His breath hitches, and his gaze, which was so carefully locked on my eyes, drops. I can feel my own breath pick up, and against my will, my nipples peak as nerves and a flush of arousal surges through me.
This is a stupid fucking game, and dangerous too, but I started it. I can’t stop now.
I straighten the panties in my hands and bend over slightly to step into them, watching him as I do. His gaze drifts lower, to the place between my thighs, and my inner muscles clench involuntarily as goose bumps rise on my skin.
He might’ve talked shit about my looks with his friends, but that’s not stopping him from staring at me now. And he doesn’t look like he hates what he sees at all.
When my panties settle on my hips, I turn around and grab a bra from the drawer, sliding that on slowly as well. Lincoln’s entire body is tense, as if he’s fighting some kind of internal battle, and the veins in his neck stand out a little. I walk to my closet, keeping my steps slow and measured despite my pounding heart and shaky limbs, and grab out a pair of jeans and a sweater.
I keep my back to him as I bend to step into the jeans, and the sound of his sharp inhale makes my heart slam against my ribs. My movements are a little jerky as I pull the sweater on, and I work hard to compose my face before turning back to him.
“Ready. Sir.”
My hair is still wet, but I’ll just let it air dry. And I’ll go without makeup today.
I feel like our little standoff has pushed one—or maybe both of us—to the breaking point, and I honestly don’t think I can handle another second alone in this room with him. I’m fully clothed now, but Lincoln’s gaze is still on me, still burning into my skin. We both know he’s seen everything underneath, which makes me feel like I’m still naked somehow.
“Good. Come on.” His voice is low and rough, and he turns away from me like it takes physical effort. He yanks the door open as I grab my backpack, hastily stuffing a few loose notebooks inside. “And don’t fucking make me wait again.”
I follow him down the stairs and to his car, my legs wobbling like all my bones have gone soft.
Honestly, in this weird battle of wills the two of us have going on…
I’m not sure either of us won that round.
7
I underestimated how awkward it would be to be trapped in a small metal box with Lincoln—or maybe it’s just because I hadn’t counted on him seeing me completely naked immediately beforehand.
But the second we get in the car together, I can feel it. His large hands grip the steering wheel hard, and I keep my gaze forward for a few minutes, but eventually, I can’t stand the tension.
I reach over to flip on the radio and start skimming through stations, listening to a few lyrics of each song before scanning forward to the next.
Lincoln makes a noise of irritation in the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something good.”
“They’re all fine. Just pick a fucking station.”
“Sorry. Radio privileges belong to the passenger. Everybody knows that.”
He growls and bats my hand away from the knob just as the radio lands on a maudlin country song. I smirk and sit back, running my fingers through the still-damp tangles of my hair. “Hope you’re happy.”
“Jesus. You are so fucking irritating.”
I glance over at him, my next question more genuine than teasing. “Is that why you don’t like me?”
“No. I don’t like you because—” He cuts himself off with another annoyed sound, shaking his head.
Dammit. I really wish he would’ve finished that sentence. I want to know what this guy’s problem is with me, although I’m not quite sure why it matters. Maybe it’s because sometimes it seems like he’s forcing himself to dislike me, holding that antagonism up like an armor around himself. And I can admit, I’m curious what’s behind that armor.
I’m about to press a little harder when he speaks again.
“I’m sorry about your mom’s car.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise—that’s just about the last thing I expected him to say.
“Did you do it?”
“What?” He shoots me an irritated glance. “No. I said I was fucking sorry it happened, not that I was the one who did it.”
“Are you just mad someone else thought of it before you?” I ask with a snort.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Forget it. Just change the damn station, this song is making me want to drive into a brick wall.”
I reach forward tentatively and spin the knob. This time, I actually try to find a song we’ll both like. I watch Lincoln’s face as I move through stations, and when it lands on a song by Post Malone, the muscles around his mouth relax slightly. So I let that one play and turn it up, drowning out the possibility of more conversation, and we don’t talk any more the rest of the way to school.
We’re late for first period, and Lincoln doesn’t say a word as we step through the white front doors of Linwood Academy and split up to head to our separate classes.
Mr. Becker stares at me over his glasses as I walk into Political Science ten minutes after the bell, but he doesn’t comment as I slink toward a seat in the back.
I was too busy trying to fuck with Lincoln to remember to eat breakfast, so by the time lunch rolls around, I’m starving. I grab two pieces of pizza from the serving staff and am carrying my tray over to the corner I usually sit in when someone sticks a leg out in front of me. At the exact same moment, a pair of hands push me hard from behind, and I fly forward.
The tray falls from my hands, sending my pizza and
