I suddenly understand what Figueroa must’ve been feeling when I said all of that shit about Wren to him. I’m feeling it now, no matter how much I want to deny it.
Full-blown jealousy consumes me, making my blood run hot and my head want to explode.
She doesn’t notice me until I’m practically standing on top of her Mary Jane’d feet, her head lifting so her wide-eyed gaze meets mine. My friends go silent. Feels like the entire room goes quiet as we study each other.
“You’re sitting at my desk, Birdy,” I accuse, my voice low.
My friends share a look, no doubt noting my ominous tone.
Wren is seemingly unaffected by it. “I thought we were meeting back here.”
I glance over at Ezra, who has a shit-eating grin on his stupid face. “You shouldn’t talk to her.”
The smile fades and now he’s scowling like me. “You don’t own her.”
“You definitely don’t,” Wren retorts when I bring my attention back to her. “They’re my friends. Unlike you.”
Point taken. One for Birdy.
“Lay off, mate.” This comes from Malcolm.
I ignore them both, focusing all of my attention on Wren. “Where am I supposed to sit then?”
“You can sit at my desk.” She points at the empty seat in the very front of the room.
I grimace. “No thanks.”
She rests her linked hands on top of my desk and the wildest idea comes to mind.
I decide to go with it.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I stop right next to Wren’s—my—chair and sit down, nudging her over, which isn’t too difficult.
She weighs nothing, and doesn’t take up much room on the chair. Her scent is heady, like a burst of wildflowers in the middle of a spring meadow. She’s warm and soft, and she fits perfectly by my side. I sling my arm around the back of the chair, half-tempted to pull her onto my lap.
“Crew!” She’s squealing. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She angles her head toward mine, and our faces are so close, I can make out the faint freckles across her nose. Of course, she has freckles. She’s sweetness personified. “I’m sitting at my desk.”
“I told you to go sit at mine.” For someone who looks ready to swallow her tongue, she’s pretty damn calm. The only tell being her pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of her throat. Her lips part, soft puffs of breath leaving her, and I wonder what she’d do if I leaned in and pressed my mouth where her pulse throbs.
She’d probably freak the fuck out.
“I told you yesterday, I don’t like sitting in the front.” I draw a finger down the center of her back, and she jumps. “Guess we’ll have to share.”
The bell rings, Skov waltzing in at the last minute, doing a double take when she sees Wren and me sharing a seat. “Don’t you two look cozy.”
Nervous laughter sounds from the class, Ez included. Wren sits up straighter, her hands still on top of my desk, her attention for the teacher and no one else.
I don’t bother looking at Skov. I’m too enraptured with the delicate curve of Wren’s ear. The tiny pearl earring dotting the lobe. The smooth skin of her neck, how perfectly glossy and straight her dark hair is. She parts her lips, her gaze flitting to mine quickly before she looks away.
She can feel my eyes on her. Good. Do I make her uncomfortable?
Or does she like it?
My vote is uncomfortable. She’s not used to male attention.
“Crew, sit somewhere else, please,” Skov orders.