His lips press harder, twitching as if he wants to kiss me, or say more, but holds back.
He squeezes, and then he’s gone.
My hands fall to my window, and I pull in quick breaths, a low chuckle escaping me as my chin falls to my chest.
My god, I’m a mess, and clearly, easily enticed.
I lock my car, glancing around to find other students shuffling from their cars toward the school.
Only then does my mouth fall open as I spin around, searching for my coffee, but I don’t find it.
Oh, hell no!
I stomp my ass to the main building, into the corridor, and cut the corner leading to senior row, where all the senior lockers are located.
I wave at a few people as I pass them, spinning to answer Keri Morgan’s question about a quiz we have in English today, but I keep moving forward.
Scott and his teammates are grouped together in conversation, and I manage to slip by them without having to pause to engage.
I spot the three pariahs near the end, stuffing their backpacks inside their lockers without so much as pulling a single book out.
I sneak in quickly, snagging the paper coffee cup from Ransom’s hand as he did mine.
I step out, spinning around as he’s whipping around to face the thief, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes tells me he knew exactly who it was. And that he was waiting.
Taking backward steps, I bring it to my lips and raise a brow.
Ransom chuckles, falling against the locker, a discreet little smirk curving his lips.
Yeah, he knew I’d come for it.
He’s playful. I don’t know if I anticipated that...
I swallow beyond the small tizzy in my throat.
My back meets the double doors, and I push through, my eyes bouncing to the right before I step away.
Amy stands beside Dax and Scott, her gaze locked on the boys in black, and the second Scott and the others see her staring down the hall, they turn to see what has her attention.
I laugh to myself and head for class.
The next few weeks are full of the same little amusement.
Ransom snags my coffee and runs or replaces it with one he brought for me instead; they sneak up on me in the halls for quick scares and he’s never not watching me from wherever he is. This past weekend, they snuck into my garage and filled my car with softball-size balloons. I had to lie and say they were for a school project when I opened my trunk in front of Anthony on Sunday to grab a jacket when he waited for me to arrive, just to tell me he had to cancel, and a half dozen of them flew into the air before I could get the damn thing closed.
Yesterday, they moved my car across the parking lot, parking it directly beside Arsen’s. So far today, they’ve stayed out of sight.
It’s Thursday and the girls decide to stay on campus for lunch again, but they opt to eat outside in the cool air instead.
Southern California can be a lot like Florida when it comes to weather. The sun shines most of the time, even through fall and winter, though we do have chilly nights almost all year long. For the most part, living here is a mix of long-sleeved shirts with exposed legs or vice versa. We’re sweating at eighty-five but freezing at sixty.
It’s nearly mid-October and while the gossip magazines are covered with flannels and turtlenecks, we’re still in open-toed heels and swimwear on the weekends.
Speaking of weekends, there’s only a few more until my eighteenth birthday as my mother felt the need to remind me in her text this morning while asking what I wanted her to arrange in celebration.
She wasn’t too keen on my single-word response.
I finish off my smoothie, looking at the sticky strawberry mess on my palm from the cup, and turn to Cali. “Watch my bag?”
She nods, going back to her conversation with Jules, and I head for the girls’ powder room, but I don’t make it a step through the door before I’m pushed farther inside.
My eyes flash to the mirror, just in time to catch a glimpse of Ransom’s face, hardly registering the others behind him, when the lights go out.
My stomach flips, and my head is tipped to the side, warm, greedy lips lighting my neck on fire as not a second is wasted.
I grab the countertop, wobbling slightly as my legs are nudged wider, the rough texture of thick jeans scratching against my upper thighs.
“What, have you been waiting for me to slip in here?” My voice is hoarse and cracking.
“No,” Ransom whispers in my ear. “Waiting until I could slip in here.”
I gasp when his fingers, skillfully and without direction, dive past my underwear and drive inside me. I moan, clenching around him, but when I tip my head, searching for his lips in the dark, he pulls back, lowering his forehead to the nape of my neck.