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Chris fought his way through the cafeteria, throwing food on his tray without paying attention. Was she just being friendly, offering some kind of truce in the middle of all this crap about the Guide? Or was it something more? She hadn’t looked at Hunter once the entire class; that much he was sure of. It didn’t seem like they’d left together, either, but it was hard to tell in the stampede for the cafeteria.
She’d been pretty pissed at the dude yesterday morning, now that he thought about it.
What she’d said in class—it felt painfully personal. She wouldn’t randomly spill that to a guy she hated. Definitely not to a guy whose presence she was just enduring.
A boy she liked?
Chris grabbed an apple by the register. He knew where she sat.
Maybe he’d sit down. Maybe they’d start over.
Money couldn’t leave his hand fast enough, and he almost told the lady to keep the change. He practically shoved other kids out of the way, navigating the maze of people to get to the back of the cafeteria. Just like in a movie, the sea of students seemed to part for a moment.
There she was, spinning a bottle of water on the table in front of her. She was smiling, almost blushing like she’d been in class.
I was just getting used to Becky.
Chris grinned, and told himself he looked like an idiot.
He couldn’t help it.
Then he got closer, and he realized her smile, her blush, wasn’t about him at all.
It was for the guy sitting across from her. Hunter.
“So are the stories true?” asked Hunter.
Becca watched him slice into his grilled chicken. Quinn was taking a makeup exam, so they had the table to themselves. She still wasn’t entirely sure about Hunter. Her mind was having a tough time reconciling his gentle patience with the way he’d gone after Chris in her driveway. It was like seeing a friendly old golden retriever turn vicious. All laid-back kindness, but make the wrong move and you learn those fangs aren’t just for show.
Then again, Hunter had spent the night comforting her—and hadn’t tried anything. He’d found her yesterday and apologized—then backed off to let her figure out where she stood.
That was a big part of the reason he was sitting here.
“Depends,” Becca hedged. “What have you heard?”
“That you knocked two seniors on their asses on the soccer field, then flipped off the coach.”
“Absolutely true,” said Becca, deadpan. “I’m surprised you doubted a word.”
Hunter leaned in, and his voice dropped. “Would you feel better if I told you the only thing I don’t believe is the part about the coach?”
His tone was making heat crawl up her neck. She had to glance away. “Too bad. That’s the only part that really happened.”
He sat back, not convinced. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
“Don’t get cocky. I might have to give you a firsthand demonstration.”
Hunter laughed. “You’re on. Friday night?”
She almost lost the smile. He’d sure turned that around. Was he asking her out? Or still teasing?
She had to hedge again. “You want to spend your weekend nursing a black eye?”
“Now who’s cocky?” His eyebrows went up, but he was smiling. He dragged his fork through the rice on his plate. “Maybe we could save the ass-kicking for the end of the evening, though. Just to be safe.”
“Just to be safe?” she mimicked. “What exactly are you planning?”
Some of his easy confidence slipped a bit. He glanced away before looking back to meet her eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to Homecoming.”
