My stomach tightens.
It’s the same thing I’ve been asking myself every day for the past fortnight.
I still don’t have an answer, and it pisses me off that he’s expecting one.
Casting a furtive glance around to make sure no one’s slipped back into the lecture hall when I wasn’t paying attention, I step up to him and poke him in the chest.
“You’ll fucking wait until we’re ready. If that’s tomorrow, cool. If it’s a week, a month…then I guess you’ll just have to suckit up. Or you could always move on to someone who’ll bend over for you like a fucking gymnast.”
He grabs my wrist, tugging hard enough to send me barreling into his chest as he pushes away from his seat on the edge of the desk.
“How far do you think you can push me, girl?”
I huff out a laugh, despite how my insides are quivering. “You push, I push back harder. That’s who we are.”
His eyes go dark. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?”
“But you won’t,” I murmur.
It feels like moving in quick-dry cement, but somehow I manage to push away from him and step back before I’m the one kissing him.
The urge is so great, my entire body is shivering.
“But I won’t,” he repeats, eyes latched to my mouth. “Yet.”
It’s not a promise.
It’s a threat.
I hurry out of his class like the fucking Devil is on my tail…because he is.
Me and Kai?
We’re running out of time.
And I don’t want to imagine what happens when Bastian decides he’s done waiting.
Chapter 27
Kai
I told Haven I’d meet her at the library. Instead, I’m lurking in the shadows at the far end of the hall like a fucking creep, watching Room 201’s door, waiting for her to come out.
More importantly, waiting to see if Rooke follows.
It’s the proof I need that I’m not losing my goddamn mind.
Something’s off. It’s been off for two weeks, and I can’t figure out why. Haven says she’s fine. Rooke says he’s giving us space. Everyone’s so fuckingfinethat I want to put my fist through the closest wall.
The door swings open. Haven steps out, hoisting her tote bag higher on her shoulder.
She’s alone…for now.
I watch her walk toward the stairwell, pink notebook clutched to her chest, ponytail swinging, hips swaying in those tight leggings that make me want to drag her into the nearest bathroom and remind her who she belongs to.
I don’t follow her.
I wait.
