“People are jealous,” he scoffs as we slow by his locker. He doesn’t untangle our fingers as he spins the lock, and I’m secretly grateful. As much as I’m whining about the reactions, if I’m going to be someone’s girlfriend, I want to be able to do disgusting shit like hold hands in the hallways. Weathering small meltdowns to achieve it could get exhausting. “Certain people at this school, who shall remain nameless, have wanted to lock me down for years, and then all of a sudden this new chick shows up. A sexy, badass, hot-as-fuck new chick. They’re wondering what makes you different from all the others.”
So am I, I think.
He opens the door to his locker and I barely get a glance at a black envelope taped to the inside when he tilts his head toward me. “There’s no way in hell I’m not claiming you in public, Sugar. There’s something you have to understand about Preston. These people are vipers. Left unchecked, they tend to get a little ruthless. Everyone here needs to understand that you’re mine.”
His words are archaic and borderline offensive. But I’m not going to deny that he’s already made an impact. Ever since the day he slammed that jackass against the wall and made it perfectly clear that no one was to ever touch me again, I’ve been given a courteously wide berth. And while the thought of someone thinking I ‘belong’ to them halfway makes me want to slap them in the face, knowing that everyone considers me his does have this way of making my stomach flip enticingly.
“Maybe everyone here needs to understand you’re mine,” I counter, fully expecting some crass reply.
Instead, I get a slow, heated look, those blue eyes boring into mine. “Maybe they do,” he says, dipping down to give me a kiss that’s absolutely scorching. The background hum of the other students grows, like they’re watching and shocked at what they see, but if Sebastian notices, he doesn’t show it. Even when he licks into the seam of my lips, hips nudging mine back into the lockers, he only seems eager and horny.
Just his usual self, then.
He pulls away with a groan, reaching up to graze a thumb against my wet bottom lip. “If I didn’t have this useless fucking meeting with my college counselor, I’d drag you somewhere a little less public to show you just how much I am—yours, I mean.”
When he turns back to the contents of his locker, yanking out a binder and swinging the door shut, I notice that the black envelope from before is gone. Maybe I’d imagined it. I certainly haven’t really been thinking straight lately.
“I guess you’ll have to go all caveman on me later,” I say, reluctantly tugging my hand away. “I have an after-school photography club meeting, anyway.”
“What time do you want me to pick you up for dinner?” He says it so casually, so unbothered at the fact he’s spending an hour with near-strangers just to be my date.
“Six-thirty,” I answer, reaching up to fidget with my dog tags. It’s a weird new habit I’ve fallen into ever since he began doing it. “But can you get me at Vandy’s house? She’s taking me home after the meeting so I can borrow something a little less ‘holey and angry’. Georgia’s words, by the way.”
“Sure,” he says. “Six-thirty. It’ll give me some time to get a little work done down at the garage.”
We continue to stand across from one another, and I get this ridiculous vision of us both sitting on either side of a phone, saying, “No, you hang up.” Vomit. Maybe I do know how to live a rom-com.
Bass looks around the hall, then meets my gaze, and I know instantly what he’s going to do. He snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me to him. It’s getting easier every time he tries, but it still makes me freeze up, lungs constricting. He doesn’t give up, though. “See you at six-thirty,” he says, kissing me on the lips and releasing me quickly enough that the thread of anxiety in my chest never gets the chance to graduate into anything bigger.
I watch as he walks off, transfixed by the sight of his back disappearing into the throng of students.
“You’ve got a little drool on your chin,” a voice says from behind me. I spin and see Micha and Michaela. Their expressions are caught somewhere between smug amusement and abject jealousy.
“Ha ha,” I say, but discreetly wipe my lips anyway. “Funny.”
“I knew all that was bluster a few weeks ago. You thought he was hot all along, didn’t you?”
“I never said he wasn’t good-looking,” I mutter, adjusting my bag as we walk toward the arts building together. “Just that he has stupid hair.”
“And that he’s vain,” Michaela adds.
I snort out a laugh. “Like him being my boyfriend has changed that at all? Please. Narcissus himself would look at that guy and think, ‘a bit much, yeah?’” Nevertheless, I do relent, “But yes, I may have reconsidered some of my opinions on Sebastian.”
“Mmhmm,” Micha says, studying his nails. Each is painted a different color. “Please tell me you’re bringing that eye feast of man meat with you to dinner tonight.”
My jaw drops.
“Micha!” his sister cries before I can say anything. “You’re fourteen. He’s eighteen. You realize that you’re jailbait.”
“Just because he can’t look at me doesn’t mean I can’t look at him. Closely. Don’t pretend like you didn’t want to know if he was coming.”
“Enough,” I cut in, eyeing the two of them. Michaela's eyes cast down guiltily. “I’d been planning on bringing him, but not if you’re going to make him feel weird all night. I’ll tell him to skip it.” Micah’s mouth forms an ‘O’ and snaps shut.
His sister says, “We’ll behave. Promise.”
I raise an eyebrow at Micha and he sighs. “Fine. I’ll control myself.”
“Good.”