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His lips moved silently while he read, and I found myself watching him, biting my own lip. I swallowed, forcing my eyes back down to the paper. But they drifted back to his mouth. I guess I’d been too busy thinking about ramming a broomstick tipped with a knife through his chest to really notice those lips until now. Or maybe I’d only seen how easily they could curl upwards in cruel smiles.
Now though…
They looked like velvety pillows of warmth—like lips made for breaking hearts. I swallowed hard again, feeling like my mouth was suddenly too wet.
Tristan looked up at me, then he arched a brow. “You hungry or something?”
I put my hand to my neck, shaking my head in a few tight, jerking motions.
A couple nerve-wracking minutes later, he sat back, crossing his arms with a heavy sigh. “I hate to admit it, but this is actually pretty good. You don’t just make good points. You have a way of spinning the sentences to hide the faults in your arguments, too. It’s honestly impressive. And if—” he trailed off, noticing the look on my face. “What? Spit it out.”
“Is there a magical spell over this library, or something? You’re forbidden to be a dick in here? Is that it?”
Tristan set his pen down. “I happen to enjoy this. Writing. Essays.” He gave a casual shrug. “It’s fun, I guess.” He stared down at my paper, running his forefinger absently over where my name was typed. “And you can figure out a lot about a person from how they write.”
“Is that right?” I asked. “So, when do I get to read one of your essays, then?”
“Nah. My stuff is shit. I’m just good at talking about it.”
I frowned. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
A period of uncomfortable silence passed between us. It was long enough for me to start wondering if he was just waiting for me to leave him alone again—like maybe he’d temporarily forgotten to despise me, but now his memory was back.
“Screw it,” I said suddenly. “I’m just going to ask. I listened to you be kind of awesome with that kid just now. So why do you try so hard to convince everyone else you’re a demented jerk?”
“It’s all real. The good. The bad.” He stood up, slinging his book bag over his shoulder. “Real people aren’t saints. I was nice to that kid because I have fun doing this. And I was shitty to you because I had fun doing it. Make sense?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, sitting back in my chair.
He looked like he was about to leave me sitting there, then he stopped. “Lately, I’ve been thinking there’s something else I’d have fun doing with you.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. If there were appropriate words to respond to that, I didn’t think I’d find them for the next few hours.
At the look at my face, his lips curled up in amusement. “I’ll see you later, Wheels.”14TristanI pulled up to Cassian’s place for a party he was throwing. His parents were out of town, like usual, and he hadn’t just invited kids from our school. Apparently, it was going to be “legendary,” and there were even kids from two counties over planning to come. Judging by the number of cars parked outside, the rumors were true.
Cassian’s folks lived on a patch of land that sat above the rest of the surrounding area. There was a switchback road that led up and to an expansive, perfectly manicured chunk of about forty acres at the top. There was the main house, which was a cube-themed architect’s dream full of huge spaces that were all visible through giant windows and several, separate little buildings that broke off from the main property. There were so many people in attendance that the massive space actually looked crowded.
A group of people cheered when they saw me and started an obnoxious, “QB” chant, which I walked away from as fast as I could. I had to shrug off a few girls who tried to get my attention, and then I finally bumped into Gage. He was wearing sunglasses and a black hat with a hoodie, despite the relatively warm night.
“Trying not to get noticed, or something?” I asked.
Gage tilted his head. “Some asshole posted all over social media that I’d be here. Apparently, a couple wannabe reporters showed up and are trying to catch me ‘in action.’”
I grimaced, then gave him the universal guy code for “I feel for you,” which was a punch on the shoulder. Gage really did get a shitty roll in life. His dad was rich and famous. By extension, so was Gage. Except he wasn’t famous for doing shit. He was just famous for being the poor fucker his dad had put inside his mom’s belly. I knew he resented the attention, and I didn’t blame him.
