Not my type at all.
So why am I dying to dirty her up?
I glance over to find Natalie listening to our conversation with interest. Fucking great. “That’s not true.”
“Bullshit. You want her so damn bad. I can see it in your eyes. Which means you won’t really do anything to threaten her pretty ass.” Malcolm shakes his head. “She’s going to take us down, and you’re going to let her.”
“Keep your voice down,” I practically hiss, glaring in Natalie’s direction. She quickly glances away. “I won’t let Wren ruin anything, okay? I’ll make sure she stays quiet.”
“Uh huh,” Ezra says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “The only thing you want to use to keep her quiet is your dick shoved deep in her mouth.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, loud enough that my voice catches Skov’s attention.
A sigh leaves her, and she rests her hands on her hips. “Mr. Lancaster, I really don’t appreciate that kind of language in my classroom.”
“Sorry.” I don’t sound that sorry though, and she knows it.
“Oh, I’m sure you are. Since you can’t seem to settle down just yet, you get to go in search of your psychology partner. Bring her back to the classroom, okay? I’d hate to have to mark her absent.” When I just sit there and gape at her, Skov waves her hands toward the closed door. “Go on. Go. Find Wren, and drag her back in here.”
I grab my bag, so no one rifles through it—I trust not one single jackass in this room—and leave the class, unsure where a scared little virgin might go after getting into a fight with a mean girl and then calling me a dick.
I still can’t believe she said that. Those types of words are not part of her vocabulary. That’s what makes her saying such a thing so shocking.
She’s been doing a lot of things this week that are un-Wren-like.
I meander down the hall, killing time. I check my phone, but nothing’s going on. When I spot a girls’ bathroom, I hesitate, thinking that must be where she is.
Without hesitation, I go to the door and push my way inside, stopping short when I see Wren standing in front of the sink, staring at the mirror. She lifts her gaze to mine in the reflection, her wounded expression trying to tear down the wall encased around my heart.
“What do you want?”
Her voice drips with tears. Any other guy would hate the sound, and I try to convince myself I’m not any other guy. I can look past it. So she’s hurt and she’s been crying.
So what?
But the longer she stares at me with those sad eyes, the guiltier I start to feel.
“Skov sent me to bring you back to class,” I finally say.
She glares. “Tell her I’m not coming.”
“I don’t think you have a choice, Birdy—”
“Don’t call me that!” she screams, whirling around to face me. Her cheeks are damp with fresh tears, and her eyes bloodshot. “Just—go away. You got what you wanted, okay? My self-esteem is in the toilet. I’ve realized I don’t have any real friends. None that actually know me. They don’t ask me how I’m doing, or check in on me to see if I’m okay. No one cares. My life is a complete mess. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
I frown. “Why would I be happy that you’re a mess?”
“Because you hate me. I think you’re trying to drive me out of this school. I know it’s your territory. Eventually you’ll convince everyone I’m not worthy, and I’ll have no choice but to never come back.”
“Oh, come the fuck on, Wren. You’re being melodramatic.”
“Because of you! You make me feel this way.” She throws her arms out. “This is just Crew Lancaster’s world and we’re all merely living in it, right?”
No. It feels like I share my world with Wren, even when I don’t want to. She’s unlike any girl I’ve ever known: an independent thinker, yet a snobby little prude. Despite that snobby exterior, I can tell she cares. She wants people to like her, and she wants to guide girls into what she thinks are the right choices—such as being a prude like her.
She is in search of constant approval.
Attention.
She gets it from all kinds of people.
But not the kind of attention she needs.
The kind only I can give to her.