Dr. Sands’s question from earlier that day echoed in her head: How has your power influenced your relationships?
Her psychic ability always made her feel alone. Alone even in a crowd of people, at a party.
“Convince me to come back to your room,” she said.
Pyro lifted his right hand and slowly twisted his wrist, like a magician proving he had nothing up his sleeve. His fingers slowly grazed the hem of her T-shirt. Then he pressed his palm, fingers splayed open, against her stomach.
Heat.
She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and parted her lips.
When she opened her eyes again, she found Pyro watching her, a smile on his face. A smile telling her that particular move worked every time. All right, so he was a player. She wasn’t looking for commitment. “How far is your room?”
Pyro took her hand and led her back along the path to the dormitories. His room was on the first floor, right off the front lobby. He swiped his ID card, opened the door, and pulled her inside with him.
“Where’s your roommate?” Teddy asked.
“Sent home this morning,” he murmured before he pressed his mouth to hers.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Pyro wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her more tightly into his embrace.
He held her firmly against him, not the least bit rushed. Kissing her as though they had all the time in the world. Her knees went weak. Her balance lost, she stumbled backward, bringing him with her. “Just promise me you won’t make any jokes about crossing the finish line together,” she said.
Pyro caught her under the knees, lifting her to his bed. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside.
Teddy swallowed. His chest was lean and hard. And all of it beautifully, extravagantly inked. She hadn’t looked properly when she had seen him in the bathroom earlier. Swirling fire covered his torso, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, which hung low around his hips. His chest was an inferno, and when he reached for her, his hands were hot.
But again, no pain. Only a delicious, welcoming heat. She wanted to feel those hands everywhere. She toed off her shoes and kicked them aside, wriggled out of her jeans, and slipped out of her shirt. She was vaguely aware that the sheets were growing hot beneath her back, and she smelled smoke, faint but distinctive. Startled, she sat up. “Pyro—”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her throat. He was right, Teddy decided, reveling in the sensation. Why worry?
Suddenly, Pyro tilted his face away from her, his expression alert. She heard shrill bells, accompanied by shouts and the thunder of running feet.
She sat up. “What?”
A hazy film of smoke floated near the ceiling. Teddy heard shouts in the hallway.
“I think we just set off the fire alarm,” Pyro said.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE WAS BACK AT THE yellow house. She wanted to go inside, walk upstairs, and look around. But the door wouldn’t budge. She twisted the knob. She jammed the doorbell. She threw her weight against the door once, twice. She woke up drenched in sweat, panic coursing through her.
She was supposed to take her psychic-ability exam this morning. Wasn’t she? Wait. Where was she? As her gaze flew about the room, the events of the previous night came rushing back. The party. The vodka. The smoke alarm. Pyro.
She scanned the bedside table. A small clock radio read 9:05 a.m. She was already five minutes late.
Teddy threw back the sheets and leaped out of bed. She staggered, pain slamming right between her eyes. The alcohol, which had provided such relief from her withdrawal symptoms the night before, now made her feel like her head was buried in concrete.
She gathered her clothes. The soft rattle of pills reminded her that she’d tucked her meds in her pocket as a precaution. She lifted the familiar bottle, chewing her lower lip as she studied it. Maybe going cold turkey had been a mistake. One or two pills might knock back the discomfort.
“Don’t do it,” Pyro said. “I’m sure the doctor told you those things mess with your brain.” He closed his eyes again and muttered something that might have been “good luck.” Or at least rhymed with “luck.”
“Thanks,” Teddy said.
“For last night?” he asked, sitting up in bed. As he did, the sheet dropped.
Damn.
“For the advice,” Teddy said. She bit her lip again. “About last night . . . just to be clear, I’m not really looking for anything serious. I don’t really do the girlfriend thing.”
He grinned. “Good. Because I don’t really do the boyfriend thing.”
“Good. So thanks again.”
“That one was for last night, right?”
Teddy rolled her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to hold back a smile. “Yeah, that was for last night.” She grabbed her leather jacket and left.
Teddy kept her head down as she walked outside the building. Her stomach recoiled. In hindsight, attending the party probably hadn’t been such an amazing idea. She certainly wasn’t in the kind of physical or mental shape to face what might be one of the most important tests of her life.
* * *
When she stepped inside the classroom, she was officially fifteen minutes late. The stony expressions on Clint’s and Boyd’s faces told her she might as well walk right back outside. (Boyd? Really? Just her luck. She’d heard that everyone else had been tested by Clint and Dunn.)
“So you decided to join us after all,” Boyd said.
Teddy ran through Boyd’s list of acceptable responses: Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I don’t deserve to exist, ma’am.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Clint looked her over and shook his head. Not quite disgusted but close. He looked like a weary beat cop who was tired of hearing the same old bullshit from the same old bullshitter. He folded his arms. “I heard there was a party last night. And certain first-year recruits were there to celebrate their admittance to Whitfield.”
So he knew about the party. Maybe that would make
