She does.
My stomach drops.
Scooting her chair in, she also uses the opportunity to scoot her chair a couple of inches away.
I grind my teeth together, hating those added inches between us, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Not without giving myself away.
“Alright, let’s get started.” With any luck, once we get rolling on our project, Cecilia will loosen up and start to relax. I don’t like the way she sits at the edge of her seat, spine ramrod straight. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here. I’m going to need to do something about that.
We’ve both compiled a stack of notes, research we’ve come across from reliable sources. So much of what Israel is claiming in the media is disinformation, so we decide to start our presentation off by showing documented sources where the IDF made claims against Hamas and the people of Palestine that have since been disproven.
The opposing side's biggest argument is that the Israeli government has a right to defend itself against outside attacks. Personally, whether a country has the right to defend itself and whether that same country has the right to commit genocide are two separate arguments, and under no circumstances is the latter ever true, but people don’t want to hear it.
Arguing right and wrong isn’t how you sway people. It’s smarter for us to show a pattern of behavior that demonstrates how untrustworthy the IDF and the Israeli government are as sources. They lie. A lot. And for some reason, the hill that people want to die on is about them having the right to defend themselves. Discrediting their government will go further than trying to appeal to people’s humanity. If history is anything to go by, the majority don’t have any.
We spend the next thirty minutes with our heads bowed over our notes, and with each minute that passes, the knot of worry in my chest slowly unravels. Her arm brushes against mine, and unlike before, she doesn’t immediately pull away.
“I think we should use this in our closing argument,” she says, drawing my attention to an article printout. Shifting closer, I peer over her shoulder to read it, my breath ghosting alongthe side of her neck. I spot the goosebumps across her skin. The rapid pulse in her throat.
“Good idea,” I tell her.
She turns, tilting her face up toward me. “Yeah?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine through a veil of dark lashes.
Our faces are impossibly close. If I lean in just a fraction of an inch … my gaze drops to her mouth and Cecilia’s tongue darts out to lick her lips.Fuck. Should I do it? I swallow hard, taking in her desire-laden gaze. Does she want me to kiss her? Is that why she’s looking at me like that? Or am I reading this wrong? What if she pushes me away?
Both of us are breathing hard, but neither one of us has moved. Her lips are parted, cheeks painted a captivating shade of pink. I dip my chin and am ready to say fuck it and lean in when there’s a loud thump on the staircase, followed by a muttered curse. Cecilia goes rigid, her eyes suddenly wide like a kid caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.
I swear to god I’m going to kill whichever one of my roommates is eavesdropping on the two of us right now.
“What was that?” Cecilia asks, using the distraction as a way to break whatever tension there is between us.
Desperation wraps thorn-covered vines around my chest, constricting my rib cage. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, hoping she’ll leave it alone and we can go back to what we were doing, or what I’m almost certain we were about to do.
There’s another thump, followed quickly by one more.MURDER.I am going to murder whoever that is.
Pushing her chair back, Cecilia rises to her feet and goes to investigate before I’m able to come up with something to say that will stop her.
God dammit.I scrub my hand over my face. One hour. All I asked for was one fucking hour.
She was just starting to relax. I’m damn near certain she was going to let me kiss her. And would that have been a terrible idea? Maybe. But would I have enjoyed every second of it? Hell yes, I would have. Consequences be damned.
Shoving back in my seat, I move to follow her. There’s got to be some sort of way for me to salvage this.
When I catch up, I find Cecilia standing at the bottom of the staircase, an amused grin on her face and any remnants of desire gone from her eyes. Felix is at the top, fighting with the iron banister that’s currently imprisoning his leg.
“What did you do?” I wish I was more surprised.
Felix waves me off. “All good. Nothing to see here,” he tells us. “Just slipped and well,” he chuckles. “You guys go study. I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute.” I huff out a sigh. That seems unlikely.
“Do you need any—” Cecilia begins.
“No, no. I got it.”
Obviously he doesn’t. Cecilia must agree, because after a second of consideration, she climbs up the stairs and crouches down beside him, scrutinizing his leg. “How did you get your leg through here? The slats are so skinny.”
He groans. “I know. This isn’t something I’m proud of, and this freaking thing is cutting off my circulation.” Felix kicks out with his leg, but all he manages to do is jiggle the banister.
“Can I try?” She makes a motion toward his leg, and I frown, annoyed by the very idea of her touching him.
