He looks around the room, surveying his potential victims with barely suppressed glee. It should be illegal for anyone to be this giddy this early in the morning. Especially someone standing in front of a room of college students recovering from a weekend of booze and bad decisions. “Who wants to be first on the chopping block?”
“I do.” Adam’s voice makes me jump in my chair. I twist around to look in the direction it came from and find him framed in the doorway of the classroom, his expression stony. “Sorry I’m late.”
Professor Frost waves him inside. “I’ll forgive you this time seeing as you’ve volunteered to start things off for us, but make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Adam nods and sheds his coat, draping it over the back of a chair before taking his place next to Frosty at the front of the room.
“Would you like to select your scene partner?” Professor Frost asks. “Or do you want me to do the honors?”
“I’ll do it.” Adam’s eyes go to the last person I expect. Me. “I pick Kolby.”
Oh no, he didn’t. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I’m not here for it. “Pass.”
Professor Frost clucks his tongue at me. “Come now, Mr. Dennis. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Back at the hockey arena where I left it Friday night, along with my broken, battered, and bruised heart.
“I volunteer as tribute,” Ian shouts, sticking his hand high in the air. “I’d love to work one-on-one with Adam.”
He draws out the word “love,” and bats his eyes at Adam. Seriously, his picture should be in the dictionary next to drama queen.
But Adam isn’t the audience Ian’s playing to. Neither is Frosty. It’s me.
Ian’s baiting me. I know he is. He’s my best friend. He’d never flirt with a guy I was interested in unless he was doing it to get a rise out of me. But dang if it doesn’t work anyway.
“I’ll do it.” I jump up so fast I almost tip my chair over.
Professor Frost nods approvingly. “Very good, Mr. Dennis. Come up here and join us.”
I make my way through the rows of students. Ian smirks and mouths “gotcha” as I pass him.
See? I was right. I knew he was baiting me.
When I get to front of the room, I make sure to put plenty of space between me and Adam. Or as much space as I can without looking like I think he has cooties or something.
“I’m not going to bite,” he mutters.
“I’m not taking any chances.” I snap back under my breath so Frosty can’t hear me.
I don’t even bother to look at Adam. Maybe because I’m so mad I can’t stand the sight of him. Maybe because I don’t trust myself not to do something stupid. Like cry. Or kiss him. It’s a toss-up which is more likely. “I’m only up here because there’s no way I’m letting you mess with my head and screw up my grade in this class.”
“I’m not messing with your head.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I dart a quick look in his direction. From the neck down, he looks pretty much the same as always. He’s wearing his sweatshirt, track pants, and sneakers. But up close, his face tells a different story. It’s pale and drawn, almost like he’s slept as little as I have in the last forty-eight hours.
No. I’m not going to feel sorry for him. If he’s not sleeping, it’s his own fault. I may have been the one to walk away, but he’s the one who ended things by pretending I meant nothing to him.
Or maybe he wasn’t pretending. Maybe I really do mean nothing to him, and the reason for the bags under his eyes is that he was up all night screwing someone else.
I stick my thumbs in my pockets and throw my best shade at him, clinging to my righteous indignation. “Then why, of all the people you could have picked to do this scene with you, did you call my name?”
“You’ll see. Trust me.”
His eyes find mine, and my heart does a little stutter step at what I see there. Emptiness. Vulnerability. Desperation.
Do not feel sorry for him. Do not feel sorry for him. Do not feel sorry for him.
