Clare chooses that moment to approach, brows arching in interest while I scrunch my face.
“I’ll show you and you’ll give me an answer. Either way, when you want to leave, I’ll arrange a driver, or you can take a car. We’ve got a dozen in the garage.”
“Ooh, what kind of car?” Clare asks but Zane ignores her, gently touching the back of my hand as the bell goes for class.
“Get to your lesson. I’ll find you after school, okay?”
My worried eyes follow him as he walks away.
Zane sitsat the back of the room during art, two tables away from me, and is missing when I join Wilder and Clare for lunch. When Clare asks—and bless her for sparing me the effort—Maddox says he’s in the clubhouse.
I don’t know where that is or why he’s avoiding me and I’m hardly going to ask because that will get straight back to him. When he doesn’t turn up to English, I grow irritated. It’s bad enough to issue such a weird request, far worse to avoid me afterwards so he doesn’t have to answer my perfectly reasonable questions.
It annoys me further because I kind of miss him sitting next to me and that wasn’t something I wanted to know, either.
After the lesson, I head straight for my bike stand, unsurprised to see Zane waiting. I tell him, “I’m not going home with you,” but he doesn’t answer my rebuff.
When he’s still beside me as I reach my bike, I cross my arms, refusing to unlock it while he’s there. “I’m not going anywhere alone in a car with you.”
“It’s a ten-minute lift home, not a trap.”
“That’s what all the serial killers say.”
His lips twitch, then he checks his phone. “Look, I’m sorry if the request freaked you out, but I don’t have time for this. I’m on a curfew.”
“Guess you better get going, then.”
The intensity of his stare makes my scalp sizzle. Then he relents with a casual shrug. “Fine.”
I keep my eyes on him as he walks to his truck, hairs prickling in response to my over-excited nerves. It’s only once he’s opened the door that I turn back to my cycle, spinning the dial for my combination lock.
Four stands down, two boys are in a heated argument, and I eavesdrop to find out more. Perhaps that’s why I miss the sound as Zane returns and shoulders me aside.
“What the—”
He chomps through the lock with a pair of bolt cutters, tossing it aside as he lifts my cycle from the rack. Without pause, he strides back to his truck, placing it in the flatbed and getting in the driver’s seat.
“You can’t force me to ride with you,” I yell after him, cheeks already flaming hot, hands clenching into fists.
The engine roars into life and my anxiety makes another unwelcome appearance.
He wouldn’t really drive away, leaving me stranded. It must be a bluff.
The truck takes off, accelerating to the driveway speed limit of ten, carefully advancing among the other students walking, biking, and driving home.
It’s definitely a bluff. He’ll stop soon and get out, giving my cycle back. Probably while laughing at my expense.
Any minute now.
“Fuck.” I set after him at a sprint, dodging students like I’m on a slalom run, slapping my hand on the side of the vehicle as I catch up near the end of the drive, completely winded.
Zane leans over to open the passenger door, smirking like the arrogant rich kid he is. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Arsehole.”
He straightens, giving me the widest smile I’ve ever seen him wear. “Doesn’t sound like me at all.”
I fumble with the belt, snapping it into place and turning to stare out the side window, my glare so hot I’m surprised the glass doesn’t melt.
