“I will,” she replies, adding, “you stay out of trouble, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Always, Dr. Ross, always.”
Except here I am, following Sugar Voss down the hallway, looking for trouble. I see her at her locker and walk up.
“Look,” I start, eyes roaming the hall unseeingly. “I know that probably looked bad, but you have to believe me. Those guys deserved it. And I didn?
?t lay a hand on any of them, which to be honest, was pretty generous considering how much I wanted to.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I get more and more tense as the seconds tick by. If that put her off—for the sporadic, blink-and-you-miss-it seconds she’s ever on—then it’ll suck.
But I wouldn’t have done a single fucking thing differently.
Finally, she puts a book into her locker and turns to me. “That whole thing was about…” She looks around shiftily and there’s something in her eyes. Something perceptive. “…about someone we both know. Wasn’t it?”
I prop a shoulder against a locker, shrugging. “Can’t say.”
The corners of her eyes tighten as she assesses me, and she looks suspicious. Wary. Tense. But she doesn’t look pissed off. She doesn’t look like she hates me. “Because if it were, then I’d probably understand.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep the relief from my expression.
She nods. “Probably.” She does this thing where she wets her lips and I can’t help but watch, eyes glued to her mouth. Sugar never wears lipstick, but sometimes her lips are a little shiny, like she’s wearing something convenient and utilitarian. Chapstick.
I wonder what it tastes like.
She turns back to her locker, like that’s it. Like that’s all there is to say.
“Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened yesterday?” I ask, voice low enough not to attract attention.
She freezes, turning slowly, barely glancing at me through her hair. “Yesterday was a mistake,” she says, voice quiet and thin. “A regret.”
“You didn’t look very regretful when you were grinding down on my dick.”
She struggles with her massive biology book, trying to leverage the weight of the other things in her locker. I reach in and pull it out, handing it to her. She takes it and slams her locker door, then starts off down the hall.
This time, I run after her.
“No way,” I yell, catching up to her. “You don’t get to run off again.”
This time, the majority of the hallway glances our way. I even see Sydney zero in on us, so I’m sure it’ll be all over ChattySnap in ten minutes flat. I know I should let this drop. Pushing the matter isn’t going to lead to good, grindy, orgasm-inducing places, but I just can’t leave it like that.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the door that leads outside. She finally turns to glare at me—the ice princess returned. I tilt my head at her, shoulders dropping. “Please.”
Sugar probably relents more out of annoyance than anything else, but I hold open the door as we step out to the underused, covered walkway.
The instant we’re alone, she asks, “Why are you so fixated on me?”
I look her up and down, deciding that nothing but complete earnestness is the best tack here. “Because you’re sexy. Strong as hell. Really bitchy. What can I say? You tick my boxes.”
She gathers her hair back, away from her face, looking flustered. “If all that shit in the Cliffs never happened, would you even pay me any attention?”
It’s a valid question. “I saw you before I got in the fight with that asshole, you know. I noticed you; the blue hair and the big eyes.” I look down at her mouth, then back up. “I wanted you then, too. I picked a fight with that guy half because he was being a dick to you, and half because I wanted to impress you. I saw you. Just like I see you now.”
That answer doesn’t soothe her like I’d hoped. If anything, she looks unnerved. “This isn’t something I can do, Sebastian.”
“Yeah, you can. You did it last night. Did it pretty well, too. Just do it again.” I shove my hands deep into my pockets. “I’ll follow the rules, whatever they are.”
She laughs darkly. “Something tells me you’re not that hard up, Wilcox.”