“Guys, come on, leave her alone. Get her out of here!” someone barked from farther away.
“Oh, come on, Will…”
I stepped to my left, but there was someone’s bare skin there. I shot to my right, and I ran into someone in a towel. I growled and darted out my hands, pushing at the body of the boy who said he was Miles in front of me.
“You guys are assholes,” I said. “Let me out of here!”
Suddenly, a hand swung into me from the front as Miles grunted, and the boy behind me shoved into me as he was pulled away, knocking me forward a little. I lost my breath and held out my arms to brace myself, but they were suddenly gone. All three of them.
Someone took my hand, and I jerked on reflex, about to pull it away, but then he asked, “Are you okay?”
His tone was light and gentle and immediately put me at ease. Or at least more ease than I was. I stopped, letting his fingers hold mine by the tips.
It was a small gesture, but it didn’t scare me. Just more reassuring.
“I’m Will,” he said. “I’ll find someone to get you out of here, okay?”
I inhaled the fragrance of body wash and fresh laundry on him and nodded, his presence helping me calm down a little.
But then our hands were knocked apart.
I went rigid, stunned for a moment. What the—
“What?” Will asked someone.
“Get off her and go get dressed,” the new voice said. “I got it.”
I got it? Who was this?
“I wasn’t on her,” I heard Will say, but his voice faded away anyway.
Wait…
I backed up, pressing the door again and finding it still not giving way.
“Are you hurt?” the dark voice asked me.
I shook my head. His tone wasn’t taunting like the others, but there was something about it that gave me pause.
“Are you going to class?” he pressed, his voice growing closer. I couldn’t back up anymore, just kept putting all of my weight into the door.
I opened my mouth. “I have—I have lunch.”
He leaned in close, his body brushing mine, and I sucked in a breath and put my hands up.
“Let me get the door for you,” he said in a low voice.
“I…” I planted my hands on his chest to keep him away from me, feeling a crisp shirt, stiff collar, and skin. I let my fingertips linger a moment too long in the strip of bare chest where his shirt wasn’t buttoned.
Shit. I moved to pull my hands down, but just then, my thumb brushed an object—a little ball or…bead—peeking through the opening of his shirt.
Déjà vu washed over me.
Grazing it with my finger, I felt another and then another, tracing the beads on the chain—warm from his skin—down his torso where the two strains joined into one as it draped down his stomach.
Wood. I could feel the grooves under the gloss coating.
My stomach dipped. No, no, no…