“Can I think about it?” I ask, scrunching up my forehead like I’m confused.
“Of course,” he says easily. “Take the break and think on it. Let me know if you have any questions over break. I’ll be available. You have my email, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “And thank you for the opportunity.”
“I don’t offer this position to just anyone,” he says, his voice lowering. “But I see something in you, Summer. Something special.”
Unease slips down my spine at his words. Something special. They’re vaguely creepy, especially coming from my teacher who has to be at least in his late thirties or early forties, and I literally just turned eighteen.
“Thank you,” I say again before I turn away from him, running smack into someone who’s just entered the classroom.
Whit.
His hands automatically go to my shoulders, lightly shoving me away. “Watch it,” he snaps automatically, his expression softening when he takes a good look at me. I don’t know what my face must look like, but his fingers tighten on my shoulders instead of letting me go, his head cocked to the side as he contemplates me. “You all right?”
I gape at him, thrown by his question, the gentle concern in his gaze. The fact that he’s still touching me after he’s all but ignored me for the last almost…three weeks? It feels like an eternity the last time we were face to face.
I don’t understand him. Will I ever?
“I’m fine.” I offer him a brittle smile and he lets me go. I decide to test the waters. “Happy Birthday.”
He frowns. “How did you know?”
“Sylvie told me. It’s my bir—”
“Whit. Summer. Please find your seats,” Mr. Figueroa says, his voice full of annoyance.
Whit sends him a withering look, then turns and heads for his desk.
I’m left with no choice but to do the same. I walk on air the entire way though, my feet never seeming to touch the ground. For once, Whit didn’t treat me awfully. He actually sounded like he was concerned for me and…
I’m probably reading too much into it.
It’s hard for me to pretend he isn’t in the classroom though, which is what I normally do. As Mr. Figueroa begins to lecture, pacing the front of the room, talking to only ten of us instead of the normal twenty, it’s as if I can feel Whit’s eyes on me, boring holes in my head, my back. Watching me.
Figueroa talks and talks, and every time I look up, I feel the weight of his gaze on me, his dark brows drawn together, as if he’s trying to figure me out too. Maybe I stumped him by asking if I could think about being his TA. Good. All the other girls just fall at his feet, wanting a piece of him, a moment of his time, a laugh, a lingering look. They’re starved for his attention, and I understand how they feel, though he’s not the one I’m hungry for.
As subtly as I can, I angle my head to the left. Practically rest my cheek against my shoulder for a long moment, waiting there. Feeling like a fool. I lift my lids, my gaze seeking Whit out, finding him immediately.
He’s already watching me, a pencil between his lips. I stare, fascinated as he rubs the pencil across his lips, almost as if he’s kissing it. I even catch a glimpse of his pink tongue when he opens his mouth.
I turn away, my breaths short. My head spinning. I’m confused. Why is he suddenly acknowledging me now? He doesn’t know I’m going with him to his house. I’ll be there for a week.
With him.
Finally, the bell rings. Class is over. I take my time gathering my things, hating how Figueroa stands by the door, wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving as they leave. I just want to make my escape without any acknowledgement.
Whit leaves his desk at the same time as I leave mine, the both of us meeting at the door and Figueroa doesn’t even look at him.
His eyes are only for me.
“Think about it,” he tells me mysteriously. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, Summer.”
“You too,” I say, shooting through the door as fast as possible.
Whit is right behind me, his fingers curling around my arm and stopping me from getting away from him. “What the hell was that all about?”
There are hardly any people in the hall, but he’s still touching me in front of others, which is shocking. “How is it any of your business?”
“Don’t play games with me, Savage.” His fingers lock around my wrist and he drags me behind him, turning right down a short hallway, until we’re tucked away in a quiet alcove with no one else around us. “What was Figueroa talking about?”
My pulse throbs beneath his touch. Can he feel it? Does he know how much he still affects me? God, I’m so weak. I should be pissed at him. Instead, I’m all amped up, hoping he won’t stop talking. “It was nothing.”
Whit steps closer, his chest brushing mine, making me suck in a sharp breath. “Tell me,” he practically growls.
“He wants me to be his TA,” I admit, wondering why he’s acting this way. “It’s no big deal.”
“He’s a perv who tries to sleep with his students. They almost always start out as his TA,” he says, disgust lacing his voice. “It’s a big deal.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”
“Would I really lie about that?”
“Why doesn’t someone stop him?” Like you, I want to add, but I don’t.
“No one’s actually ever caught him in the act. And none of the girls he’s been with tell on him,” he explains. “Anytime someone brings it up, he’s always got a story. An excuse. Same with the girls. He never gets with them when they’re underclassmen. It’s almost always with senior girls. It’s this well-known secret that no one ever really talks about.”
“You could do something about it, you know. Your name is on the sign out front. You can make people disappear,” I remind him, thinking of Bryan. And Elliot.
“He’s never actually done anything criminal yet—that he’s been caught for. He’s just creepy.” Whit releases his hold on me and takes a step backward, as if needing the distance. He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. Frustration with me? With himself? With Figueroa? I’ll never know, since he would never tell me. “And why am I bothering trying to explain this to you? Just—watch out, okay? His motives aren’t pure.”
Says the boy with the most impure motives I’ve ever seen in my life. “Are you giving me a warning?”
“For your own safety,” he clarifies. “I’d do it for my sisters.”
“So now you think of me like a sister.”
He scowls. I smile.
“Absolutely not,” he says irritably. “I don’t want to fuck my sister, thank Christ.”
My skin goes warm at his admission, and I decide to change the subject. “Did you know we share the same birthday?”
“What do you—it’s your birthday?” He sounds confused.
I nod. Reach out and rest my hand on his chest, tugging lightly on his tie. “Eighteen and finally legal.”
“Same,” he says with the barest smile.
I don’t release my hold on his tie. I don’t understand where all this boldness is coming from either, but I’m going with it. I think about telling him I’m going with them for Thanksgiving break, but I decide to not push my luck. He’ll find out soon enough, though I’m sure he’ll be pissed when he finds out, no matter when. “We haven’t talked in forever.”