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"Maddox, I don't want you blowing anything." Alan laughs.
I roll my eyes. How original.
Dean's eyes catch mine. He shakes his head not great, huh?
I fight my smile.
Every day this year, he turned our art class from my happy place to my deal with Dean's constant teasing place.
He doesn't get a smile now.
Even if my body is buzzing with nervous energy.
Even if my limbs are light and airy.
Even if my sex is aching.
I must be blushing, because he's smiling wider. Knowingly. Like he's sure I'm eating out of the palm of his hand.
He turns back to the group. "Truth or date."
"I'm not fourteen," someone says.
"Sounds like you're chicken." Dean turns to me. "What do you think, Chloe? Are you chicken?"
"No." My heart thuds against my chest.
My head fills with ideas. Every dirty dare he could offer me.
His hands in my hair.
His groan in my ears.
His lips against mine.
God, those soft lips.
I want to slap them for all the stupid shit he says. For not giving a fuck about the classes his parents pay a fortune for. For calling me sunshine every three seconds.
But he's calling me Chloe.
He…
I…
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure it's going to break out of my chest.
It doesn't.
But a deep breath does nothing to help me calm down.
For three years I've been smitten. Ever since our first day in geometry, when he turned to me and asked to borrow my protractor. Then promised to make it worth my while with a wink and smile.
Calm eludes me.
Sense eludes me.
Everything but a fangirl voice screaming Dean Maddox eludes me.
