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“I’m okay,” I say. “And it’s gonna be fine.”
“Stay out of trouble,” she says, looking into my eyes. “I know you want to, but you’re not ready yet.”
I raise a brow. “That’s not up to you to decide.”
“I know, but you know what your therapist said,” she says.
“My therapist wants me to go at my own pace, which is exactly what I’m doing,” I reply. “Relax, Mom. I’ve got this. Trust me.”
“Okay.” She smiles and then pulls me in for a hug. “Oh, Monica. I don’t want to worry so much anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I say. “I’m over it.”
People always say that saying it out loud makes you believe your own words, so I hope it works.
“If you say so, I’ll believe you,” she says, then she pats me on the shoulders one more time. “Go on then. Don’t wanna be late.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I throw my bag over my shoulder and fish my car keys from my pocket.
“But if any of them give you any trouble, you call me, and I’ll pick you up right away, no questions asked. Got it?” she shouts as I’m about to head out the door.
“Got it, but it won’t be necessary!” I shout back as the door closes behind me.
I’m so glad I got out of there before she made me give a full rundown of all the activities we plan on doing. I don’t even know, to be honest, I haven’t checked. I just saw that we were going to some big lodge with cabins in the woods up in the mountains and figured it’d be an amazing distraction from the previous fiasco at the lake. Besides, Mel invited me to be her bunkbed buddy, so there’s no harm, right?
Cole probably won’t even be there, as I checked TRIGGER’s schedule before I signed up, and they definitely have a show the day after we leave. No way they’re going to go back and forth like that.
So with a placated heart, I hop into my car and drive to school, where a bus is already waiting on the parking lot. I quickly grab my bag and run toward the last teacher standing outside.
“You’re late, Miss Romero.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “My mom was holding me up.”
The man doesn’t seem impressed. “We’re about to leave.” He cocks his head at the door. “Get in and find a seat.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I hop in and breathe a sigh of relief.
But that sigh is silently suffocated by my own esophagus.
Cole Travis is sitting right there, on a seat in the back. Next to the only free seat by the window.
Fuck.
He eyes me with a slanted head, and he touches the tip of his nose before grinning at his band buddies who are right there in the back with him. When I grip the chair, he narrows his eyes at me, almost as if to dare me to come and sit down next to him.
He knows I hate him, and he knows I’m about this close to running out and telling the teacher I’ve changed my mind. But I can do this. I told myself I got this. I told my mother. I can’t back down now.
So I march forward, clutching my bag, not giving him an inch of my resolve. The look in his eyes is brutal. It’s as though he wants to either kill me or fuck the living shit out of me. I’m not sure which is closer to the truth, and it makes my heart palpitate.
It still won’t stop me from sliding along his thick, muscular legs to sit my ass right down next to his.
I put my bag underneath the seat and look the other way toward the window. But even then it’s impossible to escape Cole’s blistering gaze.
“Thanks for shoving your ass in my face,” he says. “I enjoyed that.”
My face turns ungodly red, but I try to hide it behind a curtain of hair. He’s just teasing me because in his sick, twisted fantasy, it’s some enjoyable form of passing the time.
“Who said you could sit there?” he growls.
“I have a right to a seat, just like you,” I retort. “And since you conveniently left this only spot open, I took it. Guess no one else wanted to sit next to you, huh?”
“Bold move,” he replies, laughing it off as if my comment doesn’t even faze him. “And you thought that was a good idea?”
I shrug. “I’m going on this trip, whether you like it or not.”
Cole snorts. “Again you thought that was a good idea?” His tongue quickly darts out to lick his lip, and it still manages to catch my attention, despite the fact that I’m doing my very best not to look.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I retort. “Because I assumed you weren’t going to be there.”
