“Well,” I breathe. “It’s going to happen again if you don’t take your hands off me.”
He looks down at where his hand fits perfectly around my elbow before reluctantly pulling it away. A cocky smirk crosses his face. “I like you, Spitfire.”
“What?” I sputter, hating how much I like that he calls me ‘Spitfire.’ “You’re insane. You don’t even know me.”
He just grins, looking at me as though I’m his next meal.
“Ok… well, this has been nice,” I say with a condescending tone. “I’m sorry about your shirt and all, but I’m out before…whatever this is, gets me in any more trouble.”
Noah scoffs and I hate that I like it. It’s like a badass attitude that’s been perfected over the years. He’s dangerous while being the perfect poster boy. But those tattoos…what I wouldn’t give to explore them a little more. “You couldn’t possibly be in any more trouble than what you’re in now,” he tells me.
“Don’t I know it,” I say, peering back up the hallway to see Monica standing expectantly at the other end with her arms crossed over her fake chest. “I think you’re about to be summoned by Queen Skank.”
Noah looks back over his shoulder and practically shudders. “Fuck me,” he groans lowly. “I can’t catch a break.”
“Huh?” I question, having no idea why I’m so interested in him hating on her right now. I mean, it’s none of my damn business. Monica and Noah have been a thing for, well, I have no idea how long, but all I know is that up until this very moment, I’ve never given two shits about it. So, why do I suddenly want to know all the little ins and outs of their relationship?
Noah’s eyes cut back to mine as a strange emotion flickers in his deep eyes, reminding me that I shouldn’t be thinking about anything to do with him. “She’s a stage five clinger. I broke up with her last week and she won’t leave me the fuck alone,” he explains, startling me with the insight of his life. “Didn’t you know that? It’s the only thing these fuckers seem to talk about.”
Ahhhhhh… and it all makes sense. Noah Cage has never gone out of his way to speak to me, now suddenly he breaks up with his girlfriend and he’s giving me the time of day. Clearly, this is about showing off to Monica that he doesn’t want her anymore and he’s using me as his pawn to do it while also making the target on my back that much bigger. Well played Noah Cage. I guess you don’t get to be the feared leader if you’re not calculating as hell.
I shrug my shoulders. “How could I know when I don’t talk to anyone here?”
“Why the hell not?” he questions. “Are you a fucking reject or something? Sounds fucking boring to me.”
“Like you’re one to talk. It’s not like you go out of your way to chat with the kids here. Besides, why would I?” I shoot back at him. “The girls here are bitches and the guys are jerks. All they do is gossip and bitch about other people behind their backs.”
He puts a hand to his heart and feigns a hurt gasp. “Even me, Spitfire?”
There’s that name again…
“Beats me,” I shrug. “I don’t know a damn thing about you. Now, thanks for putting a target on my back, but I’m out of here before your girlfriend decides to burn me in my sleep.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” he corrects, though I notice how he doesn’t bother correcting me on the whole ’burning me’ thing. It’s probably more of a possibility than I fully realize. “And remember, you put that target on your own back, babe.”
Noah steps into me and I watch in confusion as his arm falls over my shoulder, bringing that same burning sensation back to my skin. I mean, what the hell is that? “Come on,” he says, looking down at me as though he can’t live without me, but his eyes tell a different story, reminding me this is an act for Monica. “I saw you walking this morning. I’ll drive you home.”
I walk with him towards the door as I feel Monica’s glare stabbing into my back. I push his big arm off my shoulder. “No thanks,” I grumble. “I’m not some damsel in distress, I’m not a pawn you can use to piss off your girlfriend, and I can get myself home perfectly fine.”
“Tough shit,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You owe me a new fucking shirt.”
“Bullshit,” I argue. “That was your own fault. I’m not responsible for you barging your way into my business. If anything, Candice owes you a new shirt for saving her precious uniform from a mountain of red sauce.”
His brows pull down and I can’t help but glance up at him and take in the sharp jawline which is covered with the slightest stubble. Holy hell. He’s hot. The tattoos. The body. The jaw. The green eyes and plump lips that are begging to be bitten. Add that with the short brown hair and tanned skin that screams of endless days out in the blistering sun. He’s perfection. It’s no wonder every girl in school wants to be with him and it’s no wonder he doesn’t trust or let anyone in. They all want one thing.