Jesus Christ.
I force myself to turn away. I almost slap myself in the face.
I’m not this guy. I’m not some fifteen-year-old boy who can’t keep his pants on. I’m not.
“I, uh, I have to get dressed,” I say, and even I can hear the unsteadiness in my voice. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
But then Nazeera’s hand is on my arm again, and my body stiffens, like I’m trying to contain something beyond myself. It’s wild. Desire like I’ve never known it before. I try to remind myself that that’s all this is, that it’s like what J said—I don’t even know this girl. I’m just going through something. I don’t know what, or why, but I’m just, like, clearly infatuated. I don’t even know her.
This isn’t real.
“Hey,” she says.
I hold still.
“Yeah?” I’m hardly breathing. I have to force myself to turn back an inch, meet her eyes.
“I wanted to tell you something. Last night. But I didn’t have the chance.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Okay.” There’s something in her voice that sounds almost like fear—and it clears my head in an instant. “Tell me.”
“Not here,” she says. “Not now.”
And I’m suddenly worried. “Is something wrong? Areyou okay?”
“Oh—no— I mean, yeah— I’m fine. It’s just—” She hesitates. Offers me a half smile and a shrug. “I just wanted to tell you something. It’s nothing important.” She looks away, bites her lip. She bites that bottom lip a lot, I notice. “Well, it’s important to me, I guess.”
“Nazeera,” I say, enjoying the sound of her name in my mouth.
She looks up.
“You’re freaking me out a little. Are you sure you can’t tell me right now?”
She nods. Shoots me a tight smile. “No need to freak out, I promise. It’s really not a big deal. Maybe we can talk later tonight?”
My heart constricts again. “Sure.”
She nods once more. We say goodbye.
But when I glance back, not a second after I’ve started walking away, she’s already gone.
Disappeared.
Three
Warner is definitely pissed.
I’m super late, and Warner is waiting for me, perched carefully on a stiff chair in a conference room downstairs, staring at a wall.
I managed to snag a muffin on my way down, and I wipe quickly at my face, hoping I haven’t left evidence around my mouth. I don’t know how Warner feels about muffins, but I’m guessing he’s not a fan.
“Hey,” I say, and I sound out of breath. “What’d I miss?”
“This is my fault,” he says, waving a hand around the room. He doesn’t even look at me.
“I mean, I alreadyknowit’s your fault,” I say quickly, “but, like, just to be clear—what are we talking about?”
“This,” he says. Finally, he looks at me. “This situation.”
