And I’m pretty successful throughout the day.
Between classes it’s hard not to think of him because he’s become such a fixture on my walks from room to room, but once my instructors start talking, I’m able to temporarily push him from my thoughts. It reminds me of why I was always such a good student growing up in the first place.
Learning and hanging out with James was a welcome distraction from the shithole that was my home life.
I make it all the way through third period without losing my mind, and I’m so relieved and proud of myself. I have lunch with Loni and Henry, and to my relief, neither of them brings up Saint at all and we actually have a conversation about something that doesn’t involve Angelview’s resident gods. When I get up to leave the hall to head to History, my shoulders are a little straighter than before. I feel like I’ve overcome a significant obstacle in my life. If I can find other ways to push Saint from my mind, then maybe I can actually move past him and—
“Mallory, wait!”
I freeze, and my stomach twists and turns into tiny knots. Well, hell. I was doing so well and then the tapeworm had to make his grand reappearance.
Stabbing my tongue in my cheek, I twist around to find Saint almost sprinting toward me as I start inside the academic building.
“Yes?” I ask, a little more bite in my voice than I intend.
He doesn’t seem to notice as he stops beside me and wraps his fingers around my arm.
Electricity spirals beneath my skin at the contact, and I inhale sharply through slightly parted lips.
Once more, he doesn’t appear to notice.
“I’m glad I found you,” he pants.
“Where all have you looked?” He knows my schedule backwards and forwards. “I was thinking you’d just decided to ignore the fact that I was alive today. That tends to be our thing, you know.”
He scrubs his free hand over his face, then offers me a ghost of a smile. “Guess I deserve that, huh? Look, Ellis, I’m sorry.”
I take a step back. Saint’s … sorry? In the time that I’ve known him, I can count on one hand the times Saint Angelle has apologized and most of those apologies were dripping with scorn. And now he’s telling me he’s sorry for ditching me? Without sounding like self-serving prick?
“You sick or something?”
He must be because when some giggly brunette toting around a tiny, quilted Chanel backpack purposely bumps into me and mutters, “Baby-killer,” he whirls on her.
“And you’ll be next, bitch, if you don’t fuck off.”
She scurries away, her pink bag flapping against her skinny back in my peripherals.
I rub my temples, squinting up at him. “What was that?”
Putting a little pressure on my arm, he steers me toward a small alcove in the hallway, out of the flow of traffic as other students shuffle along to their classes.
“You and me,” he says in a low voice. “We’re skipping.”
My fingers go still against my temples. It’s such a normal thing to do that I have to repeat what he said just to make sure I heard him correctly.
“That’s what this is?” The corners of my lips twitch despite my irritation with him. “You want me to skip class with you?”
“It’ll be good for you. Your pussy will thank you, Ellis, trust me.”
The body part in question clenches in response. It’s been so long since we hooked-up, I’m tempted to give in and go with him just for that.
As fun and tempting as it sounds, however, I know I have to refuse him. I had come to a decision this morning, and if I give in and break that promise to myself, I’ll be right back to where I was with him. I don’t want that.
I want something … more.
Even if admitting that to myself is an all new beast of its own.
“Not today.”
“Admit it, little masochist, you want to. I can see it in your eyes.”
Although he’s goading me like always, there’s something off about it this time. Maybe it’s the shallow breaths pulsing from his lips or the rigid set of his shoulders, but something isn’t right. And at the end of the day, this is the same guy I’ve been warned about since my very first day at this school
“I can’t afford to skip. My scholarship is strict about my attendance, and then I got my first college acceptance this morning, so—”
When I start toward the classroom, he steps around me, using his muscular frame to block my path.
“You’re not going in there,” he growls.
“Why not?”
He stabs his fingers through his hair, and he actually looks rattled, but now he’s managed to shake me.
“Get out of my way.”
“Ellis, stop fucking moving and listen for once in your life!”
I freeze just before reaching the door and spin back around to face him. “Why?”
“Just … trust me. Don’t go in there.”
His words have the opposite effect of what he intended because now I’m dying to know what the big deal is. What fresh hell Laurel and her friends have cooked up for me this time.
Squaring my shoulders, I turn away from him and step into the doorway.
“Mallory, goddammit!”
My eyes sweep the room and I realize in an instant what it is that Saint’s trying to prevent me from seeing. The only thing, or rather only person, who could ever make me feel unsafe—at least in a classroom setting.
Dylan’s standing at the board, a somewhat triumphant smile curling his lips.
18
A million thoughts swirl around my head as I drift to my seat. As I stumble forward, I hear some of the whispers of my classmates, asking the questions burning in my own mind right now.
“How is he back after what he did?”
“Did he sue the school or something?”
“Who do you think he bribed to get his job back?”
I sink down into my chair, my shoulders curling over my chest. Dylan’s focusing his attention on some papers on his desk, but I can see how flushed his cheeks are from across the room. He knows everyone’s talking about him, but what did he expect?
And what the hell is he doing here?
Saint settles into the seat next to me. “You alright, Ellis?” he murmurs.
Before I can answer, Liam and Gabe slide into their chairs around us.
“What the fuck is happening?” Gabe asks in a stunned tone. “What’s Porter doing back?”
“Mallory? Are you okay?” Liam leans toward me, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his brow knitted.
“I—”
“What’s the matter, Mallory?” a venomous voice slaps me in the face. I twist away from Liam to find Laurel sashaying toward us. She sits in the closest seat she can find, which is right in front of Saint.
“Don’t,” is the only word he says to her, and she bats her eyelashes.
I can’t decide if I want to puke or break her damn nose.
“Am I forbidden from furthering my studies now?”
“Cut the shit, L,” he snaps. “That’s not a request.”
For a second, she stares at him with pure rage twisting her features. Then, uncrossing her legs, she stands, gathering her books into one hand and fluffing her blond bob with the other. Henry was right. She is looking a bit bare around the roots these days.