“Where you running off to, Riley?”
The smug in his voice was damn near suffocating, unquestionably nauseating. Pushing off the soles of my sneakers, I injected a little more pace into my stride. He easily caught up, taking a loose hold of my arm.
Knowing I couldn't very well drag him along with me, I huffed to a stop, kept my eyes down, and pretended to ignore his presence, while simultaneously taking in everything about him.
I was talented like that.
The way his jeans molded to his ass, the warm breath ghosting from his lips, the feel of his hand clamped around my bicep. Then there was the heady charge of electricity that always surged between us, making me sway. I liked to think we both felt it. But then, I also liked to think my mom stayed home baking cookies while I was at school instead of eating dick, so...
“What is it, Ri?”
I shook my head, refusing to look up. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Nothing, huh?” He chuckled. Because he was an ass like that.
“That's what I said, isn't it?” My blood boiled over because he knew what; we’d been playing this game long enough. I would never say it. We fully ignored it. There was an unspoken rule. We riled each other like crazy, but we never ever acknowledged the fact that there might be an underlying reason behind it. A reason like we were so hot for each other, we might spontaneously combust if we got too close.
“Look at me.” His voice when he commanded me like that—deep, low, full of authority. Why did it affect me so much? Why did I respond to him in a way I couldn’t to anyone else? There was something wrong with me. I blamed my mom, Betty Cocker.
“Why?” I spat. “Do you have more Slutty Shelleys attached to your body that you'd like for me to see? Do they come equipped with their own Velcro strips, or do you provide them?”
Goddammit, Riley!
I shouldn’t have done that. Shit! Letting him suspect his antics bothered me was one thing. Confirming it was like loading the gun before handing it to your assassin. I might as well beg him to put the bullet through my skull and get it over with. Fuck.
His fingers tipped my chin, forcing my head up until I caught a glimpse of my reflection in his amused eyes. My eyes were flashing, jaw set tight; my irritation was clear for anyone in a ten foot radius to see. Damn, I was pissed, bitter even. Neither of which I should be. I purposefully blanked my features as his narrowed gaze continued to roam over my face, determined to deny him any more of a reaction. But I’d never held up well under scrutiny.
“What?” I demanded on an exasperated breath, thoroughly agitated. Three long seconds my resolve lasted, my neutral facade dropping faster than Raya Mitchell’s panties on any given day of any given week—since forever.
He smiled, stepping closer and stroking the backs of his knuckles over my skin. “All you have to do is ask.”
Slapping his hand away, I took a step back and clenched my fists. “You know where you can shove it.”
His lips quirked. “You know where you want me to shove it.”
I scoffed, trying for disgusted and failing. But I was no quitter. “Hard pass.”
His finger trailed over my cheek, dipping to my throat and clavicle, down to the swell of my breast, stopping just short of touching a straining nipple. My breaths heaved; my heart raced. His eyes followed the movement. My traitorous body ached for him to keep going.
“I'll let you,” he said, voice husky. “For now.”
Then he turned to leave. Leaving me at a massive disadvantage; a quivering mess, like always. My heart stuttered
, torn between wanting to let him go or drag him back. I both hated and loved our interactions. And so, I played the game.
“We're official. I have an official boyfriend now,” I shouted to his retreating back. Lied might be more apt. But it could be true. Probably. Maybe.
His expansive shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second, his stride shifting almost imperceptibly. If I hadn't been banking on a reaction like the deviant I was, I'd have missed it. He kept walking, and my panic rose.
Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“I'm going to have sex with him. Tonight.”
Shut up, Riley!
His sneakers squeaked on the surface of the linoleum as he pivoted back to me, his face a careful mask but for the muscle pulsing in his cheek as he strode in my direction. My heart bounced against my ribs so hard, I thought I'd go into cardiac arrest. I retreated, my feet moving instinctively until I felt the lockers at my back. He kept coming.
The muscles in his arms rippled as he caged me in, crowding me, hard face looming inches from mine.