Mason lets out a laugh he tries and fails to hold back.
Someone swears under their breath.
I lean back slowly, my tongue pressing against the inside of my cheek.
I watch her turn back around in her seat, spine straight, chin lifted, as if she didn’t just light me the fuck up in front of half the class.
“Jesus,” Liz mutters.“You deserved that.”
The slap still stings.My cheek throbs, heat radiating each time I move my jaw.But my smile remains.Crooked and dark, because her cold shoulder I can handle.But that slap… That’s fucking foreplay.
Sam doesn’t acknowledge me for the rest of the class, but she’s tapping her pen hard enough to crack the table.Her leg won’t stop bouncing.
She’s not unaffected.
And that’s the thrill I live for.
I spend the next forty minutes pretending I don’t care, which is complete bullshit.
My knee won’t stop bouncing, and no matter how hard I try to focus, my eyes keep drifting back to her.To the back of her neck.That pale strip of skin between her collar and her hairline feels obscene in how much it pulls at me.I keep imagining what it would be like to press my mouth there, to see if she gasps or if she breaks and lets out a quiet moan she can’t stop.
Lola passes her a note, sliding it across the desk with a grin, and they snort quietly together.Lola leans in, whispering something under her breath that makes Sam smile.
Mrs.Whitman drones on about thesis statements and structure, her voice blending into background noise I can’t latch onto.
Pens scratch.Pages flip.I don’t write a single fucking word.My notebook stays blank, open to a clean page that mocks me every time I glance down.
Sam fills an entire page.She underlines something twice, pressing hard enough that the pen almost tears the paper.She cares about school.About things that don’t include me, my mouth, my cock, or the mess I want to make of her.
Because while everyone else is half-asleep and checked out from hearing the teacher drone on, she’s fully present.
The bell rings, and the room bursts into movement.Chairs scrape loudly as students jostle to get up.Bags zip shut.Voices rise sharply as everyone pushes towards the door.Sam is on her feet immediately, her bag already slung over her shoulder, moving with determination.Lola’s at her side, Liz close behind, the three of them weaving through the crowd.
Behind me, Jace stands.“You done poking the bear or what?”
I look up at him.“She’s not a bear.”
He grins.“Sure.She’s more dangerous.”
I should laugh.Normally I would.This is the part where I’d toss something back, shrug it off, act like it’s all good fun.But my eyes drift to the doorway where Sam disappeared.
Jace and I linger, watching the room empty around us.
Papers litter the floor.Mrs.Whitman’s already gone, heels clicking down the hall.
Jace nudges my shoulder as we finally make our way to the door.
“You should pay up now,” he says, smug as ever, that bullshit smirk glued on.“No way in hell you’re fucking that wildcat.”
I meet his gaze.
“Just watch me,” I say.“I’ll get there.”
“You’re serious,” he snorts.
“Dead serious.Have you ever known me to fail?”
Jace eyes me for a second; his grin fades slightly before it snaps back into place.
