Keep up your strength, sweetness. You’re going to need it when I finally get you in my bed.
She reaches for a water bottle but drops it, sending it bounding across the floor and disappearing under the edges of a starched tablecloth. I stalk forward, the heels of my loafers a steady tik-tok on the veined marble floor. By the time I’m in her space, looming over her, my breath warming her ear, she is trembling.
She’s not afraid of me. I know that. No matter what befalls her, like when Finn tried to murder her in the hallway, she is never afraid, so what the fuck is this? Because my presence has bleached the color from her face, leaving it so pale-white, it nearly matches her hair.
I lean in close. I say the words just loud enough for her to hear.
“Talk to me,” I beg. For a moment, she goes completely still before she spins around.
Then she is in my face, standing on her toes and sneering at me. Her nose does this cute wrinkly thing when she’s mad. I want to pinch it between my thumb and forefinger and hear her squeal of surprise.
“Tell me,” she snarls, her tone suggesting she is contemplating all the ways to end me and it’s down to the final two, probably trial by combat or a knife straight to the heart, “do you ask Molly to talk to you? Or do you and your sick club—”
She doesn’t get the rest of the words out because I grab her forearm and jerk her away from the mother-fuckers staring at us. She barely keeps up, but my grip on her is tight. It’ll probably bruise her, but I can’t—I won’t—give her a chance to pull away.
I slam the door to the cafeteria open. It swings and hits the wall with a thud as I pull her forward, further down the hall and past mingling freshmen. We continue out of the building and into the cold air. I should probably offer her my jacket, but I’ve left it in the cafeteria.
I stride forward. She tries to wiggle free of me, but I yank her along. It’s only because I refuse to stop moving that she doesn’t fall.
I want to take her to my dorm and lock her in my bedroom until she lets me worship her body. I want to lick every inch of her and see how many ways I can make her come. I want...
We enter the arts building. It’s a miracle we aren’t in the woods surrounding campus or on a rooftop given how little thought I’ve put into this. I tug her into the music hall. It’s empty. Thank God.
As the door shuts behind her, I spin toward her and hiss, “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, Stormy.”
She jerks free of me and crosses both arms over her chest. Like that will keep her safe from me. All it does is bring my attention to her breasts, which are the perfect size for my hands.
“Then why don’t you tell me.” The words rush at me like she’s on the front lines during the Invasion of Poland, but she doesn’t raise her voice.
“Because it’s against the Rules,” I say, and the moment the words tumble from my mouth, I know I’ve said too much.
Revulsion, disgust—perhaps some mixture between them—churns in her gaze.
“You have a rule against talking about the Rules?” She snorts, shaking her head and sending her blonde hair swaying. “I swear to God I don’t know which is worse,” she glares at me, rage sparking like a live wire in her gaze, “that you are insufferably obtuse and stubborn and mean or maybe it’s that you are all of those things and beautiful?” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s like God looked around and wondered, what would really cause Harlow Weathersby to have a mental break? Option A: Have her family win the lottery but make sure she loses her best friend because of it.” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t cry. “Or Option B: Let’s make sure she can’t function without fucking pills.” She cackles, and although she certainly is being a smartass, I see it for what it is—a defense mechanism. “Or maybe it’s Option C: Let’s throw the quarterback at her and make him say the naughtiest, most beautiful things ever while also being a complete and total asshat to her friend.”
Tears spring to her eyes and threaten to tumble down her cheeks. She looks up at the ceiling, drawing her face taut. “Looks like he couldn’t decide though. He went with all three.”
I reach out, brushing away a tear that escapes and rolls down her ghostly pale cheek. “What are you talking about, Stormy? What happened to you, beautiful?”
I really want to hear her talk about how hot she thinks I am, and all those naughty feelings I ignite in her belly, but she needs to talk about what’s bothering her.
She laughs, tears spilling down her remarkable face, and reaches into her book bag. With a trembling hand, she undoes a prescription bottle and shakes two white pills into her palm before swallowing them dry.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She’s probably been standing there like that for over a minute before she opens them, the churning tide of cerulean rolling in her gaze.
“Have you been friends with Finn for long?” she says, her words snapping at me hard, despite her tears, which she refuses to acknowledge. “Because I seriously think he has a case of dumbass flu, and by the looks of it, it appears to be contagious. Stay away from me, Ian. We aren’t friends until you accept mine.”
With that, she flings the door to the music hall open, and I let her go, wondering what I’m
