It wasn’t a bad way to start the day, but I know dreaming of Xander like that is unhealthy for me. I can feel in my bones that he’s going to make my start at Rosehaven more difficult than it needs to be.
And what the fuck did that warning about Justin mean? Besides Max and Daphne, he’s one of the few people who’d spoken to me all day. And he seems perfectly nice. Screw Xander and his domineering attitude. I’ll talk to whomever I damn well please.
As I enter the school for day two, I find myself nervous for completely different reasons. This time, I kind of know where I’m going, and I even know that there are some friendly faces in the building. But man, I am not looking forward to Precalculus first thing. I’m not worried about math this early in the morning, but based on some comments made during English yesterday, I know that Xander’s in the same class with me and Max.
At my locker, I unload my books before slamming it shut, noting that the slight sheen of lube from yesterday’s misadventure remains on the surface. Still gross.
“Good morning, Cupcake.” Max greets me enthusiastically.
“Hey.” I plaster a smile on my tired face. “Where’s Daphne?”
He points in the opposite direction of our first class. “She’s the librarian’s aide during our first class today. She usually goes down there early on even days.”
“Gotcha.”
We enter the mostly empty classroom together, and Max sets his bag down on the tabletop, claiming his space. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He takes off and not five seconds later, Xander strides into the classroom, looks around, and once his eyes land on me, comes right for me.
When he picks up Max’s bag and deposits it on the table across the aisle, I sputter. “Max was saving that spot so he could sit there.”
“He’ll get over it.” He lowers himself into the chair next to me and, to my horror, drapes his arm over the back of my seat.
A few minutes later, Max hurries back in, but stops short when he sees Xander in his seat. Rolling his eyes, he walks over to the chair where Xander dumped his bag. “Thanks a lot, asshole,” he says under his breath, then he aims an apologetic glance my way.
I shrug as Xander shoots him a shit-eating grin. “No problem, Maxman.”
Not long after class begins, I’m reminded where Xander has planted his arm when his thumb brushes back and forth just above my shoulder blade.
I jerk forward in my seat, sitting up straight. “What are you doing?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
The whole class went like that. I’d just relax, and he’d do something else. First, he dropped his pen and took his sweet time looking at my legs while he was bent over picking it up. Then it was more of the soft touches to my back. After that, he grew bolder and moved his hand up to the base of my neck under my hair.
Of course, I thought I’d been smart sitting in the corner in the very back row, but with no one behind us, there was also no one who could see what he was doing.
His knee nudges mine, and I pull my legs tightly together, shifting out of the way. And damn him, he just widens his stance.
Once the lesson is over—yes, Ms. Murphy dove right into teaching on our first day of class—we have twenty minutes to work through our homework. I prop my arm up, blocking Xander from my view. I’m diligently solving quadratic equations as a review from the previous year when I hear Xander beside me murmur, “All that long red hair. Oh, the things I’d do with that.”
My head snaps up and to the side. “Excuse me?”
Apparently, I’d been louder than I thought because Ms. Murphy glances up from her desk, a small scowl on her face. “Everything okay over there?”
My gaze swings to hers and just as my mouth drops open to answer, Xander responds, “I’m just helping Scarlett a bit, if that’s okay?” He aims a winning smile in her direction.
Her expression softens. “Well, that’s certainly kind of you, Xander.”
“It’s no problem at all. I’m already done with my work.”
My gaze shifts to his notebook. Well, hell. That was unexpected. Each problem is thoroughly worked through and answered.
He edges his seat closer to mine, as if he’s helping me.
“I’m just fine on my own,” I mutter.
“You sure? Your face is all red.” He lightly traces his finger over my forearm. “Your skin tone provides a dead giveaway the second you’re even the slightest bit flustered.” He lowers his voice and leans in closer to my ear. “Or turned on.”
I scoot my chair away. “Whatever.” I do my best to refocus on what I’m working on, but his eyes on me accelerate my heart rate and make my palms sweat.
“It’s fucking adorable.”
I glance back at him and roll my eyes. I do not understand this guy’s angle. Not at all. One minute, he’s like a psychopath, poking at me like I’m some wounded animal he can mess around with at his whim. Then, he’s supposedly trying to protect me from someone who has been nothing but nice to me. For the final act, he’s outright flirting with me. I can’t decide which version of him is the worst, actually.
He’s making my head spin and setting me way off balance when I need to be focused.
And the biggest question I have is still why me? Why is all of this weird energy directed at me? Why is he bothering? What does he care that I’m here or what I do or who I talk to?
Chapter 9
By some miracle, I make it through the rest of the day unscathed, and since cross-country practice doesn’t officially start until tomorrow afternoon, I drive directly to the ice cream shop I’d seen in town with the Help Needed sign in the window.
I pull into one of the parking spaces out front and head inside to inquire about applying for a job. I know my aunt and uncle said the whole job thing is up to me, that I don’t have to work while trying to navigate a new school this semester, but I’ve always found the busier I am, the better I do. Not to mention, it will keep my mind from dwelling too much on the mess my life has become.
An older man of about sixty sits behind the counter on a stool. He has a full head of gray hair and a smile that makes the skin at the sides of his eyes crinkle. When I enter, he stands and waves. “What can I do for you today?”
Sucking in a breath, I return his smile, and on my exhale blurt out, “Are you still hiring? I need a job.”
He nods. “We sure are. I’m Terry. My wife and I own this shop. What’s your name?”
“Scarlett Miller.” I wrinkle my nose. “I saw the sign outside. It’s Terry and Teri, huh?”
“Yep. Pretty funny, right?” He chuckles and shoots me a wink. “You’ll meet her eventually. She’s here on the weekends, mostly. Where are you coming to us from?”
“I just moved from Rykersville. I’d be interested in as many hours as you can give me, provided I can work around my practice schedule—I’m going to be running cross-country for Rosehaven.”
He comes around the counter, hands folded together in front of him. “Well, I’m looking for someone Tuesdays and Thursdays for now—possibly a few hours here and there on weekends. Would that work for your schedule?”