“Yes!” I say in a heated whisper, barely refraining from stomping my foot on the stained carpet. “Now, leave me the hell alone and go torture some other poor sucker, because I refuse to take your bait anymore.”
A tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his masculine, plump lips. And I hate that I notice it. I don’t want to notice or pay attention to anything he does. The more attention I show him, the more he’ll keep coming back for more. That’s how it was in high school, and I don’t expect it to be any different here.
“My bait?”
Leaning away, I pinch the bridge of my nose, muttering, “What is this, 'repeat everything Harloe says’ day?”
Then I do something I shouldn’t have. I let my anger get the best of me. Wrapping my fingers around the sides of his desk, I get into his personal space. I should know by the gleam in his eyes that this wasn’t a good idea. But instead of listening to the tiny voice inside my head, I allow my anger to get the best of me.
“Leave me the hell alone, Hunter.” My eyes sweep between his, breath catching in my chest as his multi-colored eyes train on mine with heated intensity. “You told me on Christmas Eve to leave and never come back. Well, until now, I did just that. You are the one who tossed me in the ditch and left me to rot. Now, I refuse to allow you to have any say-so over our—my—life any longer. Get a clue. I know I did when you traded me in for her.”
Not waiting for him to respond, I push off his desk and walk to the very back of the room and take a seat. This desk belongs to someone else, but I just can’t deal with Hunter today. And since the only empty chair in the room belongs to him—and it just so happens to be beside mine—I’m going to take a pass.
After the campus security ransacked Jenna’s and my apartment, he’s been pretty freaking quiet. That’s how I’d much rather it be between us. And if he can allow our silence to last for almost a week, then he can do it for the next four years or until he transfers to another place. I refuse to be his punching bag for something I’m sure I didn’t do.
Lord knows what he has in his mind to make him hate me as fiercely as he does. Ever since we were younger, you couldn’t get us to go longer than a few hours without speaking to each other. Pissed or not. It didn’t matter. Hunter and I were as thick as thieves, and slowly, just like a burglar in the night, Hunter stole my heart. And, as much as I hate it, he never really gave it back.
Dropping my bag beside my chair, I get my things out and situated. Right as the bell rings, our teacher comes into the room and immediately notices that another student and I are in the incorrect seats. By the way, his lips thin into a tight line, he doesn’t like it one bit.
“Traven Lockridge. Harloe Rose.” I startle, and stare up at Mr. Erikson, awaiting my judgment. His penetrating stare flicks between both of us. “While there must be a valid reason as to why neither of you is in your correct seats, please return to your assigned location this moment. I have a class to teach, and you both are impeding on that.”
Hunter tries to cover up his laughter with a cough. It draws my attention, and I see he’s staring over his shoulder at me, eyes alight with mischief, before turning back around and facing the front of the class.
My eyes beam into the back of his head, narrowing so hard I hope he can feel my wrath from here. I’d like nothing more than to smack the shit out of him. He deserves it and so much more.
But then, just when I thought being called out by the teacher was more than enough, Hunter has to go the extra mile and solidify his placement of being a prick. “Yeah. You’re impeding on our learning. Both of you should be ashamed.”
Everyone in the classroom starts chirping with laughter. They react to his joke like we’re in fifth grade, and he’s just defied the teacher to prove he’s popular. Trust me, we’ve all done it a time or two. It’s called asserting dominance, even when we don’t have a leg to stand on.
I expect Mr. Erikson to chastise him for disrupting the class. At least, that’s what a bona fide teacher who actually fretted over their classroom time would, anyway.
You’d think so, at least.
However, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Not even close. Fucking asshole. It appears he’s just as enamored with the Prince name as the rest of the town.
When does it end?
“Why, thank you, Mr. Prince.” Mr. Erikson’s eyes are shining, and his cheeks are blushing a marvelous pink shade. “Glad to see someone taking their schooling seriously.”
Trying my best not to react to their obvious picking, I gather my things and quickly change seats with Traven. We’re both like scolded pets, and it’s not even his fault he was called out. Instead, it was mine. Lord, now I owe him an apology for putting him in the middle of Hunter’s and my mess.
Sitting down with a huff, I try to ignore the big behemoth in the desk beside me. “Try” being the operative word.
That lasts all of about fifteen minutes, and then a note with scribbled words land on my desk. You’ve got to be kidding me. Cinching my eyes closed, I try to take a cleansing breath before grasping the note—that Mr. Erikson would have been blind not to see flying through the air—and unfold it.
Whose baby?
My spine turns rigid as I see the words written on the crumbled-up piece of paper. Immediately, I start sifting through my memories to see if I’ve allowed anything to slip. Nothing stands out to the best of my knowledge. But, then again, Princes have been known to find out everything at the drop of a hat if they so desire.
So, even though I don’t want to, I need to find out what he’s talking about. In order to do that, I’ll have to play dumb, which is something I truly detest. Being the woman I am today, having gone through all the things I have, I’m far from dumb, incompetent, or illiterate. Not even tooting my own horn, but it takes someone with tremendous strength to accomplish what I have.
Putting pencil to paper, I try my best to swallow the nausea forming.
Baby?
Tossing it back toward him, I mentally bite my fingernails until he jots something down and throws it back at me. It smacks me right in the cheek, which makes Hunter chuckle under his breath. If I didn’t need this information like I do my next breath, I’d middle finger him and dismiss his presence altogether. But I do, and I’m like a junkie diving for the note.
I’m not asking again. Whose Baby, and what are they doing on your phone?
First off, I’m glad that’s what he’s referring to. Every nerve in my body releases at the same time, causing me to slide down into my seat with relief. My stomach still churns from how close of a call that was, but it’s nothing compared to what it would have been if he’d found out the truth.
Hunter can’t know about the real “baby” I was speaking to on the phone when he accosted me outside my apartment building. Fear, like none other, fuses to my bones at the mere thought of Hunter finding out the truth. About what that would do to Maverick’s and my life.
On the other hand, I want to know why Hunter thinks it’s okay to ask such personal questions. He and I haven’t been close since sophomore year in high school, let alone on speaking terms since that night. He lost all rights to know what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with.