I exhale through my nose. “Fine.” I take the note from her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says calmly. “What was that?”
I grit my teeth, jaw tightening until it aches. Pride is a stubborn bastard. “I said fine. Fuck. I’ll do it.” I shift my weight, irritation creeping up my spine. “Who is the tutor?”
She pauses.
“Lola Bellamy.”
My head snaps up before I can stop it.
I blink once, then twice.
Out of everyone in this damn school, why her?
“Lola?”
The girl with those quiet eyes and that sharp mouth. Bells. The one who looked at me as if she saw something worth saving before she learned better.
My grip tightens on the paper, as my pulse pounds in my ears, and for the first time all day, my cock is the last thing on my mind.
Ms. Mallory narrows her eyes.“Don’t screw this up, Jace.”
“No promises.”
She sighs, already fed up with me, and walks away.
I stay put for a second longer, still grinning.
Lola fucking Bellamy.
Bells.
I haven’t heard her voice in weeks. Not since everything went sideways and silence took over our back-and-forth. Now she’s stuck with me. This time, she won’t be able to ignore me when I speak.
I glance at the piece of paper in my hand.
I’m early. Not because I give a shit about English or suddenly want to improve myself. I’m early because I want to see Lola walk in. I want to watch her notice me sitting here and realize she’s stuck with me for the next hour.
The library is completely silent. A couple of kids hunched over textbooks, with highlighters out, probably living their lives exactly as planned.
The librarian sits at the front desk with her glasses halfway down her nose, stamping returns without even looking up.
I drop into the chair and lean back, stretching my legs out.
My fingers drum against the tabletop before I can stop them. I scan the entrance, pretending I’m bored when really I’m wired as hell.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s three fifty-seven. Then I shift my eyes back to the glass doors.
I saw her earlier today.
In the hallway between second and third period, she thought no one was looking, smiling at something on her phone. Bag slipping off one shoulder, with that little bounce in her step, like she’s carrying sunshine in her pocket and doesn’t even realize it.
Yesterday, I watched her from a distance in the cafeteria. She looked sad, quieter, and folded in on herself in a way that didn’t suit her. Not the Lola I know, not the one who used to stand her ground and throw shit right back at me without blinking.
I fucking hated that.
I fucking hate that I miss her too. The sound of her voice. The way she rolled her eyes at my bullshit. The way she never let me get away with half the crap everyone else did.
