The Boy on the Bridge

I take a turn at the desk on the end of the row and start up his aisle so I can peek without being too obvious.

That might have worked, but he’s looking right at me, so he notices the moment my gaze lands on him.

My heart flutters.

God, he looks so good. I’ve seen him in pictures, but in person he has more than just his distracting good looks. He has this whole aura around him—like a magnetic field surrounded by barbed wire, tempting me closer and warning me away at the same time.

I don’t know if it’s just because nobody ever notices me and now he’s noticing me so hard, but I’m completely thrown off-kilter. I feel awkward just walking. Having to pick a desk seems like the most difficult task I’ve ever been handed.

I see empty desks here and there from my peripherals as I walk, but if I keep passing them there won’t be any left. It will be easy to see Hunter’s throwing me off; there’s no reason to wander down this row and take a tour of empty desks if my head is on straight and I don’t mean to take any of them.

Hunter is exactly halfway back—two desks in front of him, two behind him. I prefer to sit closer to the front, but this teacher already doesn’t like me, so perhaps a little distance in this class will be nice.

I’m approaching him now, so there’s not much left to choose from. Both desks behind Hunter are already taken. There’s one left on the opposite side of the aisle, but it’s at the very back of the row and if I sit there, I’ll be so distracted looking at the back of Hunter’s head all the time, I’ll never be able to pay attention.

It’s probably a terrible, no-good, very bad idea, but I place my palm on the flat surface of the desk as a brief warning, then I drop into the seat directly next to Hunter.

He cocks a dark eyebrow at me. “Interesting choice.”

Yep. Bad choice. Very bad choice. I’m sitting way too close to him, but I’ll be damned if I back down now. “Center of the room. I like this seat.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “You usually sit in the front row like the good little nerd you are.”

I slide him a speaking look and hope he’s not in any of my other classes, where I will absolutely be sitting in the front row. “That was in 8th grade, Hunter. People change.”

Nodding slowly in consideration, he says, “That’s true. I’m only familiar with innocent bookworm Riley. The school slut who kisses boys before class is brand-new, but I’m looking forward to getting well-acquainted.”

I take the bait and glare over at him. “I am not the school slut. That’s my boyfriend. I don’t just kiss randos—but you know what? If I did, that would be none of your business. You’ve been gone for four years. I never heard a single word from you, and let’s not forget the parting gift you left me—”

Cutting me off, he says, “Yeah, and whose fault is it that I’ve been gone, Riley? Not mine.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get the words out, the teacher snaps, “Miss Bishop. Are you causing problems already?”

My jaw drops open and I look toward the front of the room. Is she serious? Can she not see Hunter running his mouth just as much as I’m running mine?

As if she can’t, and I am entirely in the wrong for the classroom kerfuffle, she lifts her eyebrows severely.

It kills me, but I murmur back, “Sorry, Mrs. Dowd. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

I wait until she looks away to glare at her, then I turn my head and throw a wordless glare Hunter’s way for good measure.

He has only been back for five minutes and he’s already getting me in trouble.

This does not bode well.

Hunter smirks back, his eyes glistening with mirth, then turns his attention to the front of the class like he’s the good one.

Much more grumpily, I settle into my own seat and train my gaze on the teacher I already don’t like, but knowing Hunter is a mere foot away, feeling his presence… it’s too tempting to steal another glimpse.

I expect him to catch me looking immediately, as aware of me as I am of him, but if he can feel my gaze on him, I can’t tell.

Now that I’ve had a moment to absorb the shock of his sudden reappearance, I start to notice more about him.

Like the scar on the right side of his head up near his temple. I think I was right and he should have gone for stitches that night, but the scar works for him. Adds a certain ruggedness to his classic good looks.