Page 17 of Vicious Titan

12

Victoria

Concentrating on calculus is no easy feat on a good day. Right now, it’s damn near impossible as I attempt to refocus on the quiz before me. That goal is promptly sidelined when there’s a soft knock on the door. The girl who’d delivered Elliot’s crude note last week glances to me before looking to Mr. Sutton as he motions her into the classroom.

Her beaming face returns to mine as she walks over. My fingers grip the sides of the desk, digging into the hard surface when I notice what’s in her hand this time—a black leather-bound sketchbook. The slips of paper had been horrible, but using the sketchbook to send me hateful messages would be cruel. Is he already back to his old tricks? Even after last night? We might’ve been a little off kilter this morning, but we can’t be back here again, him tormenting me at every opportunity. Can we?

Stopping beside my desk, she holds out the sketchbook to me. “Hi, Victoria. I was asked to give this to you.”

Hesitantly, I grab it from her, dropping it immediately on my bag as she turns and exits the classroom.

“Everything all right, Victoria?” Mr. Sutton asks.

“Oh, yes.” I hope. Turning my attention back to my quiz, I struggle through the three final questions before walking to Mr. Sutton and placing the paper facedown in the wired basket on his desk. He gives me a closed-lip smile as he nods.

Slowly I step back to my desk, stiffly dropping into my seat. Not opening the sketchbook to see what he’s written—and I know he wrote something because he’s Elliot—is just as hard as the thought of opening it. Either way, I want to strangle him. Grabbing the sketchbook, I place it on the desk, before sluggishly opening the hard front cover.

Irreplaceable.

E

A genuine smile covers my face as I let out a long breath. The sweet gesture is unnerving, but it’s such a relief that he’s not resorted to being a jerk again. Closing the sketchbook, I struggle with pushing the thought out that the other side of him isn’t that far away and could resurface at any moment.

It’s not anywhere to be found today, that’s for sure. During every class period, a sketchbook is delivered by a familiar messenger from last week, all referring to me by name instead of “Asher’s sister.” Each book contains a sweet, thoughtful, handwritten word. Each sketchbook brings a smile to my face, especially the one that had Fantastic written in it. Thoughts of us naked in bed together this morning immediately entered my mind.

I’m so far lost in Bassland by the time the school day ends, six sketchbooks in hand as I head to my car, I’m elated to find the sender himself propped against his car, watching me with a mischievous smirk. It takes me a few seconds to notice the heaping stack of sketchbooks sitting on the roof of my car. Okay. Yeah, I’m loving all the sweet messages, but the sight of all of the books he’s been hoarding makes me want to strangle him. The glower I shoot his way just causes a full-blown grin to surface on his face.

Opening the door of my car, I toss all the books in as I curse him under my breath. Even when he’s being sweet, he somehow manages to be maddening.

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I spot him getting into his car as a message dings on my phone.

Elliot: Your house or mine?

Me: Yours.

Elliot: Pizza?

Me: Yes.

Elliot: I’ll grab one and meet you at the house.

He drives out of the lot while I remain parked, watching him disappear down the winding driveway. Reaching over, I grab one of the books that was just added to my growing supply. Flipping the cover open, I read a new word written on the page.

Magnificent.

E

Picking up each new book, I read word after word. There’s not one without an inscription from him. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and exhale. Hooking my seatbelt, I head to his house.

I’m distracted when I pull into the garage. So distracted by each and every affectionate word I’ve read today that I don’t notice Susan standing in the doorway until she says my name, causing me to jump.

“Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I didn’t notice your car in the driveway.” I follow her into the house, grabbing a water from the fridge and standing next to the counter as I watch her busy herself in the kitchen.

“I parked around back to unload some linens at the guesthouse.”

The mention of the guesthouse sends an ominous shiver down my spine. Grant’s face and the compromising picture he took of me while I was sleeping surge through my mind.