“Settle down, Seattle. You know you love having me in all the same classes as you.” He responds with a mocking smile.
Am I missing something? My eyebrows furrow at his comment and Denver seems to see it as she shakes her head smiling.
“Blake’s my cousin…we’ve been stuck in the same courses together for more than a year now.” She sighs, running freshly manicured red nails through her hair.
“We’re only in the same courses again because you’re stalking me,” he counters, humor riddling his tone.
At that, Denver rolls her eyes and unlocks her phone. The screen lights up to show an image of Noah Larkin’s infamous paddock walk from last year’s Bahrain Grand Prix.
“You watch Formula One?” The question is out before I have the chance to think over my words.
What if she thinks I’m a creep? What if she believes that me seeing her lock screen is an invasion of privacy? What if she—
“Damnit Cleo—” Blake groans, only to be cut off.
“Of course, I fucking love F1. You a fan?” Denver asks, eyes wide with excitement as she focuses all of her attention on me.
“Is that a question? Eren Marlowe has been my lock screen since he first debuted three years ago.” I chuckle, holding up my phone to show her proof.
“Girl you’re just like me! Have you seen the stats from last week’s GP?” she asks, completely engaged in the conversation, and for once, my stomach flutters. This could be the new start that I needed, a new friend.
“Alejandro Sanchez should’ve won,” Blake huffs from beside me, I’d almost forgotten he was here. My stomach clenches as I look him over completely for the first time today. He’s dressed in a muscle-hugging white tee, dark jeans, and an SFU Tigers letterman jacket with a matching blue backward cap.
He’s a walking wet dream; my thighs clench, but I refuse to give in.
“Don’t you have anything better to do other than stalking me, creeper?” I ask.
“Why, of course not, Princess” He smirks, twirling my ponytail between his fingers.
That fucking flirt. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for him or any man so I swiftly turn back to Denver and effectively shut him out.
“Have I seen it? Baby I breathe F1, look at my Instagram. It’s all Italk—”
“Wait a minute… I think Idoknow you from somewhere.” She pauses, studying my face inquisitively. This action piques Blake’s interest. He scoots in closer to me, his arm brushing mine ever so slightly that the close contact sends a shiver down my spine. I immediately push that feeling away.
I came here tofocus, notfondleice warriors.
“You do?” My body curls inward as if waiting for a ball to drop as Denver clasps her hands over her mouth.
Does she know me? Therealme? Does she know the girl that I tried so hard to run away from? The one I worked so hard to leave back at Bright—
“You’re fucking IcingIt on YouTube!” she gasps, and I let out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding.
“IcingIt?” Blake’s question falls on deaf ears as Denver smiles widely at me, drawing closer to my face.
“Dude, I thought you went to Brighton, so I never thought I’d meet you. We’re definitely friends now, I need more people that can talk F1—”
“Ladies, If you don’t mind… I’d like to continue with class.” A brown-skinned woman, with long locs and braces, calls from the podium at the front of the lecture hall.
We’d been talking for so long; I hadn’t even noticed the professor had begun with the class. I was so into talking with Denver and gushing about last week’s Grand Prix that I almost forgot that we’re in a lecture in the first place.
Almost.My merry facade and happiness crumbles as a voice I know all too well speaks.
“Hello, everyone, you may know me as Olympic Figure Skater Lorelei Smith. Today, I’m here as Lorelei Smith, the director. I’ll be popping in over the course of this semester to help you all with the end-of-the-term project worth 50% of your grade.” Mymotherdrones and my heart proceeds to plummet. Just five seconds ago, my heart was up in the clouds, and now it’s practically in hell.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Blake smirking, but I brush him off and focus all of my attention on the woman whobirthedme.
Sometimes I like to think that my parents found me on their doorstep but that fantasy crumbles every time I see my mother’s face which is the exact replica of my own.
