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A pouch burst and a hundred little gifts fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
No wonder—someone had tried to cram in an entire box of chocolates.
The culprit’s face blanched, then turned crimson in a heartbeat, before her footsteps thundered, and she was a blur of long blonde hair whizzing past us.
“He’s got more than he knows what to do with,” Liam said with a derisive snort. I thought he was referring to the gifts, until he added, “No wonder he treats them all like objects.”
The words landed like barbed whips.
He winced, and smoothed them over with a joke that couldn’t quite untangle the jagged knot in my stomach as we headed towards the dining hall.
Of course it’s his locker.
The precarious bubble in my chest popped.
Ice flooded my insides as the cruel voice in my head whispered I’d been just one of many, over and over, before the buzz of dinner finally drowned it. I ate mechanically, tasting nothing, and tried not to look around for a pair of blue eyes I hoped were as bloodshot as mine.
I knew better than to bank on it.
Chapter thirty-three
Josh
Tires kicked up gravel and screeched on asphalt as I sped away, but it sounded all warped and wrong. I’d driven on autopilot, palms clammy on the steering wheel, unable to calm my thundering heart.
My mind whizzed, replaying things until my chest ached: her mouth, her fingers bunching in my coat, yanking me close, her nails scraping my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. Then, cold air rushing between us, colder than it should have been.
Why?
I tripped over the question over and over, finding a hundred reasons and returning to what she’d said, except it made no fuckin’ sense. All those stolen moments on campus where I knew she wanted me too, and suddenly, me making a move was a problem? Why now, of all times, when we’d gone on an honest to god date?
Lights blurred past, bleeding into each other as my foot slammed against the accelerator. The streets were deserted, save for the pale light of lampposts and the ghost of what could’ve been, one I was trying to outrun with sheer will, white-knuckles, and adrenaline. My hand scrubbed over my face, slow and pained, then the growl of the engine drowned everything.
The rumble in my bones alone felt right.
The window cracked open, the flame singed the tip of the cigarette to a cherry-red glow, and I took a long pull that burned my lungs on the way in.
An illegal U-turn later, the car cut the air like a blade as I headed back to campus, berating myself for dropping her off without a fight.
The radio announced If I had you by Chris Grey was up next as I sorted through love mail with a curl to my lip, searching for a handwriting in particular. Not that I’d thought she’d actually—
Wait.
The noises in the café dimmed, like a veil had dropped over my ears as my mind screamed with an obvious solution.
I only want to get in your pants, huh?
I’ll show you.
I straightened up, nearly dropping the whole stack to the floor in my haste, and ambled to the counter, where I asked for a pen and a piece of paper.
Purpose and a tentative flicker of hope coursed through me as the pen twirled between my fingers. A dozen worthy notes flashed through my mind, not letting each other finish, until I settled on one I hoped might make her laugh:
The pens have unionised. They kindly ask you to stop chewing on them, or there will be a trial.
I didn’t know which was strangest: that I’d sneaked in between lectures to slip it in, that her Valentine’s envelope was a little too full for my comfort, or that I wasn’t doing this for a reaction, but only wanted her to read it and—hopefully—not set it ablaze on sight.
Though I wouldn’t hold my breath for the latter.
