to give her. My cock is no help, launching upward in anticipation, leading me somewhere I doubt it’s healthy for us to go.
“Can I—”
She shakes her head, not even close to letting me finish my sentence. “No. I need them.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
ESME
Instead of doingwhat he told me he would, Seb tries to pull me into a hug. My bones already feel like delicate china. If he wraps his arms around me and squeezes, I’ll shatter.
I thought he’d stop this nonsense at lunch. When I confronted him with my parents’ version of the truth, I thought he’d rage out, destroying every false promise he’d made me yesterday.
But he hadn’t. Even in front of his best friend, he hadn’t challenged my summary. A little nudge at the end, but nothing like I expected.
The kinder he is, the less I know what’s happening. He hasn’t got what I know he’s seeking, an answer to why I accused his mother. Yet he wants a rapprochement, and my head still can’t wrap itself around the reason.
To fuck me?
He’s been doing a sterling job at that without needing this weird transition.
To trick me? To get me close so it hurts twice as badly when he reverts to his true colours.
I thought that was it but the more time I give to the idea, the less I believe it’s the truth. He handed away most of his leverage today by letting my comments stand, fairly much unchallenged. With a counterpoint to his sob story already hitting the gossip channels, even if he told the full truth now, it would be less believable.
Maybe not believable at all.
To get more money?
