“What does Dante want from him?” Jane squeals, bouncing in her seat when I sit beside her.
The room falls silent, and everyone’s ears turn toward us. It’s so quiet I can hear the dust settle over the wooden floor. I clear my throat, shaking my head so she’ll stay quiet.
“Go on, spill it!” Her hand flies to her mouth, trying to keep the volume down. “Is he making sure you’ll pass with all your credits?”
“No! Of course not!” I object too eagerly.
Silence breaks, morphing into an uproar of hushed conversations. I rest my elbows on the table, hiding my face in my hands, and ignore everyone’s existence.
I last three hours of everyone’s curious glances. I’ve got two more classes before I can get home, but the constant whispers turn my stomach. A few versions of the events that allegedly took place in the auditorium fly around the campus.
Rumor has it, Dante beat the hell out of Newson in front of the whole class. A different rumor is that he pulled out his gun to threaten Newson in the courtyard. There’s also the one that has nothing to do with anything that happened. Apparently, Dante arrived at the university totell offsome guy who’s in love with me. Since no jaw-breaking, gun-firing, or threatening is involved, it’s safe to assume the author is a girl.
I ditch the rest of my classes a few minutes past noon and hide in a small café a few streets over. Cups clatter against each other while the barista rushes around, filling the room with a strong, bitter aroma of coffee. A rock ballad plays from the speakers, overshadowed by excited conversations. I sit out of the way, claiming a small table in the corner, and look out the window, covering the froth flower on my coffee with two sugars. Raindrops splatter against the glass forcing more people inside. In a few days, everyone should stop talking about me. A different topic will resurface, and I, or rather the identity of my boyfriend, won’t matter. Or so I hope.
I grab a worn copy of “Genius and Insanity” by Lombroso Cesare and a few similar books from my bag, laying them out next to my laptop. With earphones in, I start my dissertation for Newson. It’s due in five weeks, but all I have so far is a title. Locked up in the world of geniuses, I pay no attention to the world while Ellie Goulding mutes the surrounding noise.
It’s Spades who stops me typing. He tears the headphones off my head, jaw working, nostrils flared. “What the hell, Layla?!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket.
It’s dark outside. When did it get dark? I glance at the time, my eyes growing wider. It’s half-past five.
“I’ve got her,” Spades says to whoever’s on the line. “We’re in a café on forty-second street... yeah, she’s good.”
A hot sweat washes over me as I search for my phone, buried under my books. Twelve missed calls wait on the screen...
Spades plops down in the chair opposite mine with a heavy sigh. He’s by far the least handsome of Dante’s men, tall, overweight, with a nose that looks like it has been broken half a dozen times and thin, almost invisible lips.
“Everyone’s been looking for you for over two hours.” He cracks his neck with a sigh. “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding. I ditched the last two classes and came here to write my dissertation. I don’t even know when it got dark. Dante’s angry, isn’t he?”
“Angry? He’s fucking fuming.” With another heavy sigh, he raises his hand, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I like you, Layla, but Dante’s got hay instead of brains because wherever you’re concerned. If it ever affects business, I’ll stop liking you. Fast.”
I’m sure Dante has more than enough problems without me causing more trouble. Despite still thinking that every man’s primary responsibility is worrying about his woman, it doesn’t apply to situations like this.
My stupidity shouldn’t be his problem.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“You’reokay,Layla. That’s all that matters today. Just don’t disappear without a word again.”
A black Charger parks on the curb by the café window. I start shoving my books inside the bag, thinking of a decent apology, when Dante barges inside. I take a step back, standing behind a chair.
It’s irrational, but his narrowed eyes, heaving chest, and the vein throbbing on his neck have me looking for cover.
The makeshift barrier makes no difference. Dante shoves the chair aside, making much unnecessary noise when it topples over. He grasps my neck, yanking me close enough to reach my lips, the kiss urgent, desperate. His tongue strokes mine and he draws me closer, one hand tangled in my hair, the other snaked around my back. Muscles on his don’t relax under my fingertips.
They have no give in them, not even when he inches back slowly, and his stormy green eyes rove over my face, jaw working in tight circles.
“Cutting class?” he forces the words past his lips, each one sharper than a blade, but he’s not yelling.“Where’s your phone, Layla?”
“I’m sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t hear the phone—”
“You got any fucking idea how many people are out looking for you right now?”
My instincts kick in, and remorse dissipates, replaced by a burning sensation in my throat. I won’t act like someone I’m not. That’s not how our relationship will ever work. My immediate reaction to aggression has always been aggression.
I shove him back. “Who asked you to look for me?” I grab my bag, marching outside because we’re making a scene, and I’ve had enough attention for one day. Dante follows, grasping my arm two steps outside the door. I push him back again. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. No one asked you to look for me! You’re the only person who could gain anything from my disappearance.” I shove my finger into his chest. “I said I’m sorry. I said I got distracted. I didn’t hear the phone. I won’t repeat myself all night, and I sure won’t inform you about my every move, so stop freaking out or leave me alone.”