“It’s nothing. He told a lie about me and everyone believed it. It’s boring, really.”
“It must be something if just being seen with you is gonna put a target on my back,” he teases.
I roll my eyes, backing into the doorway of my first class. “All right, I get it, you think I’m being ridiculously overdramatic.” In a show of drama, I throw my arm in the air wistfully. “Be gone, handsome suitor, I have to attend to my studies now.”
“What was I thinking? You’re not dramatic at all.”
“Clearly, you weren’t.” Just as I’m about to turn away, I’m caught off guard by Anderson’s arm around my waist. He tugs me in and my eyes widen in alarm. What is he doing? He can’t hug me goodbye in the doorway. We’re at school, for God’s sake.
I only get a brief glimpse of the fondness in his eyes before he begins lowering his face toward mine. I’m too stunned to react as he briefly presses his lips against mine in an all too casual kiss. Like I’m his to kiss. Like we’ve done it before. Like he has an inherent right to kiss me.
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.