I look back at Reyn, who’s watching me, that question in his eyes again.
Instead of answering, I bump his knee, holding it against his. My own question.
He responds by pressing back, studying his lunch carefully. There’s no mistaking the way his lips are flirting with a smirk. I spread my fingers over my knee, and a second later feel the graze of his fingertips on mine.
Heat burns the tip of my ears and I squeeze his fingers, laying them on my knee. Sitting with me at lunch could get him in trouble. Flirting with me in front of Emory could get his ass kicked. But as usual, Reyn has a better read on the situation than I do, because my brother is fully entranced with Aubrey. He’s placed his hand around her back, on the seat of her chair, leaning as close to her as he possibly can, speaking quietly in her ear.
Reyn takes the opportunity to reach those long fingertips up my bare thigh and toy with the hem of my skirt. Every other sound in the loud cafeteria vanishes. I’m focused on the way his skin feels against mine. His pouty bottom lip. The memory of making out with him in the front seat of his Jeep, our lips salty from fries, windows fogging over.
As the seconds pass, I get more and more overheated—overwhelmed, worried about getting caught. This boy is fire and I’ve always been attracted to his flame. With my heart pounding, I abruptly push my chair back and announce, “I need to go to the library before next period.” Emory’s barely paying attention, so I’m able to give Reyn a significant look as I leave.
The crisp fall air relieves the heat, sort of, and the quiet of the library settles my heart rate. I stroll through the stacks, past the librarian’s desk. Ms. Cowen gives me a small smile. The library is a common haunt of mine. For the past three years, I’d spent a lot of time here, pretending to read a book in one of the comfortable chairs along the back wall, while really being high as a fucking kite.
I’m good at pretending, and right now, strolling through the stacks, I’m pretending that I’m not waiting—dying—for Reyn to come find me.
I find myself back in the biographies, the quietest row in the building. The only sound is the drag of my feet on the carpeted floor. I run my finger along the dusty spines, trying to settle this crazed, energized thing inside of me. I’d lived so long with dulled feelings, but now everything hits against me sharp as knives. Scary. Dangerous. Thrilling. I’ve had it bad for Reyn since as far back as I can remember, and I told him that I wasn’t disposable, something he could toss away once he was done with the thrill.
But even I know I don’t mean it.
It’s not a good feeling, knowing that I’d just take whatever I can get. But the thought of not having it at all is so much worse.
I stop, spotting a shiny new cover among the older titles, and pull a Ronan Farrow book off the shelf. Now this guy knows how to investigate and reveal a scandal. I tuck the book against my chest, turn the corner, and stop short, my hand reaching out to the tall bookshelf for support.
He stands down at the other end, red and black football tie slightly askew. His hands are in his pockets—no pretense of even looking for a book—and his eyes are focused on me, green, alert. He’s looking at me in a way that makes my stomach flutter anxiously.
“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to come find you,” he says, voice low enough not to carry back out to Ms. Cowen. His words might be uncertain, but the heat in his eyes as they drag down my body are anything but.
“That was the idea,” I admit.
He stalks toward me, propping his shoulder on the shelf in a casual lean. His eyes are intense, searching. He has this way of pitching his deep voice where it seems like anything he’s saying is just meant for me. “You looked upset before.”
“It wasn’t important,” I insist, mirroring his pose.
He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and it makes me shiver. “I probably shouldn’t have touched you like that, not in front of everyone. Definitely not in front of Emory.