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“You drive,” I tell him, thinking that it’ll make it easier for me to hop out and run off once we arrive. He laughs like he’s reading my thoughts and pats the seat next to him.
“Get in. You can be in charge of the music then.”
Reluctantly and with as much pissed-off attitude as I can muster, I get into the cart beside him, making sure to leave a healthy gap between us. I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want the peace he brings. I need to stay mad at him.
Grabbing my phone out of my bag, I connect it to the cart’s stereo and select my raging playlist. Let’s see how Bhodi laughs at my rage with these songs. ‘Abcdefu’ begins to play, loudly, and he grimaces. “Yikes. We’d better get you fed.”
Unamused, I fold my arms and turn away from him, then I bide my time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape.
* * *
He doesn’t let me out of his sight, not for a second. Even when I pretend I need the loo with the view to giving him the slip, he comes right inside the ladies with me, destroying my hopes of being able to shimmy out of the small bathroom window. Arsehole. And then I really did need to pee, but couldn’t because my bladder got stage-fright, and he made crass jokes about beingall up in my businessso I shouldn’t be too embarrassed to pee in front of him. If I end up with a UTI because of him, I will have to figure out a way to cause him some serious pain. Hollywood Undead’s ‘Riot’ is kinda fitting right now.
Bhodi does take me to the library though –I knew it was a sacred space!– and even persuades Betsy to feed us both. My full stomach doesn’t want to stay mad at him, but I’m trying really hard to ignore it.
I slip my earbuds into my ears to avoid having to make conversation with him, and when he continues to talk to me anyway, I turn my music up loud. ‘Here Comes Trouble’ by Striking Vipers is enough to drown him out.
My angry playlist is fuelling my fire today, and as we finally make our way to the prof’s lecture, my stomping steps match the beat of Kaleo. We’re still the first to arrive, but I don’t care. I keep my earbuds in and busy myself emptying my bag, flicking through my notes, doodling on my notebook.Anythingto avoid looking at Bhodi. In the narrow seats of the lecture hall he’s right on top of me, but I swear he’s using it as an excuse to crowd my personal space and overwhelm me.
With no people around making noise for his touch to cancel out, it has the same effect on me as it usually does when we’re alone. It heats my skin and makes me crave him, badly. I have to sit on my hands to keep them to myself and suddenly my angry playlist with its driving beats, sounds a lot like a good playlist to fuck to. My cheeks heat and I fumble with my phone to change the track, but from Bhodi’s knowing smirk, I’d guess he knowsexactlywhat’s going through my mind. Namely, me and him, alone in this lecture hall, but with a lot less clothes on.
Fewer, Malia. Fewer clothes on.
My brain can do one right now; I’d rather get lost in my fantasies than the finer points of English grammar.
Fortunately – or perhapsunfortunately– the hall soon begins to fill and we just have to await the arrival of our cantankerous professor. Bhodi shifts even closer in his seat, and there isn’t a playlist around that can stop my thoughts from turning dirty. And then the amazing device that is my brain decides to play ‘I Just Wanna Make Love To You’ in stereo.
Bhodi elbows me in the side, making me wince.
“Ow. What?” I pull the earbud out and glare at him.
“Umm, your headphones have disconnected. Your music’s pretty loud.”
Fuck! The music wasn’t in my brain, it’s playing at full volume for the entire lecture hall to hear. I turn scarlet with mortification and hit pause before closing down my app. I chuck my phone and headphones into my bag, not trusting myself anymore. The room laughs and titters but eventually loses interest in my embarrassment.
Bhodi leans in and whispers, “You know, if you want to fuck, little dot, you only need to ask…”
“Why would I want to fuck someone who lied to me, manipulated me, and was a class-A jerk to me when we first met?” I hiss back at him. It delights me when his eyes widen in shock.
“You remember that.”
My glare is the only response he gets.
Bang on the dot of nine o’clock, the doors open and our professor walks in. Only, it’s not the professor, but a woman. I glance at Bhodi to see if he was expecting this, but he seems just as confused as me. I want to ask him what’s happening, but my pride won’t let me, so I focus my attention back on the substitute who will be taking the lecture while Bhodi texts away on his phone.
She’s good. Thorough and knowledgeable and much easier to listen to than the professor. I’m really enjoying the lecture and making copious notes when the doors at the back open and the lecturer falters. I look up from my notes at the distraction.
“May I help you, officers?” she calls out. Beside me, Bhodi turns to stone. “We’re looking for one of your students. A Miss Malia Van der Zee. Is she here?”
“I’m sorry, this isn’t my usual class. I’m just subbing today. Miss Van der Zee? Are you in here?” Plenty of eyes turn my way, and despite Bhodi squeezing my thigh, I feel I have no choice but to raise my hand. The lecturer spots it and nods, pointing me out to the officers who have interrupted. My hand trembles as I lower it.
Two officers approach from behind and come to stop at the end of the row we’re seated on. There’s only Bhodi between them and me, and he doesn’t seem inclined to move.
“Miss Van der Zee?” they ask again.
I nod. “Y-yes. That’s me.”
“Would you mind slipping out of your seat please? Excuse me, lad, can you move?”
