“Wow,” I say. “You didn’t even pretend to think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” she says, already back to her notes. “I’m going with someone else.”
That stings more than I expect.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Anyone I know?”
She smirks. “Probably. He’s on the football team.”
Of course, he is.
“A jock,” I say flatly. “That doesn’t sound like your kind of guy.”
“And what is, Wesley?” She pushes her glasses up her freckled nose. Each dot, like a little bread crumb, leads to those big, brown eyes that glare at me with a ferocious beauty I can’t look away from. Maybe it’s those little tints of red in her black tresses, glowing beneath the fluorescent lights above, making me weak, or maybe it’s how she forces herself not to smile, but sometimes I catch her lips twitching when she thinks I’m not looking. Whatever it is, there’s something about Poppy Kiplinger that will always have my attention.
I lean back in my chair. “I always envisioned you with someone, I don’t know, charismatic and charming. Someone who can take a slap and keeps coming back for more.”
She shakes her head. “You mean someone with an incredibly big ego, shoulders too big for his tiny little head, and thinks reading is optional unless the book has pictures?”
“And very handsome,” I add.
“Yeah, whoever that is sounds horrific.”
She meets my gaze, knowing we’re flirting even though she hates to admit it. “I’m going with Tony Allistar,” she quickly states.
“Tony? You’re going with Tony?”
She nods. “He asked me last week. Why? What’s wrong with Tony?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything. He’s kind of known for… getting around, Poppy.” That makes something dark and unpleasant twist in my gut. Just the thought of another man touching her makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“He asked, and I said yes. Besides, he’s hot as hell.”
“So, you’re cool with being just another name on his list?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her eyes flash. “At least he doesn’t steal cars.”
“Attempted,” I correct. “The car never left your driveway.”
She snorts, then covers her mouth as she scowls in embarrassment. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say, leaning in just enough to lower my voice, “you still talk to me.”
She holds my gaze this time. It’s heated and full of sexual tension. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Wesley. I consider our conversations part of my community service. Nothing more.”
I laugh again, and Hilda the librarian slaps a ruler on her desk, giving me her final wooden warning. One more outburst and detention will definitely be in my future.
“And I consider it foreplay.”
Her cheeks turn pink.
“Well, don’t.”
“Too late,” I reply casually. “Already did.”
She shakes her head, gathering her books in a huff. “You’re not my type.”
“Yeah?” I question, standing up at the same time she does. “That’s funny because you’re exactly mine.”
