“Is everything okay, El? You’re quiet today?” Serena says as we eat out lunch out on the fields behind the school.
I nod; with elections coming up, my father was being more stringent than usual. He was determined to make everything perfect, including me, as he signed me up for more violin lessons despite the fact I wasn’t musically talented and gave up violin four years ago. He had it in his head that I should be good enough to play at a masquerade ball he was hosting in a few weeks’ time. I also had to lose ten pounds by then too, as the dress he’d chosen for me wouldn’t fit right otherwise. I stab my salad with my fork and force myself to swallow a bitter mouthful.
“I need to go and get a book out of the library,” I say with a sigh as I put my lunch back in my bag and get up, brushing the grass off my skirt. “I’ll meet you during the study period after lunch.”
My stomach growls as I look about the shelves; with cheer practice daily, I was starting to feel the lack of carbs. Finally, I find the book I’m looking for. It's a violin technique book that I’m hoping can help with the music I’m attempting to learn. I tiptoe to reach it, as it’s on one of the higher shelves, when I feel a warm hand on my hip and the faint smell of weed lingering.
“Need a hand, Princess?” he murmurs into the back of my neck as he reaches up above my hand, pressing his body closer against mine, as he grabs the book with ease.
I turn, which is a big mistake as my head is now just below his face and the fucker is grinning at me.
“One day, I’m going to wipe that smirk off your face,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“I hope so.” He places a hand against the shelf, blocking me in, and leans forward. “I’ll be here waiting.”
Taking my heel, I dig my foot into his slowly. He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look away, instead he smiles again. Why was he so fucking infuriating?
Handing me the book, he smirks. “Violin technique?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I hold the book against my chest, trying to create a shield of some sort as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
He chuckles as I swat away his hand. “Nothing. I just thought you gave up the violin years ago?”
“I... I did.” How did he remember that?
Tristan arches a brow at me, and I want nothing more than to shave the thing off. Smug bastard. “You were awful at it, so why are you trying to learn again?”
I exhale, trying to control my temper. “Fuck you, Tristan.”
His hand drops back down onto my hip as he pulls me closer to him, so that my body is flush with his. “If you want to…”
“What?” I reply, trying to even out my voice, but I know my breathing is heavier. I can feel it in the way my chest tightens every time he touches me, which he is doing right now.
“Fuck me.” He shrugs. “I’m always here if you want to.”
I give a small laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t even like you.”
The bitter tone in my voice reverberates between the books surrounding us as he just keeps smiling. Grinning. Smirking. Arrogant. His lips are so close to mine, almost brushing against them. “You don’t have to like me, hate works just as well.”
I make a noise of disgust. “Get away from me, Tristan.”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, but he doesn’t move.
I can feel my cheeks getting hotter and my skin becoming clammy as I feel every movement he makes. Every twitch. Every adjustment, no matter how small in his stance. With him being this close, there’s no way to avoid it. My head hurts as I feel like I’m overheating.
Using the book, I shove it into his chest and create some space between us finally. Rolling my eyes, I give him another push, stepping forward, claiming back more precious inches. “Honestly? No, to make me feel uncomfortable would mean that I give a shit about you, when I don’t. You stink of weed, and it’s making me feel sick.”
He grabs his sweater and gives it a sniff. “I didn’t smoke today just for you.”
I stop. “For me?”
The look he gives me reminds me of when we were children, when he was trying to be my friend. “I know you can’t stand it.”
“Why would you…” My head spins a little, and I step back, until my back hits the shelves.
He grabs my arm to steady me. “Are you okay?”
I try to shrug him off, but he has a firm grip on me. “Yeah, I’m just a little lightheaded.”
“C’mon, we should go to the nurse’s office.” He grabs my chin and tilts my face up towards his as he looks at my face carefully. His breath tickles my skin, the smell of weed fading as I pick up hints of sandalwood and something almost like...paint.
“No, I’m fine,” I hiss, shaking myself free of his touch.
He tuts. “You don’t look fine, you look tired.”
I don’t know if it’s the heat, the fact I am starving, or because I’m wedged between two bookshelves with someone I hate, but I snap. “Some of us have to actually try to succeed, Tristan. We aren’t all geniuses.”
Tilting his head, he gives me a sharp look. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve seen your GPA, and for a slacker, you seem to score pretty high.” I jab my finger into his shoulder between each word, I bet his little stoner crew didn’t realize that he was on track for an Ivy League school. Not
