I get to Mr. Daly’s class in record time. I take a peek inside, but Sherlock’s not in there yet. I don’t know which direction he’ll be coming from, so while I hate to wait for him in such a public spot, I have no other choice but to stand against the wall and watch for him.
Somehow, he still manages to sneak up on me.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.”
I jump, turning my head to look at him as he approaches. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says with a little nod of acknowledgment, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
I push off the wall, feeling a little awkward now that he’s actually standing here.
I made up my mind to try to find him, but somehow, I didn’t get past that. Somehow, I forgot I would actually have to speak to him, and with only a minute to spare, I should have come up with something before he was standing right in front of me.
My stomach rocks like a ship sailing on a choppy sea.
“Um… hi,” I say again.
His amusement deepens. “You said that already.”
“Right.”
“You seem nervous,” he remarks, perfectly at ease with my nervousness.
Dammit, I forgot how he affected me when he got me alone.
We’re not even really alone, there are still people in the hall, but it feels like we’re alone.
This was a mistake.
I yearn to run away, but I should do what I came to do.
“I heard a rumor about you,” I say quickly, unable to come up with anything else.
“Yeah?” He shifts the canvas bag thrown over his shoulder to his hip, drawing up the flap without looking and pulling out his macroeconomics textbook. “I’ve heard a few about you, too. Rumor is, you have lovely tits. I don’t think the girl whose face I’m fucking in that tacky porn screenshot really did you justice, but I suppose that was the point, huh?”
My heart plummets hearing him speak so crassly about my body and what “he” was doing to it in the infamous picture.
I can feel a flush creeping up my neck, but since I’m already here, I try to keep it together. All I really want to do is turn on my heel and flee without another word, but that would be stupid. I came here for a reason. I just need to stay on track and get my answers.
“Did you do it?” I ask.
“Fuck your face? No, not yet,” he says, his mouth tugging up with amusement.
“Not ever,” I say, since at least this I know how to respond to. “I’m Hunter’s, remember?”
“Are you?” he asks with a sudden frown, cocking his head. “’Cause, see, if you are, how come he’s not the one defending your honor? If I’ve gotta do it, I think maybe you’re not his. I think maybe you’re up for grabs.”
Defend my honor?
That sounds like an admission of guilt to me. “You actually did it, didn’t you? You stole her car and blew it up.”
“Technically, no one blew the car up. It was doused in gasoline and set on fire. There was no explosion, but people like a dramatic retelling.”
“Sherlock, this is serious. That’s a felony. You could get arrested.”
He shakes his head, apparently unconcerned. “I’m not an idiot, Riley. I know how to cover my tracks. I have an alibi.” He smirks. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, though.”
Just when it seems like the flush can’t go any higher, heat reaches the tops of my ears. My chest feels tight, like I can’t even breathe properly. I look down for a moment to gather my bearings, then raise my gaze back to his. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugs, not saying a word, just looking at me with those hypnotic eyes of his.
As they bore into me, I realize they look different again today. At first glance they were blue. The night of the party with that predatory light in them, they were the color of hard steel. But now, looking into them, I see even more detail I didn’t notice before.
His eyes look greener today. There’s a burnt brown ring around the pupil with a lighter golden hue encircling it like fanned flames. Beyond that, his eyes are an oceanic color that goes from light to dark, but I think it’s that golden ring that gives them such depth, that makes him so hard to look away from. His eyes are like an inferno bursting outward, warning the poor soul drifting into his depths, “if you play with fire, you’re going to get burned.”
Since he hasn’t answered my question, I prod him a bit. “I mean, I know you said you don’t like her, but enough to do this? What has she ever done to you?”
“She hasn’t done anything to me.”
“Then why?”
He takes a step toward me and my heart sinks. Instinctively, I try to back away from him, but I’m already against a wall, so I can’t go far.
My heart tries to beat its way out of my chest as he cages me in, right here in the hall.
There are fewer people walking by now, but it’s not entirely empty. I could call for help if I needed to, but I don’t. He won’t hurt me, and the kind of help I need right now… I can’t get from any of these passersby.
“I don’t know how it is with Hunter, Riley, but with me… Don’t ask a question you don’t want an answer to.”
I’m not afraid, not really, but I can scarcely breathe. I hold his gaze as he looks down at me, but I can’t seem to find my words.
This has not gone at all how I thought it would.
He stands there for a moment, long enough for me to ask one more time if I really want the answer.
I don’t.
The bell rings.
A jolt runs through me.
I’m officially late.
So is he.
He’s not too worried about it, though.
He takes a step back, an easy smirk falling into place on his handsome face. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
With that, he turns and disappears into the classroom.
Chapter Fifty Three
Riley
My stomach is upset for the rest of the day.
I thought asking Sherlock about what Sara told me was the right thing to do, but now I feel like I’m twisted up in knots.
There’s a knot in my stomach that seems to have been doused in acid first. It gnaws away at me, distracting me and stealing my concentration when I finally show up late to class. There’s a thick knot of emotion in my chest, making it feel tight long after he’s gone.
Knots everywhere. I can’t catch my breath.
I try to tell myself I don’t know why I’m such a wreck, but I’m afraid I do.
I don’t like Sherlock, but he is the only guy other than Hunter to ever make me feel so out of sorts. I don’t like him, but… I am attracted to him.
As I sit through my next class agonizing over that admission and not paying a single bit of attention to the teacher, I try to sort through my feelings. I unravel the guilt wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air supply.
I shouldn’t feel guilty.
I’m not really Hunter’s.
I said that to Sherlock because I needed to remind him that I’m off-limits, but while I would never do anything to deliberately hurt Hunter… I don’t owe him my loyalty. He did things to deliberately hurt me.
Why should I beat myself up for feeling a flutter toward Sherlock when Hunter slept with Valerie Johnson?