They All Fall Down - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,9

doesn’t feel so great. For all I know, this kid’s rap sheet could include rape and murder.

I finally turn to my locker, expecting him to walk away when I start opening the lock. But he just leans on Molly’s locker, to the right of mine, totally undeterred by my clumsy brush-off.

I feel his gaze on my hands. No doubt he’s memorizing the combination … and noticing my hands are trembling.

“What are you scared of, Mack?”

You. “No one calls me that,” I say, finishing the combination. Only my brother did, and since I can’t even remember the sound of his voice, I don’t want to hear his nickname for me. I yank the lock and grunt softly when the damn thing stays firmly closed.

“Here.” He nudges me aside with his shoulder, an assault of male and muscle and something that definitely isn’t Axe. With confident fingers he spins the lock, stopping at fourteen, passing it to twenty-one, and twirling right to five.

Click.

“How’d you do that?”

“My hands aren’t shaking.”

Dang it. “But how’d you get my combination?”

“Photographic memory.” He grins at me. “And practice breaking and entering.”

I don’t know if he’s kidding, so I put my hand on the side of my locker, steadying everything in me that isn’t steady. “Guess I better change that lock,” I say.

He slips the lock out and dangles it over one finger, very slowly lifting the latch and opening the door. “Not necessary.” He gives me a slight nudge with his shoulder. “I’m a lot of things, but not a thief.”

“Maybe not,” I concede. “But you are a flirt.”

He leans on the open locker door and crosses his arms, facing me. “I could teach you.”

“How to flirt?”

“It’s a skill that could come in handy with your newfound status.”

I can’t really disagree with that, so I just stare into my locker trying to think of what I could get out. I didn’t even need to come here.

“And in exchange,” he says, dipping just close enough that I can feel his breath near my ear, “you can tutor me.”

“In math?”

He lifts his eyebrows, leaving the question unanswered.

“Why don’t you just cheat?” I ask.

The quickest flash of hurt darkens his eyes. “That’s not how you flirt, Mack. You don’t insult your target.”

A new kind of heat curls through me. Shame. How does he do that, this bad boy with the record and the reputation? How does he make me feel ashamed? “Sorry,” I mumble, and I mean it.

“If you were sorry, you’d tutor me.”

I freeze in the act of reaching for a notebook I don’t need. Tutor him? Now, there’s a bad idea. Bad on so many levels.

“My tutoring hours are pretty … full.”

He nestles a little closer, so we’re both practically in the locker. “Don’t tell me I wasted my time following you here so I could get this favor from you.”

He followed me here? A chill sweeps up my back, tingling the nape of my neck. I let go of the notebook, pressing my fingers against the frame of the locker as I dare to turn and look right into his eyes.

“No,” I say simply. If I have to tell him the truth, I will: he scares the crap out of me.

This boy is menacing and intimidating and way too good at flirting. My mother would probably faint at the sight of him.

Josh Collier? Yeah, he’s just a guy who’s popular and jocky and harmlessly attractive. Levi Sterling? He’s a threat to the heart, the mind, the sanity, and quite possibly the virginity.

“List go to your head already, Mack?”

The comment makes me inch back and grip the frame of the door a little tighter, my fingers slipping right above the hinge. “Nothing’s gone to my head.” Other than whatever soap you use and those sinfully long eyelashes.

He narrows his eyes, so close I can feel his breath and count the stubbly hairs on his chin. That’s hot, too, my traitorous brain thinks.

“Then tutor me.” He presses closer, his whole body against the inside of the locker door.

“I don’t—Ow!” White-hot pain fires to my brain like an electrical shock, making me yank my hand from the hinge that just crushed my middle finger. “Oh my God!”

He jerks away instantly, realizing his weight has made the door pinch me, and I turn in a full circle, clasping my right hand, biting my lip, and holding back a wail of agony.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He tries to reach for my hand, but I snatch it away, embarrassment and anger as