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But all the focus in the world can’t stop my thoughts from drifting to Trent. The deep rumble of his voice seems to echo in my ear, and a shiver works its way down my spine. I picture his lips, the way they curved slightly as they taunted me, and I wonder what they would feel like against my skin.
God fucking dammit.
I grip my pen so hard I almost bend the plastic. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do these thoughts pop into my head, even when I try to banish them?
Why do I sometimes have dreams about all three of them?
It’s frustrating, it’s infuriating, and I’m afraid it’ll never stop.
A thought pops into my head, and even though I quickly try to quash it, the germ of an idea has already been planted. As much as I wish those three men were anywhere on earth besides Clearwater U, maybe fate brought us all back together for a reason.
Maybe the only way I’ll ever be able to get closure will be to face my demons, to prove they don’t have the same sway over me that they once did.
To make those three men pay for what they did to me.
It’s a stupid thought. Like I said, I can’t afford to get in trouble here, and starting a war with my three tormentors would be a one-way ticket to disaster. The smartest course of action is to stay the hell away from all three of them.
But I have to admit, it’s tempting.
4
Reese
I had high hopes for my first class of the day, which sadly, was Economics, but I just sit there in a blur. All I can think about is Emma, and how insane it is that she’s at Clearwater U. Why did she come here?
When we bullied her back in high school, I didn’t know if Emma fully deserved it. Everyone always says that I play the nice guy, but the truth is, I really am nice. That is, until someone does something that’s total crap.
What she did to Trent was crap; that much I know. And when it comes to defending a friend, I’ll go to great lengths, even though I considered Emma a friend before everything went down. Hell, I considered her a best friend, and not only that, I wanted more from her. All of those feelings were made painfully clear this morning when I saw her crouched behind that hedge. It was typical Emma to do something like try to hide behind a plant. That’s not to say she’s ditzy, but to quote Elton John, she’s always been a little “candle in the wind.”
So, I’m pretty much daydreaming my way through Economics, thinking about what Emma has been up to and how the hell I’m going to stay focused on my classes while she’s here, and then, just like that, the bell rings and I’m moving on to my second class, which is guaranteed to be a lot more fun because I know West and Trent are in it.
It’s Anthropology 101, which I’m actually super stoked about because I imagine we’re going to read about monkeys and early man and all that shit. Professor Sykes is notoriously nutty, with gray hair that’s flying in every possible direction. I sit down with West on one side and Trent in front of me, and it feels like I’m finally waking up from a weird dream.
That is, until I look up and see Emma coming through the door, clutching the straps of her blue backpack.
Shit. This is all about to get real.
When Emma sees us, it looks like she’s going to run back out the door. She stands frozen, and part of me feels bad for her.
“Ms. Holloway?” Professor Sykes finally says, looking down at his card.
“Yes?” She blinks, like she’s just woken up from a dream not unlike the one I was having.
“Would you care to join us?” Professor Sykes says, pointing toward a chair. As it happens, the chair he’s pointing to is the one next to me. What are the odds? As Emma walks toward me, I can see the mortification on her face. As for me, my heart is pounding in my chest, not from fear, but from excitement. It’s kinda twisted, I know. Like my smile, which I’m told is twisted.
As she sits down next to me, I can smell her shampoo. Not in a creepy way like I’m leaning over and smelling her hair, but it’s something I’ve always remembered about Emma. She smells good. She’s not trying or anything. She doesn’t wear fancy perfume. She just has a natural smell that’s fucking intoxicating.
Once she’s seated, I want to turn to her and smile, chat her up, or whatever the hell one is supposed to do in this situation. But just as I’m contemplating doing that, my phone blows up with messages. It’s not uncommon for West, Trent, and I to text each other during class. And trust me, we’re so skilled at it by this point that Professor Sykes won’t even notice.
WEST: WTF?
TRENT: I knew this was going to happen.
ME: Seriously? She’s taking notes like her life depends on it.
I tap out the message with a wide grin on my face, all thoughts of chatting her up forgotten. Every time I look over, she’s hovering over that yellow notepad like it’s the Bible or something. If you ask me, I think she’s focusing on taking notes so hard in order to ignore us.
WEST: Why doesn’t she leave? Why the fuck did she have to come here?
