Great, she already hates my guts, and we haven’t even really gotten started yet. Them the Rules and all.
Fear of getting in trouble wins out in the end because the girl hurries to the empty desk in front of me, tumbling into her chair with the grace of a charging elephant.
I tip forward in my seat, and the scent of her floods my nostrils and drags me under. I’m a goner as my eyes glaze over.
Thick sugary sweetness. Fresh-cut apples. A hint of cinnamon. Mixed with a bit of coconut from her shampoo.
I am torn between licking her and taking a bite. She probably would not appreciate either, but then again, maybe…
Fuck. Me.
I want to play with her hair, my fingers itching to let the soft strands glide across my skin. Okay, what I really want is to hold onto it as I take her from behind, but again, she would probably not appreciate that.
My cock is determined to imprint itself on my zipper, and I reach a hand between my legs to pull my ever-tightening pants away from my crotch.
Patience, I chastise myself. But I’ve never been good at waiting my turn, so what I do next is utter torture. It’s like reaching for a skillet on the stove, only when you realize the handle is hot, you don’t let go. No, you cinch your hand tighter and feel your flesh sizzle.
My lips brush against the side of her head, pushing her hair flat against the shell of her ear.
“It’s time to a play a game, Ms. Weathersby,” I breathe. “And I don’t know about you, but I intend on going all the way.”
She shivers under the heat of my breath and jerks her head like she’s about to retort in that lusciously smart-ass way I heard her talk to Berkshire this morning. Ms. Edmonds eyes us from the front of the room with a frown on her painted lips.
The girl stills, squares her shoulders, and focuses straight ahead. She may have more balls than half of the guys in this school, but they are still in a vise.
I don’t bother to stifle my laugh.
— Harlow —
Exhaustion nestles comfortable in my bones as my eyelids beg for relief. I sit at my desk, unpacking the truckload of books I’ve been carting around all day. Each one adds another inch or two to my already precarious pile. Tomorrow I really need to invest a few minutes into locating my locker.
Molly sits across from me on her bed, her legs wrapped underneath her like she’s a Buddhist monk. She has a book open on the bed beside her, a tablet in her hand, and a pen clenched between her teeth.
She looks like she is warm and cozy and…
I shake myself out of it. God, I am tired.
“How do you do it?” I ask with a yawn.
“Do what?” Molly asks, glancing over at me.
I wave my hand. “Get used to all this.”
Molly chuckles. “Not all of it is fancy.”
“I had a waiter serve me lunch today,” I say. “I walked into the wrong building and learned that the astronomy class is held in an actual observatory on campus.”
“To be fair, we have more than one astronomy class,” she says, and it takes me a moment to realize she is teasing me. “There’s the beginner and intermediate classes and a bunch of higher-level courses incorporating cosmology, astrobiology, and atmospheric chemistry.”
“You sound like a Voclain Academy pamphlet,” I say.
She shrugs, but she’s smiling. “Always been a nerd for the stars.”
Molly looks at my pill bottle, which I’ve dug out my book bag and laid on my desk. Her eyes go wide for a moment before she resumes studying her iPad. She’s too polite to ask, so I offer.
“They help me with panic attacks,” I say.
“Oh,” she looks down at her book, then her iPad, and back at her book again, “I wasn’t...you know...” She blushes, then she’s digging into her nightstand.
“I take iron pills!” She pulls out a small bottle to show me. “And Vitamin D.”
Her gaze returns to the bottle in front of me. “Do you have to take them every day?”
I nod. “And an extra one here or there when it gets to be too much.”
“What’s it like?” she breathes. It’s almost as if she wants to experience a panic attack, but I think it’s really because she wants to experience something, anything, outside these walls.
“It’s like...” I pause, massaging small circles on the top of my thigh, a tick I try not to show, “It’s like the world suddenly collapsing in on itself, only I’m in the center when it does, and the weight just keeps getting heavier and heavier. I can’t breathe. I can’t scream. I can’t do anything, except wait to be consumed.”
“Oh.” Her gaze falls to the floor like she feels guilty for asking. “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”
I shrug and repeat something William used to say. “Everybody goes through shit, and it all smells the same.”
Molly laughs, giggling as though I’ve just said something vulgar and naughty. I can’t help but join her. When she laughs, her joy is infectious. Why am I seemingly the only person who can see that light within her?
“Do you have friends around here?” I ask, snorting before I add, “Besides those douchebags we met this morning?”
Molly looks at me like she can’t believe I just said the word douchebags. I realize she has lived a very sheltered existence.
She smiles. “Not everyone around here is so bad. Raven, Jesse, Vixson, they are nice. I’ll introduce you to them tonight at the commencement dinner.”
I roll my eyes. Crap. I forgot about that.
“Do we really have to go?” I whine, eyeing the Old English encyclopedia on my desk. “I have a mountain of homework.”
“Man-da-tory.” She draws the word out, enunciating every syllable. “It’s ten demerits if you bail.”
I sigh, vaguely
