Reed finds my reaction highly amusing and a small chuckle escapes him. “Yeah, they are. Aren’t they?” I glare at him but that only makes him chuckle once again. “So that’s why you need to take your X-rated show somewhere else. Let them dream about birds and bees for one more night.”
I’m outraged at this.
Outraged and offended.
Who does he think I am? And why the heck is he talking about me like I’m not even here?
Justin doesn’t find it offensive, however. He thinks it’s funny, and so does the girl, who giggles and replies, “Hate to break it to you, Reed. But as annoying as freshmen are, Ithinkthey know how babies are made.”
Somehow, his animal eyes grow even more potent and I’m forced to take a step back.
Not that I have anywhere to go really.
My spine is pretty much stuck to the tree I was hiding behind.
And he knows that.
His eyes flick to the ground to gauge the distance between us before lifting back to my face. “Yeah? Well, this one looks a little too daisy fresh. I’m not sure she can handle your sex ed class without passing out. So fuck off.”
I think I just pulled a muscle.
Because this is the hardest that I’ve frowned and glared and pursed my lips at someone, the hardest and the longest.
Meanwhile his friends, who still don’t know that I’m standing here, listening in, chuckle and laugh and make crude comments from behind me.
When they’re done though, they scramble off.
Leaving me alone with him.
The guy who’s staring at me like I’m the most interesting thing he has seen tonight. The most interesting thing he’s ever seen, actually, and now that I’m in his clutches, he can’t wait to play with me.
He can’t wait to open me up, unravel me, take me apart.
He can’twait.
“I’m not daisy fresh,” I say and regret it soon after.
This is what I say to him,this.
Of all the things I could’ve said, likehow dare you talk about me while I was standing right hereorhow dare you sneak up on me— because he did sneak up on me, right? — I say the most asinine thing ever.
I go to take it back.
But no words come out of my mouth because he chooses that very moment to move his eyes.
Which makes me realize that he hasn’t looked anywhere else except my face ever since he got here.
He’s changing that now though.
He’s slowly making his way down my swallowing, hiccupping throat, my heavily breathing chest.
Even though there’s very little light, I know he can see me clearly.
I think it’s his wolf eyes; they can see in the dark.
They can see everything: my cardigan that I knitted myself – it’s early February and unusually un-winter-like weather that only requires a light sweater – and my dress.
When his eyes move over it, I realize something else too.
