“Wren is sitting at my desk.”
Skov is mildly amused, I can tell. She points at Wren’s empty spot. “Then come sit at her desk.”
“I don’t like sitting in the front.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Skov crosses her arms. “Come on.”
“I’ll go,” Wren says, sending me another one of those quick looks. She doesn’t seem mad. More like she’s afraid to go against authority. “I don’t mind.”
Ezra and Malcolm both groan their displeasure at losing their rapt audience of one, and I send them a murderous look.
It does nothing to shut them up, the assholes.
Wren slides off the chair we’re sharing as Skov begins taking attendance, and I immediately miss her warmth. Her scent. She’s rattled, if her shaking hands are any indication as she snatches her notebook from the top of my desk and clutches it in front of her chest.
“Can I leave my backpack here?”
Nodding, I sprawl in the chair, as if I don’t have a care in the world, but damn, I’m a little rattled too.
Having her so close threw me.
And I don’t like it.