In a black T-shirt, faded jeans and boots, he doesn’t wear clothes like most high school boys. No, that shirt clings to his muscles like hot, melted wax. His dark hair is still slightly wet from his shower, and he doesn’t bother with a backpack. He walks with purpose. Not a hint of self-consciousness, like the other boys.
No, he locks in on his target—me—puts his head down and weaves through the traffic in the hallway, determined to reach me. Just like every other weekday morning. Except this time, my skin is hotter than the surface of the sun. I know what his muscles feel like shifting on top of me. I know he gets hard for me. And I’ve asked him out.
I can’tbelieveI asked him out.
It happened so fast. I’m still not sure what gave me the courage, except I could feel him trying to build a barrier between us. The same, thin one we’ve existed with for four years. But after the incredible wakeup call he gave my body, I couldn’t stand the idea of taking a step backward. I want to experience his hands on my thighs again. I want to know what my body is craving. He’s the one who is supposed to show me.
All weekend, I’ve been wondering how he is going to act toward me today. Silent and intense, as usual? Or will he talk to me?
I don’t have long to wait for my answer, because he reaches me.
I hold my breath as he steps up beside me at my locker.
There is a mirror taped to the inside of my door and I watch him inhale my scent, his whole body seeming to seethe with restraint. With his mouth hovering an inch from the crown of my head, he says, “Why are you hiding, Ayla? Is somebody bothering you?”
It’s impossible to miss the dark trace of violence in his tone.
What would he do if someonewasbothering me?
“No,” I manage breathily. “I’m just not feeling very social.”
A pause ensues. “Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk to me?”
“What? No.” I spin around so quickly, I bump his chest with my chin, my breasts dragging along the ridges of his upper abdomen. Flynt hisses a breath in response, his right arm shooting out to wrap around my hips. He hauls me against his body. Up onto my tiptoes, right there in the school hallway. For long moments, there is nothing else in the world but his labored breathing above my head, the growing protrusion against my stomach.
“Stay right where you are, Ayla. Or everyone is going to see my erection.”
My knees turn to jelly. “Okay.”
“Fuck.” His Adam’s apple slides up and down. “How am I going to walk you to class like this?”
“I can…make it there on my own.”
He releases a dark laugh. “You have no idea, do you?”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Idea about what?”
“If I didn’t shadow you from class to class, boys would be swarming around you like bees to honey. It’s why I’ve never been absent.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny that crazy statement, but there is something more important that I want to address first. “So you don’t want other boys asking me out, but you won’t say yes to a date with me, either?”
“Believe me, I know it’s complicated.”
“Like I told you on Friday, I can keep up.”
His lips press into a stubborn line.
And I didn’t know I had it in me to be so indignant. So frustrated. But apparently, I’ve transformed into a new person over the course of the weekend. Flynt thinks he can shake up this wild combination of feelings inside of me and not…nurture them? Explore them with me? On top of that, he thinks he has the right to warn others away from me when he refuses to go on a date with me himself?
I’m not accepting that.
It takes a concerted effort to wiggle out of his hold, but I manage to do it. Once I’m free and no longer blocking him from the view of other students, he has to turn quickly toward my locker to hide his very noticeable stiffness. “Ayla,” he grinds out.
“Excuse me,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m late for class.”
“Don’t you dare take a single step without me.”
“I’ll do whatever I please. It’s not like we’re dating.”