“Some of us are trying to learn and take notes here,” I said under my breath.
They heard me.
They just didn’t care.
And Drew?
He didn’t even look my way.
When class finally ended, I stood up fast, ready to get the hell out of there. But I barely made it two steps before I was blocked—not by the crowd, but by him.
Drew turned slightly, still half in his seat, and said in that easy, polite voice that somehow made everything worse, “Hey, ladies, could you give us a little room? We’re trying to get out.”
The girls giggled and shifted just enough for him to stand. Before I could slip past, he reached behind his back without even looking at me, found my wrist, and pulled.
Not painful—but definitely not gentle either.
“Drew, what the hell?” I hissed, trying to tug my wrist free as he led me down the aisle and out into the hallway.
He didn’t let go until we were clear of the classroom and most of the crowd.
“What?” he said, finally releasing me and turning around like he hadn’t just manhandled me out of a lecture hall. “I was helping you. You clearly didn’t like those girls and they were about to crowd me in for the next twenty minutes. So I was helping you get out of the building.”
I stared at him, rubbing my wrist even though it didn’t hurt.
He changed the subject so fast it gave me whiplash.
“I went to Sugar Shack yesterday, they added this new chocolate flavor with a scoop of protein powder in it. It’s actually not bad. Wanna go?”
I blinked.
“You know I’m talking to Vale.”
“Vale?” he asked, like he hadn’t just completely derailed the conversation. “Yeah, how’s that going? Are you guys really talking? Are you guys really together?”
I started and stopped. “Well, you’ve seen the hashtags. We’re… yeah. We… we are.”
“Okay.” He nodded once, mouth twitching. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ll catch you later, Texas.” Then he winked and walked away like he hadn’t just completely scrambled my brain.
I stood there in the middle of the quad, pen still snapped in half in my hand, wrist tingling from where he’d held it, and felt more confused than I had any right to be.
What the hell was that?
Chapter Three
DREW
By the timeI decide I’m done watching Tristan Vale drift around Texas like a man testing a flame with his bare hand, I’m already irritated enough to bench-press a car.
Not because she likes him.
That part makes sense—everybody likes him.
The polished jaw.
The old-money face.
The dark hair and quiet voice and that whole I’m not trying, I’m just devastating act he was probably born doing.
