“It’s okay. We should be ready.” The performance takes place the Saturday after Thanksgiving. “It’s a lot of work, though.”
“You’re going to kill it.” I give him a fist-bump. “I know you will.”
The bell tower chimes, and we split up. Michaela is right, I probably should go to the nurse, but today is not the day to hide out. After last night with Hamilton, I don’t want anything to seem out of place. We’d met up intentionally. We’d had sex without it being sparked by an argument or fight, and that made it different. I didn’t want to behave differently—or to give him a reason to think I was behaving differently.
I sigh as I walk to class. Why is this so complicated?
Because you’re screwing your enemy, Gwen, that’s why, and you really, really like it.
I make my way down the hall, stopping as usual at my locker. There’s a white paper cup staring at me, waiting on top of my books. I look behind me to see anyone is watching. It’s a force of habit and paranoia, but no one is watching as I reach for the cup and feel the warm liquid through the side. I take a sip—it’s a mocha—and the drink warms me from the inside out. Well, I think it’s the drink. It may be from the realization that Hamilton Bates did something indisputably nice for me.
Laughter bounces off the crowded hall and I glance back in time to see him and his friends heading toward class. Reagan is glued to his side, and Heston’s still nursing his bruised jaw. Hamilton’s profile shifts slightly, angling toward me, and he winks—a blip—before following his friends into the classroom.
The two of us hate-screwing is one thing.
Hamilton being nice to me? Well, that’s something I’m not sure I can handle.
20
Hamilton
Leaning back, I position myself in Dr. Ross’ class so that I have a direct view of Gwendolyn. We’d parted quietly the night before, both of us sneaking back to our rooms. If I’d had it my way, I would have stayed all night and taken my time to explore her body, to feel myself inside of her once more. I was already halfway hard again by the time I left. After a bit of consideration, the main one being the nightmare that would happen if we were caught, I managed to get my brain to function better than my cock and forced myself to leave. Back in my own room, I had easily the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time. I woke up early, refreshed for once, and called the coffee shop for a delivery, adding a drink for her. Before the rest of the school was moving, I slipped the mocha into her locker. A little post-booty call thank you.
/> See? I can be a goddamn gentleman, too.
Suck on that, Tyson.
She looked like hell when I saw her in the hall, eyes tired and nose probably a whole bevy of colors beneath whatever she’d caked over it to hide the bruise. But it worries me, because if any of her look is about what happened, that’s no fucking good. Not at all. Gwendolyn is scratching an itch I didn’t know I had, filling an ever-growing hole. If she has regrets? Second-thoughts? I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.
That concern is why I watch her now. Regret leads to guilt. Guilt to confession. A confession that will blow up my world. She seems oblivious to my presence, though, ignoring me so thoroughly that it was almost like last night never happened. Is that good? I don’t know. Her hand shakes a little when she takes a sip of her coffee and she rubs her eyes, despite the caffeine.
I remain focused as Dr. Ross hands out packets, one landing on my desk.
“Want to partner up?” Reagan asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Dr. Ross said we could.”
“What?” I snap, looking at the girl next to me. She’s leaning over the aisle, and I must have something bad for Gwen, because there was a time when Reagan’s flash of ample cleavage could draw my eyes like a magnet. Now, I barely glance.
She gives me a long, wary glare. “Never mind.” She turns to Rachel Eurbick and starts to work. I look around nervously. Did Reagan just turn her back on me? Holy shit, I need to get it together.
I force myself to focus on my work for the remainder of the period, only periodically checking on Gwendolyn. She works alone—no surprise—and just before the class is over, she gets up, turns in her paper to Dr. Ross, and quietly leaves the room.
Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t realize we could do that.
I quickly fill out the rest of my sheet, not giving a rat’s ass about accuracy, and stand to turn it in. If she can leave, so can I, but just as I grab my backpack, the bell rings. The class jolts up, blocking my access to the door. By the time I turn in my work and get into the hallway, she’s long gone, and I’m convinced more than ever that I’m screwed.
I don’t even make it to my table at lunch. As soon as I see Tyson sitting alone, I know something’s up.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing him by the sleeve after he dumps his tray in the trashcan. “Where’s Adams?”
“I don’t know.” He’s still chewing, shoulder lifting in a shrug. “She never showed for lunch.”
“Did you text her?”
“Did you?” he snaps back, eyes narrowed. “Why are you looking for her, anyway?”
Okay.
Getting real tired of this guy.