“We’re supposed to get into groups and work on researching our next speech assignment.” I give him a blank look. “Were you listening at all? I thought you were some bomb-ass student. You’re about to just bomb this assignment instead.”
I slowly pull my own laptop out of my messenger bag and flip the screen up, all the while willing my dick to deflate immediately. The damn thing mocks my attempts though and gets harder as Ryne leans back in his chair, angled toward me, and bounces a leg up and down. His chair is against one of the table legs, so as his leg bounces up and down the vibration travels from his chair, through the table, and into my chair. From there it shoots straight into my dick. My voice quavers right along with the energy riding the waves through my body.
“I was distracted, it happens.” I scoot my chair a few inches so it’s not touching the table leg on my side anymore. Of course in doing that it’s brought me a few inches closer to Ryne. Super smooth, Dacen. I clear my throat and hope my voice sounds normal again. “Tell me about the assignment, please.” Ryne’s eyes rove over me, landing on my hands which I’ve again placed in my lap. Strategically placed. His wheels are turning, so when he opens his mouth to speak, I interject. “Wait, what do you mean you don’t like tomatoes? Don’t you put ketchup on almost everything you eat?”
He does, in fact, put ketchup on much of what he eats, according to Evie, who’s witnessed his odd love of the condiment over the years. I can handle ketchup on eggs or hash browns, even a grilled cheese sandwich, but when you dip a perfectly good slice of pizza in ketchup? Or worse yet, use it as a dip for French toast? That is crossing the line into disgusting territory. Then when you pour maple syrup on top of the French toast and ketchup? That is so far past the line of disgusting you can’t even see the line anymore. I don’t care if you’ve got hash browns mixed in with the French toast concoction. That’s nasty.
“I don’t like tomatoes. They’re nothing like the finished product of ketchup. The texture is nasty, all mealy and shit.” A shudder works through his body and I laugh.
“If you say so.” Ryne leans forward and drums his fingers on the top of his laptop a few times, and the shaking of his leg picks up again. “Are you going to stop shaking your leg and tell me about the assignment, or what?”
Ryne smirks at me. “Or what. First, tell me why you were so distracted.”
He leans back in his chair and props his head back in his hands, triceps popping out all sexy, as if he’s got all day or has the upper hand. And in truth, he does. He knows what the assignment is. I could obviously ask Evie about it later when we meet up for lunch, but then I’d be wasting an entire class period not working on it. I could also ask Mrs. Carter but she’d know I wasn’t paying attention. Everyone else is already busy chatting and working in their small groups and I’d hate to interrupt to ask such a dumb question when I’ve been sitting here since the start of the period. When I turn back to Ryne, he’s still got a wicked gleam in his eyes, and it matches the shit-eating grin now lighting up his face. Oh, that smile of his, when it comes out, damn does it come out.
“So… you were sayin’…” he draws out the last word and his accent comes through more pronounced than usual. That southern boy twang of his shoots a shiver straight through me.
“Does it really matter?”
“Inquiring minds want to know.”
Butterflies take off in my stomach, fluttering around left and right and even trying to fly up into my throat. Stubborn man. But I, too, can be stubborn. “You tell me the assignment, and then I’ll maybe tell you why I was distracted.”
“No deal.”
Mrs. Carter walks by and looks down at our table, frowning when she sees no notes and no laptops turned on in front of the two of us. The most that has happened today in the way of research at this desk was when I read some of the names scratched into its surface by the students of years past. These desks are about as old as the lockers so there’s quite a bit of reading material there. She peers over her bifocals and purses her lips. “Mr. Becker. Mr. Sutton. I hope you’ve not been sitting here horsing around.”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach and I scramble to think of something to say. I’ve got a completely blank mind when I open my mouth and glance over at Ryne wide-eyed. He drops his arms and sits up straight, donning his best southern-boy persona. “Not at all, ma’am. We were discussing possible topics to research. We’ve got it narrowed down to a couple of options.”
She levels us both with a stare and then finally nods. “Very good, please continue. But pick your subject quickly so you can move on to the research.”
Ryne and I both nod and scoot our chairs up closer to the desk so we’re sitting side by side, appearing ready to diligently research our topic. She walks away to check on the next group and I let out a sigh of relief.
Ryne clears his throat. “I saved your ass, now spill.”
He has a point, although it’s kind of his fault I needed to save face in front of Mrs. Carter in the first place. Well, indirectly his fault. Okay, even that’s a stretch. I square my shoulders and sit up straighter in my chair. “My mind wandered off into a daydream, I suppose you could call it.”
“You suppose you could call it? I’d rather you call it what it is.”
He starts bouncing his leg again and without thinking I reach over and press down on his knee beneath the table. His leg slows and stops altogether, not so much from me physically pressing on his leg, but from the contact in general. He stares at the spot where my hand and his leg meet. My fingers slowly lift one by one and I pull my hand away.
“You distract me,” I utter softly. My voice cracks on the last word because of course anything to make this more cringeworthy would happen. I clear my throat and look away. There’s a moment of awkwardly long silence and then either by miracle or simply because I’m that pathetic, he moves on.
“The assignment is to pair up and prepare a demonstration speech to be presented within three weeks, once we’re ready. Approximately ten to fifteen minutes long. No sketchy-ass topics.”
I jot down the assignment directions and pause at the last part. “She said ‘no sketchy-ass topics?’”
A small smirk plays on Ryne’s lips and he shrugs. “I summarized.”
“Okay.” I smile back and then gesture between the two of us. “And we’re doing this speech together?” He nods. “She picked the groups as well? I must have been really zoned out.” I laugh quietly to myself.
“Everyone picked their own partner.”
Reaaaaally. “What? And everyone didn’t immediately flock to you?” I joke.
Ryne shrugs. “I’m no Tyler Grimm.”
I snort and shake my head. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s a big ball of sunshine compared to your dark storm cloud.” Ryne rolls his eyes and raises his laptop lid. “So why’d you pick me to be your partner for this assignment?”
