I don’t really feel anything but shock, but the contact is brief, so maybe that’s okay. Sure, the contact had been brief when Hunter kissed me, too, but that moment was much different. There was an emotional charge, a sense of anticipation, an already established closeness that made it so much more intimate than any gentle, undemanding kiss has a right to be.
This one was almost throwaway, off-handed, just something he wanted to do before he went about the rest of his day.
Something he wanted to do. Maybe that’s the difference. When Hunter kissed me, I was the one who wanted it. He needed it. Between the two of us, we were both primed and ready for it, and this… this…
I was just unprepared for it, that’s all. Surely the next one will be better.
Someone clears their throat at the front of the room and I turn, wide-eyed, to see a very unimpressed looking teacher giving me the stink eye.
Flushing all the way down to my toes, I abandon Anderson without a word and rush forward. “I’m sorry.”
In a tone that says she’s heard it all before, she asks, “Name?”
I want to answer, but my tongue is stuck in my mouth. I feel the need to explain myself. I want to go up to her and tell her she’s gotten the wrong impression of me. I’m not the girl who kisses boys before class on the first day of school in plain view of everyone, including my teacher.
But I can’t find my words, so she just stands there judging me and probably also thinking I’m an idiot since I can’t seem to find the syllables needed to say my own name.
But then, someone finds them for me.
“Her name’s Riley Bishop. And judging by the things people say about her, you’re probably gonna want to keep an eye on this one.”
There’s a mild chuckle from the peanut gallery, but I almost can’t hear them. All of my senses crash, the thoughts in my brain hit a wall, and my body ceases functioning but for the effort it takes to turn my head.
I knew it was him by the sound of his voice, but somehow I’m no less stunned when I find myself looking into the magnetic brown eyes of Hunter Maxwell.
Chapter Thirteen
Riley
When she speaks, the teacher’s stern tone draws me out of my stupor. “Find a seat, Miss Bishop.”
That would be a lot easier to do if my legs wanted to work. They don’t, but I force them into motion and slowly move forward, dragging my gaze from Hunter and trying to ignore the furious pounding inside my chest.
How is he here? Why is he here?
It seemed like he was having the time of his life in Italy—okay, I looked at his social media once or twice after hearing people talking about him at school—and with only one year of high school left, I naturally assumed he would finish up there. I know when he moved he was worried about not knowing Italian, but some of his posts were in Italian when I looked, so he must have picked it up. It seems like it would be more trouble than anything to go to the trouble of transferring across international school systems—
I stop myself from further stalling as I think about stuff that hardly seems relevant in the face of his presence in my classroom.
Holy shit, Hunter’s back.
My heart feels strangely light at the prospect.
I know he hated me when he left, but I didn’t hate him. I never hated him—I wanted what was best for him, that’s all. I haven’t exactly warmed to him in his absence given the social Siberia he sentenced me to, but… it doesn’t seem to matter right now. I feel all fluttery, and as much as my pride tells me not to look at him, I can’t stop my gaze from drifting.
I take a turn at the desk on the end of the row and start up his aisle so I can peek without being too obvious.
That might have worked, but he’s looking right at me, so he notices the moment my gaze lands on him.
My heart flutters.
God, he looks so good. I’ve seen him in pictures, but in person he has more than just his distracting good looks. He has this whole aura around him—like a magnetic field surrounded by barbed wire, tempting me closer and warning me away at the same time.
I don’t know if it’s just because nobody ever notices me and now he’s noticing me so hard, but I’m completely thrown off-kilter. I feel awkward just walking. Having to pick a desk seems like the most difficult task I’ve ever been handed.
I see empty desks here and there from my peripherals as I walk, but if I keep passing them there won’t be any left. It will be easy to see Hunter’s throwing me off; there’s no reason to wander down this row and take a tour of empty desks if my head is on straight and I don’t mean to take any of them.
Hunter is exactly halfway back—two desks in front of him, two behind him. I prefer to sit closer to the front, but this teacher already doesn’t like me, so perhaps a little distance in this class will be nice.
I’m approaching him now, so there’s not much left to choose from. Both desks behind Hunter are already taken. There’s one left on the opposite side of the aisle, but it’s at the very back of the row and if I sit there, I’ll be so distracted looking at the back of Hunter’s head all the time, I’ll never be able to pay attention.
It’s probably a terrible, no-good, very bad idea, but I place my palm on the flat surface of the desk as a brief warning, then I drop into the seat directly next to Hunter.
He cocks a dark eyebrow at me. “Interesting choice.”
Yep. Bad choice. Very bad choice. I’m sitting way too close to him, but I’ll be damned if I back down now. “Center of the room. I like this seat.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “You usually sit in the front row like the good little nerd you are.”
I slide him a speaking look and hope he’s not in any of my other classes, where I will absolutely be sitting in the front row. “That was in 8th grade, Hunter. People change.”
Nodding slowly in consideration, he says, “That’s true. I’m only familiar with innocent bookworm Riley. The school slut who kisses boys before class is brand-new, but I’m looking forward to getting well-acquainted.”
I take the bait and glare over at him. “I am not the school slut. That’s my boyfriend. I don’t just kiss randos—but you know what? If I did, that would be none of your business. You’ve been gone for four years. I never heard a single word from you, and let’s not forget the parting gift you left me—”
Cutting me off, he says, “Yeah, and whose fault is it that I’ve been gone, Riley? Not mine.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get the words out, the teacher snaps, “Miss Bishop. Are you causing problems already?”
My jaw drops open and I look toward the front of the room. Is she serious? Can she not see Hunter running his mouth just as much as I’m running mine?
As if she can’t, and I am entirely in the wrong for the classroom kerfuffle, she lifts her eyebrows severely.
It kills me, but I murmur back, “Sorry, Mrs. Dowd. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
I wait until she looks away to glare at her, then I turn my head and throw a wordless glare Hunter’s way for good measure.
He has only been back for five minutes and he’s already getting me in trouble.