I busy my fidgety hands by pulling out a notebook. Doodling should prevent me from ogling my new lab partner like he’s a tempting slice of cake.
“I’m Remy,” he says.
Even his voice is warm— like melted honey.
“Win.”
“Is that short for something?”
I grimace. “Winston.”
A snort. “You don’tlooklike a Winston.”
I fight the ridiculous smile that wants to break free.
“WhatdoI look like?”
He rests his chin on his fist, squinting those obscenely hypnotizing eyes as he scans me slowly. My insides tangle and twist under his perusal. He taps his bottom lip.
“Like you’ll ruin someone’s life.”
And the smile is out, taking over my whole face.
Before I can beg to ruinhislife, class starts. I’m settling into the mind-numbing drone of lab etiquette when a folded piece of paper slides across the table.
I stare at it for entirely too long.
Finally, I open it.
Lunch Period 5. You?
My cheeks are hot and aching from smiling so much. I uncap a pen with my teethand scrawl.
Me too.
Hopefully, he can’t tell I’m shaking as I refold the note and pass it back. It’s not butterflies in my stomach; it’s a swarm of bees. He’s smiling at me again and I think to myself,I won’t be ruining your life… you’ll be ruining mine.
4
Win
The hazel eyes boring into me are familiar and foreign.
They’re bloodshot, drawing out more green than gold. A somber blanket smothers the once brilliant brightness that seeped from his core into the world. Tousled light brown waves hang over his forehead almost hiding the line forming between his brows.
The trance breaks when a freight train slams into my side.
“Sorry bro,” someone laughs, but it sounds far away. I’m underwater hundreds of feet below the surface as a weight tied to my foot drags me down to icy depths.
The organ I thought was shredded beyond recognition is shredding itself further. The more I look, the worse it gets. An empty Solo cup falls from his hand. There’s a frown on his perfect lips. Not only is he here, in this place we swore we’d escape, but there’s a gorgeous woman’s palm on his thigh.
You did this.
This shell of him is my death sentence. It’s an electric chair. It’sa lethal injection. It’s a noose.
The fire is back under my ass. My legs are moving but they’re moving in the wrong direction. They’re headed to the kitchen where temptation lines the counters in glass bottles.
I make it five steps before my name is called again. A hand grasps my bicep.
