Cleo ignored the magnetic pull of her phone for the rest of the evening, not wanting to be disappointed by a blank screen and no notifications, but she couldn’t avoid the discontent lying heavy in her stomach. Climbing into bed, tears brimmed as she rolled onto her side. She’d get some good sleep and wake up not caring about Lincoln Scott and his jock friends, no matter how breathtaking he was in a suit.
She wouldn’t care about Mr. Darcy, hockey, or anything outside of school. She’d retreat back to her comfort zone. Books couldn’t hurt her. Assignments couldn’t hurt her. And since jocks didn’t generally frequent the library, she wouldn’t get called out for being fat and unlovable in public again.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. Nope. She wasn’t going to look. She scrunched her eyes closed and pulled the quilt over her head to ignore it.
What if something was wrong with her parents?
Sighing, she threw the quilt from her face and turned toward the offending phone. Four messages, all from Mr. Darcy. Her traitorous heart twitched and the ball of anxiety loosened in her stomach.
Mr. Darcy: Sorry for the radio silence, I’ve been slammed all day.
Mr. Darcy: I hope you’re okay. Call me creepy but you usually at least read your messages faster than this.
Mr. Darcy: Eliza? Can you at least let me know you’re okay before you go to bed, please? I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m kinda worried.
Any lingering anger fizzled away at his words.
Cleo: Sorry, I was with friends this evening after the game. It was… something. That’s for sure. I’m not sure how I feel about the display of testosterone on the ice.
Mr. Darcy: You were at the rink? Like, the ice hockey rink? You like hockey? I feel like I’m going to need a moment to process this information Miss Bennet.
Cleo: Take all the time you need. Maybe my fingers will defrost before your shock wears off.
Cleo: Are you sporty? Do you… do sporty things?
She groaned at her lack of knowledge about anything athletic.
Mr. Darcy: You could say that, yeah. I like to keep fit.
This would never work. If they ever took whatever they were cultivating away from screens into the real world, it couldn’t work. She was so far from fit it wasn’t even funny.
Mr. Darcy: That wasn’t a come on by the way. But I do work out.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. Of course it wasn’t a come on.
Cleo: Didn’t think it was. I’m gonna go to bed, early start tomorrow. Goodnight Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy: Goodnight, dear Elizabeth. For what it’s worth, I missed you today.
You wouldn’t have if you knew who I was.
Chapter 7
Lincoln
Cleo Martinez was fury personified. Waves of irritation and contempt rolled off her from across the room. Mrs. Kelly had put them together for a group project in English class, and if the folded arms, furrowed brow and scowl on Ms. Martinez’s face were anything to go by, she was less than thrilled at the idea.
Seeing her at the game with his team branded across her chest had given him a hard on right there on the ice. He’d thought he was seeing things, and almost didn’t recognize her without a book in her hand, but it was definitely her. Not only that, but she cheered when he’d scored – which had given him a warm feeling he was actively avoiding identifying.
He didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Cleo Martinez. His fickle cock had other ideas and was thrilled at the idea of working with her for the project. He chuckled.
Her lips were set in a thin line, and if he listened hard enough he might have heard her teeth grinding.
She hated him; hated all jocks, though after Johnny’s behavior in the coffee shop the other night, he couldn’t blame her. Brotherhood had been the only thing preventing him from breaking the asshole’s jaw after what he’d said to her. If Will hadn’t reacted and thumped Johnny, Linc would have said something.
While he hadn’t seen her face, the changes in her body were subtle enough that those paying less attention might not have noticed. But her confidence had seeped out of every muscle, her shoulders curled forward and her head drooped. He’d expected her to cry, but when she stood tall and threw shade right in Johnny’s face, Linc had never been more turned on. She might have been broken and miserable on the inside, but she didn’t show it. She had steeled herself and made Johnny look every ounce of the prick he was.
As though she could feel him staring, she tossed him some wicked side-eye. If looks could kill. He clamped his lips between his teeth, fighting the laugh rumbling in his chest. Fuck, she was sexy as hell when she was mad.
