"So you were talking to yourself?" I smirk. "Like some crazy person?"
She looks away. "Move."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll scream." Her voice is breathy and a little shaky. She's scared of me, which isn't what I was going for but if it'll keep her away from me, it's for the best.
I lean down to her ear. "No one will hear you," I say, the roar of the crowded hallway proving my point. "But go ahead. Scream."
She gulps, her head turned, her eyes scanning the hall. If people saw any other guy doing this—trapping a girl against her locker, being this close—they might stop and do something. But they know better than to do that with me. I'd crush them. I wouldn't even have to touch them. I could do it with just a look.
"Move," she says, breathing hard.
I should do as she asks. I've tortured her long enough. But I like being this close to her, my mouth mere inches from her smooth porcelain skin. She smells amazing, like a mix of vanilla and sweet spring flowers.
Last night I had a dream about her. It was after a football game that we'd won. She ran up and hugged me like we were dating. I have no idea why I'd dream that. I don't date, and if I did, I wouldn't be dating the new girl who annoys the shit out of me.
I take my time backing away, and when my hand lifts from the locker, she bolts. I watch her tiny little ass move side to side as she sprint walks to class. Not sure why she's in such a hurry. It's not like she's getting away from me. We sit next to each other in class.
When I get there, she's already in her seat, her book on the desk, notebook open and a pen in her hand. She's clearly one of those people who's obsessed with her grades. She probably gets all A's and plans to attend some Ivy League school.
Slumping down in my chair, I pull my baseball cap over my eyes and stretch my legs out, trying to get comfortable. I didn't sleep well last night and need a quick nap to recharge. It's only the second day of class. I'm sure I can miss whatever the teacher talks about today and still pass the test. It's not like I'm looking to get an A. I'm good with a C.
"Mr. Sanders." I feel a tap on my shoulder and bolt up in my seat. I look behind me and see the teacher standing there. "Sorry to interrupt your nap but in case you didn't notice, there's a class going on."
"Yeah. Got it." I shove my hat up and rub my eyes.
"Ten minutes," the teacher says as he walks back to the front. "Then we'll regroup to discuss."
There's a screeching noise to my left and when I turn to look, I see Brook moving her desk closer to mine.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
She sighs. "We're supposed to discuss the reading."
"What reading?"
"The one we were assigned yesterday?" She rolls her eyes. "You didn't read it, did you?"
"No." I clear my throat. "I was busy."
"Doing what?" She shakes her head. "Never mind." She sits up straighter, which pushes her breasts against her white polo shirt, drawing my eye to them. She's got the shirt unbuttoned enough that I could see some cleavage when I leaned into her at our lockers. I tried not to look but her breasts were right there, squeezed into a beige bra with lace-lined cups. In my dream, she had on a red bra. A deep red push-up bra that matched her red lace panties. The dream might've gone a little farther than a hug but I'm trying not to think about that.
"Did you read it or not?" she asks in a tone that implies she's already asked me this at least once.
"No. I didn't." I get out my phone and check for any messages from Jacob. I constantly check because I have to. If something happens, I'm all he has—the only person in the world he can count on.
"So ridiculous," she mutters, leaning back in her chair.
"You got a problem?" I ask, scrolling through my phone.
"Nope," she says, staring straight ahead.
"What do you want me to say?" I set my phone down. "I didn't do the reading. I don't even know what we're supposed to be doing."
She turns to me, her eyes locking on mine. "The teacher made us partners. We're supposed to discuss what we read last night and talk about the various meanings."
"Meanings of what?"
