“You know who the girl is, don’t you?” he asks, laughing. “It’s one of your friends, isn’t it? Probably not Afton. She’s too leggy. Caroline’s too mousy, and there aren’t enough scars for it to be Van—”
His head slams back against the wall, but it’s not my hand around his throat.
It’s Reyn’s.
“I’m sorry,” he says, teeth gnashed, nostrils flared, “kind of seemed like you were going to say something about my girl. Go on. Continue.”
The class behind us is charged and all gaspy, shifting forward in their seats, eager for a fight.
I let out a low whistle, head shaking. “Done fucked up, Brenny boy.”
Eyes bulging, he wheezes out, “I wasn’t going to say anything!”
“And you’re going to stop guessing at who it is,” I advise, slamming his phone into his chest. “Because the day you figure it out, is the day I beat your ass so badly, you won’t even be able to remember there was a video at all. We clear on this?” I look at Pierce and Tharp, waiting for their nervous nods. “Good shit.” I give Reyn a pat on the shoulder, but he doesn’t let up on Brennan’s throat. “Dude, strangle him to death or let him go, I don’t give a fuck either way, but let’s move this along.”
He releases him roughly, giving him one last shove into the wall. “You’re all fucking disgusting for watching that shit.” He thrusts a finger at Tharp. “One of these days, she’s going to come forward and report it. You remember that the next time you’re passing around porn of a freshman like the sick fucks you are.”
“Oh shit,” someone in the class whispers. “That girl’s a freshman?” Georgia’s video is a thing of Preston legend. Every straight dude has probably seen it by now. Fuck, I’ve seen it—long before I knew who Georgia even was.
The whole thing is broken up when steps sound out in the hallway. The three sickos all dart to their seats, but Reyn and I take a more casual approach, striding leisurely down our respective rows.
I can’t help a testing glance at Sugar as I pass.
She’s staring right back at me, face paled and slack. I give her a tight, thin smile in response, but she sits there frozen, eyes tracking me as I move past.
I slide smoothly into my seat just as Dr. Ross enters the room.
The lecture might as well be given in the form of radio static for all I absorb of it. I’m too busy freaking out about Sugar on multiple fronts. She didn’t look mad. She didn’t really look like anything at all. Surprised, maybe. A little wary. She sure didn’t look like she wanted my dick. And now I have to untangle all her reactions to me. Like when she glances at Dr. Ross and I catch the profile of her face, teeth pressing down into that plump, eager bottom lip…
Is that about what happened last night, or what she just witnessed?
Fuck, this girl doesn’t need a knife. She’s going to kill me by means of just existing there, inches away, still as a statue, not giving me a goddamn thing to go off of. All I can see is her shiny, dark hair tumbling down her back. Her posture is ramrod straight but slanted toward her desk, away from me. I get the occasional whiff of her honey-scented shampoo, but that’s it.
The bell rings, snapping me back to reality. My classmates move quickly, packing up their things, still whispering about the little show at the beginning of class, but I sit back and watch Sugar, trying to figure out what’s going on. I let her leave first, watching as she slings her messenger bag across her chest. Her skirt bounces with every step that carries her away from me. I inhale, finally able to breathe something that isn’t laced with honey, resigned to getting on with the rest of my day, not knowing a damn thing.
And then she looks back over her shoulder.
At me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Me.
I jolt from my seat and pause to give Dr. Ross a grin, “Have a good day.”
“I will,” she replies, adding, “you stay out of trouble, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Always, Dr. Ross, always.”
Except here I am, following Sugar Voss down the hallway, looking for trouble. I see her at her locker and walk up.
“Look,” I start, eyes roaming the hall unseeingly. “I know that probably looked bad, but you have to believe me. Those guys deserved it. And I didn’t lay a hand on any of them, which to be honest, was pretty generous considering how much I wanted to.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I get more and more tense as the seconds tick by. If that put her off—for the sporadic, blink-and-you-miss-it seconds she’s ever on—then it’ll suck.
But I wouldn’t have done a single fucking thing differently.
Finally, she puts a book into her locker and turns to me. “That whole thing was about…” She looks around shiftily and there’s something in her eyes. Something perceptive. “…about someone we both know. Wasn’t it?”
I prop a shoulder against a locker, shrugging. “Can’t say.”
The corners of her eyes tighten as she assesses me, and she looks suspicious. Wary. Tense. But she doesn’t look pissed off. She doesn’t look like she hates me. “Because if it were, then I’d probably understand.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep the relief from my expression.
She nods. “Probably.” She does this thing where she wets her lips and I can’t help but watch, eyes glued to her mouth. Sugar never wears lipstick, but sometimes her lips are a little shiny, like she’s wearing something convenient and utilitarian. Chapstick.
I wonder what it tastes like.
She turns back to her locker, like that’s it. Like that’s all there is to say.
“Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened yesterday?” I ask, voice low enough not to attract attention.
She freezes, turning slowly, barely glancing at me through her hair. “Yesterday was a mistake,” she says, voice quiet and thin. “A regret.”
“You didn’t look very regretful when you were grinding down on my dick.”
She struggles with her massive biology book, trying to leverage the weight of the other things in her locker. I reach in and pull it out, handing it to her. She takes it and slams her locker door, then starts off down the hall.
This time, I run after her.
“No way,” I yell, catching up to her. “You don’t get to run off again.”
This time, the majority of the hallway glances our way. I even see Sydney zero in on us, so I’m sure it’ll be all over ChattySnap in ten minutes flat. I know I should let this drop. Pushing the matter isn’t going to lead to good, grindy, orgasm-inducing places, but I just can’t leave it like that.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the door that leads outside. She finally turns to glare at me—the ice princess returned. I tilt my head at her, shoulders dropping. “Please.”
Sugar probably relents more out of annoyance than anything else, but I hold open the door as we step out to the underused, covered walkway.
The instant we’re alone, she asks, “Why are you so fixated on me?”
I look her up and down, deciding that nothing but complete earnestness is the best tack here. “Because you’re sexy. Strong as hell. Really bitchy. What can I say? You tick my boxes.”