“Careful.”
My lips throb at the repeat gesture, remembering his kiss, but he doesn’t make a move. Under the guise of turning, I ram my shoulder into him, hard as I can. Refusing to acknowledge the tiny pinch of disappointment. All sharp teeth and spiky edges but better that than a sobbing mess.
“Ow,” he says, laughing, touching his finger to the top of my spine, watching me squirm. “You don’t need to be violent.”
“That’s what she said,” I mutter under my breath, wincing as he chuckles, the sound sending an avalanche of tingles down my spine. Ignoring him, I dial the combination again. This time, it springs free, and I bump it into his wrist to get him to move.
I reach for my textbooks, then pause, trying to remember what subjects I have.
He moves aside, his lanky form slouching next to me while I sort out what I need… then change course, replacing everything and taking out different books, completely flustered.
“Are you sure you know what day it is?” He plucks a book from my hand, swapping it out for another. “You don’t have art history until last period.”
I glance at him through narrowed eyes. Our student schedules aren’t state secrets, but they’re also not publicly available. Or theyshouldn’tbe.
Heaven help me if he enrols in anymoreof my classes.
Since he’s not going away, I sneak a few looks beneath lowered lashes. His pale face is contoured with stubble. Half his shirt is untucked, belt so loose his trousers sag low on his hips. He wears more jewellery than half the girls I see, a crucifix, chains, chunky rings on most fingers, a heavy link bracelet that probably isn’t called that when it’s designed for men.
It’s obscene for him to look that good and have all the money in the world at his disposal.
“Don’t you have someplace else to be?”
“Not at all.” He pinches my blouse collar between thumb and forefinger, knuckle gently grazing the underside of my jaw, starting a ripple effect that keeps growing stronger as he adjusts the material where it’s folded inside. “Just wondered if my girl wanted to grab lunch at our table today.”
His easy smile is halfway to coaxing one in return and I bite the inside of my cheek, hard.
“I’m not your girl.”
“Strange. Because you look just like her. Those beautiful eyes, that wide mouth. Those big lips that are the same shade as your pretty… pink…” He lets the sentence hang, mouth pursing to form another P word, then he relents. “Hair.”
My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat. “Because all girls with pink hair look alike to you.”
A stricken expression contorts his face, there and gone, my sense of accomplishment struck down by his remorse. “And here I was, trying to be nice.”
“I’m going to eat lunch with my friend, like always. Maybe take in a game with enormous hulking men slamming into each other at full force. I like sturdy men with tree trunks thighs,” I add with a dismissive glance at his long legs.
There’s a flash of them straddling me and my face explodes with colour. Worse, it’s not an image from the party. Just something my brain dreamt up itself.
What the hell is wrong with me? The pulse between my legs returns, spelling out a plea for attention in its rhythmic morse code.
A flash of irritation crosses Zane’s face, then it smooths back into its perfect lines. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
I nod and he walks away. Despite my internal recriminations, my eyes eat up the sight, storing away snapshots of his tight rear for later because apparently, I’m a complete hypocrite, too.
Clare catches up with me five minutes into homeroom, a charming smile easing her out of a demerit. We head in different directions for our first two periods, catching up at morning break.
“Enjoy yourself?” I ask, nudging her with my elbow to release the gossip.
“Not really,” she says with unusually tight lips, then she wrinkles her nose. “But I heard on the grapevine thatsomebodyhad a little trouble opening her locker this morning.”
“This school is disgusting. I can’t wait until we’re at uni and everybody keeps their noses out of each other’s business.”
“Liar.” She snickers. “You’ll be all up in the gossip then, too. You don’t fool me.” A long pause follows, neither one of us rushing to fill the gap. “Are you seriously keeping this deliciousness to yourself? After I had to twist your arm for the full story of John and his incredible exploding phone?”
“Nothing happened,” I say with a sigh, then have a burst of inspiration. “Zane’s joined my art class, that’s all. He was looking for pointers on dealing with Mr Simmons. Their first lesson didn’t go well.”
Clare continues staring but I meet her gaze, head on. “Now you.” I tickle her until she squeals. “Give me all the gorgeous rugby player goss.”
