I’ve just asked him to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity. “Huh?”
I run a black-polished fingernail down the front of his shirt. “In your text you said you wanted to talk. What about?”
“I…” he fumbles, blinking rapidly. “I don’t remember.” Mesmerized, he loops a finger through one of my curls, watching it snake around his finger. “God, where did you come from?”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ve been in here all along and you just haven’t noticed.”
The heart-stopping grin is back, the single dimple lighting up this dark closet. Then he reaches out, grabs my hips, and yanks me to him. I tip my head back, letting him bury his mouth in my neck.
Screw the Girl Commandments. One minute with Elle and my relationship is already back on track.
Keep Me Hanging On
9:59 a.m.
Obviously we’re late to Spanish, but no one seems to notice. They’re all huddled around the window staring at the dead bird that’s lying on the grass outside.
Oh right, I forgot about the douche bag bird.
Again.
Tristan and I are able to slip into our seats at the back of the classroom before Señora Mendoza continues her lesson. A lesson I’ve heard three times already.
If I can’t conjugate this verb by now, there’s no hope for me.
In history, I once again ace my test and revel in Daphne’s cold, dead eyes when she hands my graded quiz back to me. And I don’t miss the pointed, disapproving look she gives my outfit when she does so.
Sorry that I’m just better than you in every way, Daphne.
At lunch, Tristan asks if I want to join him in the band practice room. “Nah,” I say, “I think I’ll sit in the cafeteria today.”
“Then I think I’ll join you,” he replies.
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmur, leaning dangerously close to his mouth.
“I know,” he says, diving forward to kiss me. “I want to.”
Victory has never tasted so sweet.
We get several stares in the cafeteria. Probably because Tristan rarely ever comes in here. I can feel Daphne Gray seething at us from her perch at the bake sale table as Tristan sits sideways on the bench, one knee on either side of me, his arms hanging loosely around my waist.
He brushes my hair over my shoulder so he can kiss the hollow part between my shoulder and collarbone. “I like this new look of yours,” he whispers into my skin, sending shivers through my body.
I grin and take a bite of my turkey sandwich. “I thought you might.”
He pulls away, running his eyes over my outfit. “Where did you even get those boots? They’re so…” He searches for a description.
“Punk rock chic?”
Tristan lets out a growl. “That’s so freaking hot!” Then his lips are on my shoulder.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the bake sale table. Daphne looks like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of her ears and red spirals where her eyes are supposed to be. I flash her a goading grin.
She mumbles something to one of her fellow cheerleaders and huffs out of the cafeteria. I feel pretty darn smug right about now. Everything is going exactly according to plan. Elle was just what the doctor ordered. By tonight, there’s no way Tristan will ever break up with me. Plus, his infatuation with me has seemingly made Daphne Gray so ill she had to leave the cafeteria.
I admit it wasn’t my end goal, but it’s a nice bonus.
“So,” I say, taking another bite of my sandwich.
“Hmm?” Tristan murmurs into the bare skin of my shoulder. It’s like his lips have been surgically attached to my body. Just wait until I get his band the carnival gig later. He starts kissing down my arm.
“What do you think I should wear to the carnival tonight?”
“This,” he says, tightening his arms around me.
I think about the romantic date I had planned for tonight. The one I’ve been fantasizing about since I was ten.
“I was hoping we could play some of those cheesy carnival games.”
His lips return to my neck. “Whatever you want.”
“And maybe ride the Ferris wheel.”
Tristan moans into my skin. “That sounds hot.”
I giggle and pull away from his mouth. “You think everything sounds hot.”
He pulls me back to him. “With you, everything is hot.”
Wow. Who knew all it took was a change of clothes and a little attitude adjustment? I should write to that author of The Girl Commandments and tell her not to bother with those stupid rules. Or better yet, I should write