“I don’t know how it is with Hunter, Riley, but with me… Don’t ask a question you don’t want an answer to.”
I’m not afraid, not really, but I can scarcely breathe. I hold his gaze as he looks down at me, but I can’t seem to find my words.
This has not gone at all how I thought it would.
He stands there for a moment, long enough for me to ask one more time if I really want the answer.
I don’t.
The bell rings.
A jolt runs through me.
I’m officially late.
So is he.
He’s not too worried about it, though.
He takes a step back, an easy smirk falling into place on his handsome face. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
With that, he turns and disappears into the classroom.
Chapter Fifty Three
Riley
My stomach is upset for the rest of the day.
I thought asking Sherlock about what Sara told me was the right thing to do, but now I feel like I’m twisted up in knots.
There’s a knot in my stomach that seems to have been doused in acid first. It gnaws away at me, distracting me and stealing my concentration when I finally show up late to class. There’s a thick knot of emotion in my chest, making it feel tight long after he’s gone.
Knots everywhere. I can’t catch my breath.
I try to tell myself I don’t know why I’m such a wreck, but I’m afraid I do.
I don’t like Sherlock, but he is the only guy other than Hunter to ever make me feel so out of sorts. I don’t like him, but… I am attracted to him.
As I sit through my next class agonizing over that admission and not paying a single bit of attention to the teacher, I try to sort through my feelings. I unravel the guilt wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air supply.
I shouldn’t feel guilty.
I’m not really Hunter’s.
I said that to Sherlock because I needed to remind him that I’m off-limits, but while I would never do anything to deliberately hurt Hunter… I don’t owe him my loyalty. He did things to deliberately hurt me.
Why should I beat myself up for feeling a flutter toward Sherlock when Hunter slept with Valerie Johnson?
Sherlock’s right, frankly. If Hunter wanted to defend me, he should have. He threatened Valerie with banishment when she came over to his house yesterday, but then he bought into her bullshit and let her distract him.
Maybe it’s because even though he doesn’t love her, he does have some kind of complicated feelings for Valerie. She is his ex, after all.
He sold me out for her, and he did it on purpose.
Whatever I’m feeling for Sherlock… I didn’t mean to. I never would have, if Hunter hadn’t broken my heart.
And I’m single. I do love Hunter, but I can’t be with him. I’m not doing anything wrong if I’m attracted to somebody else.
It still feels wrong, though.
All of this makes my stomach hurt.
I want to blow off lunch today, but when Hunter doesn’t show up to English class, I get nervous. I can’t concentrate on anything. Out of sheer desperation, I even glance back at Melina with the intention of asking her if she knows why Hunter isn’t in class. When I look back at her, though, I catch her glaring at me. She tries to clear her expression quickly and paste on a big, fake smile, but…
I don’t bother asking her about Hunter.
Since he hasn’t texted me all morning, I’ve been avoiding it, too. As I walk toward the cafeteria, I shoot him a text to make sure he’s all right.
“You weren’t in English class,” I text, as if he doesn’t already know that. Trying to keep it playful, I add, “Having second thoughts about your ending?”
He responds a minute later. “About killing Sherlock? Nope. Feeling pretty confident in that decision.”
My heart sinks. Whether I think I should or not, I feel guilty. I also feel like I’m lying by omission, so I tell him, “I talked to him today between classes.”
I wait, my heart heavy, while the little gray bubbles move on the screen.
Finally, he sends back, “I know.”
He knows?
I frown at my phone. “How?”
A moment later, a photo pops up on my screen and steals my breath away.
It’s me and Sherlock in the hallway outside his class. It’s him looming over me, staring me down like he’s about to devour me. It’s me looking up at him, wide-eyed and unprepared to be his next meal.
Oh, God.
“Where are you?” I text back quickly, my hands shaking a bit with the adrenaline coursing through me. “Hunter, that’s not what it looks like.”
“It never is, is it?” he texts back.
How does he keep getting incriminating pictures of me? Does Valerie have spies snapping photos of me every chance they get?
“Where are you?” I ask again.