“Yo, Dev! Sick match last night. That goal in the last half was amazing.” He nods to me as I walk by, but I ice him out.
I don’t show my annoyance or make any effort at all. Everything I do is a performance to maintain. The guy isn’t worth my time.
In the corner of my eye, I see his expression fall. I make a mental note to ply Bishop for whatever he has on the dude later, so I can get revenge when it suits me.
Giving into a baser urge to punch this dick for looking at what’s mine doesn’t serve me at the moment. I don’t work in the light, I only operate in nightmares.
Mr. Coleman isn’t in the classroom when I stalk through the door. Neither is Bishop. Blair sits at her desk across from mine with her chin tucked to her chest and a hand splayed over the collar of her shirt. It’s buttoned tight, but she’s not chancing anyone finding out what she’s wearing for me. Twin spots of color tinge her cheeks as her eyes dart to people that come too close.
I move down the aisle between the desks like an ominous shadow, tapping on each desk as I pass. Stopping by Blair, I drop my bag and perch on top of her desk. She sits back, a tetchy sound escaping her as she leans away from me. Her lips form a line as she avoids my gaze. Those dark lashes sweep over her freckled cheeks.
For a moment I’m lost in exploring the constellations I see in the freckles across her nose.
Blair folds her arms beneath her breasts, hugging herself. She turns her head away.
The buttons on her shirt pucker. I smirk when I see that peek of the collar beneath her top, locked around her porcelain throat.
Leaning over her, I murmur low enough for only her to hear, “Meet me later.”
“What?” Blair turns her head sharply, her sleek black hair swishing like silk around her shoulders. “Why?”
I lift my brows, silently saying because I said so.
Her chin juts and she purses her lips. With that rebellious tilt, they’re an undeniable enticement. I sink my teeth into the inside of my lip to keep myself focused before I swoop down and steal a taste of those lips for myself.
Mr. Coleman strides into the room, clipped words calling the class to attention. “We have a lot to cover today. Take your seats.”
Sliding from Blair’s desk, I open my mouth to set a meeting place, but I’m interrupted.
“Devlin, sit down.” Mr. Coleman snaps his fingers at me. He starts writing on the chalkboard. “Today we’ll be talking about the reading from this week.”
I shoot his turned back a narrow-eyed look of annoyance. Taking my seat, I prop my chin in my hand, bored with the beginning of Mr. Coleman’s lesson.
Mr. Coleman is one of those young teachers that puts on airs like he’s great with his students because he’s hip or whatever. He calls on the girls in class more than anything and they hang on his words.
Except Blair. She doesn’t go out of her way to participate the way the other girls in class do.
With neatly coiffed brown hair, a straight nose, identical d
imples, and a strong chin, he’s the all-American dream of wholesomeness. He appears like someone you can trust, which is exactly why I don’t. No one is trustworthy.
He pisses me off.
Glancing at Blair, she’s equally disillusioned with the lesson. Her notebook is open, but her focus is elsewhere. There’s a worried tilt to her brows. Does she ever stop worrying for a second? I suppose I’m to blame for some of her trouble, but she brought it on herself.
I stare at her neck and picture how the collar looks. I want to see it. Touch it.
Mr. Coleman pauses going over the reading when the door opens ten minutes into class. Bishop comes in.
“You’re late, Mr. Bishop.” Mr. Coleman props his hands on his hips like a mockery of an authority figure. No student here takes a teacher under thirty seriously. “Care to explain yourself?”
“No,” Bishop says with attitude, raising an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
I choke back a snort. A small identical sound to my right tells me Blair finds this as funny as I do. A warmth bleeds through my veins at the bright mirth dancing in her eyes when they meet mine for a beat.
Bishop passes Mr. Coleman like he’s not late. As he comes down the aisle, his surly expression morphs into a betrayed glare that he directs at Thea. She tucks her shoulders and slouches. He finds his seat, sighing agitatedly.