"I'm Deacon," he whispers, eyes straight ahead as though paying attention to Mr. Fisks.
I don’t bother to respond. But after a minute passes, he asks, “What’s your name?”
I consider refusing to answer, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t be hard to figure out if he really wanted to.
"Kasey," I whisper under my breath.
"Nice to—"
"Mr. Hunt."
Deacon tilts his head to our professor, adopting a bored expression. "Yeah?”
“Is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Mr. Fisks asks, and there's a warning in his voice.
"Nah, I’m good,” Deacon answers, unconcerned.
"Then I suggest you pay attention to today's lesson. We'll have an exam this Friday.” He turns away, droning on about what will be covered on the exam and this week's assigned reading, but I’m not really paying attention. I glance at Deacon through my peripheral, only to catch his eyes on mine.
He reaches into his backpack and retrieves a notebook of his own. His large dark hands make it impossible for me to see what he's writing, but I know it’s not anything class related.
He tugs on the page, tearing it out before neatly folding it in half and sliding it onto my desk with an arrogant smirk.
I purse my lips and give him a questioning look. One he returns with a wink. Rolling my eyes, I reach for the note and carefully unfold it so as not to draw Mr. Fisk’s attention again.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I cover it with a cough when I see what the note says.
He wrote,Will you go out with me?on the page in tight neat letters, much neater than I would have expected from a guy, with three check boxes beneath the question labeled,Yes. No.AndMaybe.
My shoulders shake as I struggle to contain a snicker. This guy, is he for real? What are we, five?
I reach for my pen and check the No box before adding a thank you beside it and discreetly passing it back to him.
He opens the note and scowls, his expression a split between genuine surprise and confusion, before he writes something else, his strokes almost aggressive before he folds in the paper in half and passes it back.
Why not?
I chew on my bottom lip. Because you manhandled me. Because there is something about you that screams danger: proceed with caution. And even if none of those things were true, he probably plays football for Suncrest U, which adds two more strikes against him. The first because he’s most likely a total player, and the second because that makes him teammates with Roman, Emilio, and Dominique and yeah, that is just a disaster waiting to happen. Aaron’s my big brother, but those three can take overprotective to the extreme.
Somehow writing any of that down seems like a bad idea, so instead I write,I don't know you. What if you're a crazy stalker?
I pass the note back to him and he makes quick work of his response.
No stalker tendencies present. I'm a nice guy. Promise.I give him a dubious look and he raises his little finger in the universal gesture for a pinkie swear.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I whisper while making sure our teacher isn’t looking my way.
His brows pull together. “That I’m a nice guy or that I’m not a stalker?”
I shrug. I mean, really, it could go either way.
He huffs out a breath and snatches the paper off my desk, writing furiously before handing it back, but instead of slipping it on my desk he holds it out between us, his entire attention on me as he waits for me to take it.
A few of our classmates are giving us interested looks, but I ignore them and focus on the boy beside me. He raises his brows and waves the paper in his hand.
Urgh, fine. I hold my hand out and he slowly places it in the palm of my hand, his fingers trailing across my skin before he withdraws. I shiver.
Give me a chance. I can see I made a shitty first impression. Let me fix that.
