Sam doesn’t smile at me the way the others do.No fluttery lashes.No lip bites or giggles.Hell, I’m pretty sure she’d rather set herself on fire than be in the same room as me.
She rolls her eyes when I wink.Crosses her arms when I talk.Looks at me like I’m static she learned to ignore years ago.
But I see it.
It’s the twitch in her jaw when I get too close.The split-second hitch in her breath when I call her Red, as if I’m saying something filthy.The way her fists curl like she’s deciding whether to punch me or drag me somewhere dark and lock the door.
She acts unfazed.Almost bored.
But I see it.
I always fucking see it.
I get under her skin.Scratch that.I fucking live there.
Although she’ll never admit that, but that’s half the fun.
She fucking loves it almost as much as I do.
She makes me want to ruin her mood.Hell, maybe her entire year.
Whatever perfect plan she’s got in that pretty little head?I want to fuck with it.Just enough to make her snap.
This isn’t a crush.That shit’s for freshmen and idiots who fall for the first girl that looks their way.This is something else.Something darker.Deeper.A fixation that’s carved itself into my ribs and made a fucking home there.A fever that simmers beneath my skin every time she walks past, every time she opens that mouth and tells me to fuck off.
I won’t name it, because the moment I do, it becomes real.And if it’s real, it owns me.
So I leave it where it is—in the glances I steal when she’s not looking.In the smirk I wear to rile her up.In the heat that curls low in my gut when she squares her shoulders and goes toe-to-toe with me.
I may hook up with other girls while she walks by.Maybe I make sure she sees it.Maybe I get off on the way her face tightens before she snaps it back into place.
I lean back against the brick wall out front, and Shantel presses up against me.She’s already got one hand on my chest, the other sliding lower like we’ve got five minutes before the bell and she plans to use every one of them.
If we weren’t standing in front of the school, she’d be on her knees by now.Wouldn’t be the first time.It wouldn’t even be the third.
She’s easy.Always has been.Ever since I bent her over behind the gym, she’s been stuck to me like a bad fucking habit.One she doesn’t try to kick.I ignore her texts, purposely call her the wrong name, treat her like an afterthought.But it doesn’t matter.She keeps coming back like she’s wired for it.Always ready.Always begging for another round.
Her lips are on mine, hot and sloppy, and yeah, my cock’s getting hard.But it’s not for her.
It’s for the redhead who just stepped out of her car.Tight high ponytail swaying with every step, bag slung over one shoulder.She’s scrolling her phone, oblivious of what she is about to stumble on.
But she’s coming this way.Past the wall where I’ve got Shantel pressed against me, her tongue in my mouth, her hand halfway to my belt as if she’s on a damn mission.
This moment it’s calculated.Deliberate.I want her to see it.I want Red to look up from her phone and spot me with someone else’s lips on mine.To roll her eyes and mutter something under her breath because she’s pissed and doesn’t know why.
I live for that because the more she hates me, the deeper I crawl under her skin.
And fuck, I love it there.
I pull back just enough to tuck a strand of Shantel’s hair behind her ear.It’s my signature move, the one that makes them think I’m sweet before I remind them I’m not.My fingers linger, thumb brushing her cheek as if I give a damn, as if this isn’t just theater.
I hear the telltale click of boots on concrete.Sam.Right on time.
So I lean in and kiss Shantel again, soft at first, then deeper.Open-mouthed and drawn-out, the kind of kiss you’d expect in some high school softcore fantasy.She moans, loud enough to echo, as Sam walks past.
Perfect.
I hear it.The hitch in her step.That tiny pause in her usually bulletproof stride.She doesn’t look over, doesn’t break pace, but I feel her feel it.
