I remember thinking that Reed Roman Jackson was the tallest guy I’d ever seen. Taller than even my brothers, and my brothers are some of the tallest people I know.
In his white hoodie, something else that I saw for the first time, Reed stood leaning against the wall by the whiteboard and God, the top of his head almost reached up to the edge of it. His head was slightly thrown back, exposing the masculine bulge of his Adam’s apple and the strained veins running down the side of his neck.
Oh, and his eyes were closed and his jaw was tight.
At first, I didn’t get why.
I didn’t get why he’d be standing there with his eyes closed like that, his jaw tight before loosening up and his mouth parting on a quiet breath.
At first, I also thought that he was alone.
But then I heard a sound — a moan — and I realized that there was a girl in the room with him. And she was on her knees, almost hidden by the teacher’s desk, in front of him.
That’s when I knew.
That the girl he was with was… you know, doing stuff to him. And before I could stop myself, I gasped.
I gasped loudly and as soon as I did, they heard it.
The girl stopped doing stuff to him and a frown appeared between his brows.
To this day, I know he was going to open his eyes a second later. And when he did, his gaze would land directly on me. So I ran. I didn’t wait for them to figure out that someone was watching them and that it was me.
I ran and saved myself that day.
I don’t think I can save myself now.
I don’t even think I can run. And it becomes even harder when another moan comes from behind me.
This one particularly loud and needy and like an idiot, idiot, I gasp like I did the first time I saw him.
But unlike that time, I’m not hiding behind a door and his eyes aren’t closed.
They are open and they are on me and at my gasp, his eyes, those pretty wolf eyes, glint. His lips, ruby-red and plush, tip up slightly too.
And I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exposed in my life.
More seen and vulnerable and trapped and… thrilled, all at the same time, and I think I almost explode with all the jumbled emotions when I hear, “Oh God, Justin. Stop fucking around and put it in already.”
And I think he knows it.
The guy who’s standing in front of me and watching me through all this.
Because out of nowhere he jars every cell in my body when he calls out, “Hey Justin!”
This time I don’t even bother stopping myself or castigating myself for doing it, I just gasp.
Nor do I stop myself from widening my eyes and questioning him with them: What are you doing?
He seems to hear my unspoken question and he answers me in the most non-traditional sense ever.
Without breaking our gaze, he calls out again, “Take it somewhere else.” He pauses for a few seconds as squeaks and curses break out. “You’re corrupting good little freshman girls.”
I wince at his description and his smirk grows.
That was not fair.
I’m not a good little freshman girl.
I mean, I am. But he didn’t have to say it in such a condescending manner. In a manner that makes me feel like an innocent, inexperienced flower.
Which again, I am, but still.
“Freshman?” A male voice – Justin – answers. “How’d a freshman get in here?”
Reed’s mouth twists into a sardonic smile as he answers Justin while still looking at me. “Maybe this year’s crop’s sneakier than we thought.”
This time the girl speaks. “Well, kick them out! They’re boring. And God, they’re so easily shocked.”
My mouth falls open.
That is not true.
We’re not easily shocked.
Reed finds my reaction highly amusing and a small chuckle escapes him. “Yeah, they are. Aren’t they?” I glare at him but that only makes him chuckle once again. “So that’s why you need to take your X-rated show somewhere else. Let them dream about birds and bees for one more night.”
I’m outraged at this.
Outraged and offended.
Who does he think I am? And why the heck is he talking about me like I’m not even here?
Justin doesn’t find it offensive, however. He thinks it’s funny, and so does the girl, who giggles and replies, “Hate to break it to you, Reed. But as annoying as freshmen are, I think they know how babies are made.”
Somehow, his animal eyes grow even more potent and I’m forced to take a step back.
Not that I have anywhere to go really.
My spine is pretty much stuck to the tree I was hiding behind.
And he knows that.
His eyes flick to the ground to gauge the distance between us before lifting back to my face. “Yeah? Well, this one looks a little too daisy fresh. I’m not sure she can handle your sex ed class without passing out. So fuck off.”
I think I just pulled a muscle.
Because this is the hardest that I’ve frowned and glared and pursed my lips at someone, the hardest and the longest.
Meanwhile his friends, who still don’t know that I’m standing here, listening in, chuckle and laugh and make crude comments from behind me.
When they’re done though, they scramble off.
Leaving me alone with him.
The guy who’s staring at me like I’m the most interesting thing he has seen tonight. The most interesting thing he’s ever seen, actually, and now that I’m in his clutches, he can’t wait to play with me.
He can’t wait to open me up, unravel me, take me apart.
He can’t wait.
“I’m not daisy fresh,” I say and regret it soon after.
This is what I say to him, this.
Of all the things I could’ve said, like how dare you talk about me while I was standing right here or how dare you sneak up on me — because he did sneak up on me, right? — I say the most asinine thing ever.
I go to take it back.
But no words come out of my mouth because he chooses that very moment to move his eyes.
Which makes me realize that he hasn’t looked anywhere else except my face ever since he got here.
He’s changing that now though.
He’s slowly making his way down my swallowing, hiccupping throat, my heavily breathing chest.
Even though there’s very little light, I know he can see me clearly.
I think it’s his wolf eyes; they can see in the dark.
They can see everything: my cardigan that I knitted myself – it’s early February and unusually un-winter-like weather that only requires a light sweater – and my dress.
When his eyes move over it, I realize something else too.
Something both silly and important.
Daisies.
I’m wearing daisies.
My dress has printed daisies on it. That’s why he said that.
Oh, and it’s white, my dress.
Holy crap.
Lost in the woods, I’m dressed in his favorite color — white — and he’s staring at me in a way that makes him look like a predator. Part human, part wolf, who hunts unsuspecting girls like me.