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“Aw,” said Taylor, giving her a mock pout. “You’re jealous.
So sweet.”
“I’m not jealous of you.”
Gabriel stepped through the tension to drop into his seat. He still looked tired. If anything, he looked more drawn than he had at six o’clock this morning. He’d showered and changed at some point, but he’d never bothered to find a razor. It made him look immeasurably rakish and sexy and overwhelmingly sad, too.
He didn’t even glance at Layne.
He didn’t look at Taylor, either, just dragged a textbook from his backpack.
Layne sighed and turned back to her work.
“What’s wrong, lesbo?” said Taylor. “Run out of insults?”
Gabriel lifted his head. “Leave her alone, Taylor.”
“You’re defending her? She just called me a prostitute.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at Layne. “Really?”
God, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Well . . . I said she looked like one . . .”
Gabriel looked back at Taylor, taking in the black fishnets, the tiny little skirt, the top that left three inches of midriff bare.
“I can see it.”
Perfectly arched eyebrows shot up, then narrowed. “I don’t remember you complaining last spring.”
Layne couldn’t breathe around the sudden lump in her throat.
Get it together. Like it was a shock he’d been with a girl like Taylor.
“Just back off,” said Gabriel.
“God, you are so sensitive lately.” Taylor uncrossed her legs to lean forward. Layne had a pretty clear view down that top, and she wasn’t sitting anywhere near as close as Gabriel. She had to look back at her math work.
“You coming to Heather’s after tryouts?” said Taylor.
Gabriel looked away. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on. Everyone knows about the math thing. That just means you could get there early.” Her hand moved, and Layne kept her eyes fixed on her work so she wouldn’t have to watch Taylor touch him.
“How do they know about that?” His voice had a sudden edge.
“Please. The whole cheer squad knows. They’re working out a schedule to get you the homework.”
“Look. Forget it. I don’t need their help.”
“Sure sounds like you need someone’s help.” Taylor pulled lip gloss out of her bag and recrossed her legs, throwing her hair back over a shoulder. “Maybe you’d like a personal tutor.”
She said tutor like she was offering something completely different.
Layne told her brain to stop supplying images of Taylor and Gabriel making out while textbooks and papers fell to the floor.
Her pencil was ready to dig right through her notebook.
“Maybe,” said Taylor, her voice suggestive, “we could get to work tonight.”
