No one says a word even though students all around us who were going about their business have come to a stop to witness what’s going on. They’re probably thinking that I’m at it again, the principal’s ward who made a scene at the soccer field.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll just get them,” I say, ducking my head and making for the books again.
“Salem.”
He says my name as a warning and I stop. Again, I don’t have to look at him to know the state of his features, all tightened and bunched up, sharp as a blade.
“I’m giving you the courtesy of doing the right thing of your own volition,” he says to the girls in a stern voice. “But if you can’t, I can very easily order you to bend down and pick up the books. I can very easily order you tostaydown for the rest of the day too.” I feel him shifting on his feet. “Personally, I’d like to abuse my power a little bit. I’m stuck here anyway, right? Might as well have a little fun with it. So it’s really up to you.”
Everyone heard that and now they all have their mouths open in shock.
But not me.
I’m not shocked at what he said and how rudely he’s behaving. I’m not shocked that he’s being this new, cut-open Arrow.
Unfortunately, I like it.
Unfortunately, it excites me.
This excitement that I’m feeling has nothing on the excitement that I used to feel at the sight of the old Arrow, the one who would be all restrained and unruffled.
It’s unreal,thisexcitement. It’s the stuff they should bottle and sell on empty streets to bleak, miserable souls. So they can inject it in their veins and be forever high.
When the girl who called me a reject almost drops to the ground to do his bidding, I can’t stop the tremble in my belly and my legs.
I can’t stop the pounding of my heart. She hands me the books with a glare and I hug them to my chest.
“Good choice.” Then to everyone else, “Show’s over. You can resume your own lives now.”
Afraid, they all jump to do his bidding too and I hear him mutter, “Fucking schoolgirls.”
I spin around then.
And see him for the first time since he arrived on the scene.
He has his usual clothes on, his gym t-shirt and sweats, all gray, all freaking sexy. The barely-there sleeves of his shirt putting his biceps on display, tanned and strong, covered with dark hair, and I curse myself that I didn’t explore the texture of his skin, the contours of his arms back when I had the chance.
The arms he uses to catch me when I fall.
I didn’t touch them enough that one night when I was his friend.
Stupid Salem.
Because there’s no way he’d want to be my friend anymore.Idon’t want to behisfriend anymore.
What an awful idea that turned out to be.
I always knew I was dangerous. I always knew my love would drive me to do desperate, awful things.
Greedy things. Hungry things.
Things like attacking him with my mouth.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say in a hesitant voice.
He takes his time responding though.
He fills the silence with his heavy eyes, which he uses to survey me.
