“She’ll slap you in the face.”
“Or, she might spread her legs wider and let me slip my hand in her panties. I’m willing to take the chance. I’m sure once she gets a taste of it, of me, she’ll be willing—and eager—to experiment. With me.” I grin when I see the anger flare in his eyes. I’m having way too much fun with this, but I probably need to back off. Knowing him, he’ll run to my little birdy and tell her what I said about her. She’ll probably believe him too.
Which I suppose she should.
Figueroa blows out a harsh breath, pointing at me. “You so much as touch a hair on her head and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I interrupt, my voice scarily calm. “You’ll kick my ass? Bring it. I’m not scared of you. And I know for a fact I could destroy you, Fig. You’re getting soft in your old age. Your only exercise currently is rolling around with Maggie in the back seat of your car. Don’t you get sick of that shit?”
He stares at me, his breathing coming fast, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I shove my hands in my pockets, already bored with our conversation.
“Leave Wren alone,” he demands, but there’s not as much power in his voice as there was before. “That’s all I’m going to say. If you do anything to hurt her, there will be repercussions.”
I watch him walk away, amused. His threats are meaningless. They just make me want to break down that steel wall Wren guards herself with and fuck with her head. Drive her out of her mind with wanting me.
I could do it. It wouldn’t take much. The girl is starved for male attention. You can just tell. She keeps herself so tightly locked up. She’s got to be harboring some secret fantasies deep inside.
Hopefully they’re sick and twisted, and she’ll let me reenact them with her.
This stupid project will help me get to know her. Learn what makes her tick. I’ll figure her out, seduce her, and next thing I know, I’ll be walking into Honors English with her under my arm, my lips on her forehead as I stare at that jealous dick we call our teacher, sitting behind his desk.
It’ll be my fucking pleasure to put on that performance.
A smile curls my lips as I, once again, head for the dining hall.
I can’t fucking wait.
The moment I enter Skov’s classroom, my gaze lands on Wren. She’s sitting in my seat, Malcolm and Ezra flanking either side of her at their desks, the two of them competing with each other as they try to gain Wren’s attention. Her head whips back and forth between them, a little smile curling her lips.
I suddenly understand what Figueroa must’ve been feeling when I said all of that shit about Wren to him. I’m feeling it now, no matter how much I want to deny it.
Full-blown jealousy consumes me, making my blood run hot and my head want to explode.
She doesn’t notice me until I’m practically standing on top of her Mary Jane’d feet, her head lifting so her wide-eyed gaze meets mine. My friends go silent. Feels like the entire room goes quiet as we study each other.
“You’re sitting at my desk, Birdy,” I accuse, my voice low.
My friends share a look, no doubt noting my ominous tone.
Wren is seemingly unaffected by it. “I thought we were meeting back here.”
I glance over at Ezra, who has a shit-eating grin on his stupid face. “You shouldn’t talk to her.”
The smile fades and now he’s scowling like me. “You don’t own her.”
“You definitely don’t,” Wren retorts when I bring my attention back to her. “They’re my friends. Unlike you.”
Point taken. One for Birdy.
“Lay off, mate.” This comes from Malcolm.
I ignore them both, focusing all of my attention on Wren. “Where am I supposed to sit then?”
“You can sit at my desk.” She points at the empty seat in the very front of the room.
I grimace. “No thanks.”
She rests her linked hands on top of my desk and the wildest idea comes to mind.
I decide to go with it.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I stop right next to Wren’s—my—chair and sit down, nudging her over, which isn’t too difficult.
She weighs nothing, and doesn’t take up much room on the chair. Her scent is heady, like a burst of wildflowers in the middle of a spring meadow. She’s warm and soft, and she fits perfectly by my side. I sling my arm around the back of the chair, half-tempted to pull her onto my lap.
“Crew!” She’s squealing. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She angles her head toward mine, and our faces are so close, I can make out the faint freckles across her nose. Of course, she has freckles. She’s sweetness personified. “I’m sitting at my desk.”
“I told you to go sit at mine.” For someone who looks ready to swallow her tongue, she’s pretty damn calm. The only tell being her pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of her throat. Her lips part, soft puffs of breath leaving her, and I wonder what she’d do if I leaned in and pressed my mouth where her pulse throbs.
She’d probably freak the fuck out.
“I told you yesterday, I don’t like sitting in the front.” I draw a finger down the center of her back, and she jumps. “Guess we’ll have to share.”
The bell rings, Skov waltzing in at the last minute, doing a double take when she sees Wren and me sharing a seat. “Don’t you two look cozy.”
Nervous laughter sounds from the class, Ez included. Wren sits up straighter, her hands still on top of my desk, her attention for the teacher and no one else.
I don’t bother looking at Skov. I’m too enraptured with the delicate curve of Wren’s ear. The tiny pearl earring dotting the lobe. The smooth skin of her neck, how perfectly glossy and straight her dark hair is. She parts her lips, her gaze flitting to mine quickly before she looks away.
She can feel my eyes on her. Good. Do I make her uncomfortable?
Or does she like it?
My vote is uncomfortable. She’s not used to male attention.
“Crew, sit somewhere else, please,” Skov orders.
“Wren is sitting at my desk.”
Skov is mildly amused, I can tell. She points at Wren’s empty spot. “Then come sit at her desk.”
“I don’t like sitting in the front.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Skov crosses her arms. “Come on.”
“I’ll go,” Wren says, sending me another one of those quick looks. She doesn’t seem mad. More like she’s afraid to go against authority. “I don’t mind.”
Ezra and Malcolm both groan their displeasure at losing their rapt audience of one, and I send them a murderous look.
It does nothing to shut them up, the assholes.
Wren slides off the chair we’re sharing as Skov begins taking attendance, and I immediately miss her warmth. Her scent. She’s rattled, if her shaking hands are any indication as she snatches her notebook from the top of my desk and clutches it in front of her chest.
“Can I leave my backpack here?”
Nodding, I sprawl in the chair, as if I don’t have a care in the world, but damn, I’m a little rattled too.