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“Get off his lap,” Principal Burrowes orders me. “Now.”
I put my hands on Masen’s shoulders, moving to get up, but he grips my hips again, keeping me down.
“She gets off my dick when I tell her to get off,” he tells the principal.
My mouth falls open, and I widen my eyes. What the fuck?
Burrowes’ expression turns furious, and I hear various laughs and snorts around the table behind me.
“I beg your pardon?” she exclaims.
But Masen just leans into my ear. “I’ll see you later.”
And then he stands, carefully letting me slide off his lap and onto my feet.
He doesn’t spare anyone a second glance and walks out of the lunchroom with Burrowes’ heels clacking after him.
Somehow, though, I doubt she’s going to be able to stop him.
I’m going to hell. I’m pretty sure she’s going to drag me there herself.
Ryen has a nasty temper, and it’s the one thing about her I didn’t know but was happy to find out.
It excites me.
I tilt the flower pot and pluck out the key that’s hidden underneath. Unlocking her front door, I replace the key and enter the house as the grandfather clock chimes to indicate it’s five a.m. Hopefully, everyone is still asleep.
I’ll tell her tomorrow. I’ll take her to my father’s house—my house—and show her…
No, I should write her a letter. Something where I can get my words out right.
No.
Fuck! She won’t accept it. She won’t be able to get past it. She’ll hate me and cut me off, and my life will be empty without her. I have to tell her, or I have to leave.
And the possibility that I’ll do just that, punk out and cut and run, is the only reason I don’t claim her. The only reason I don’t knock Trey’s fucking hands off her and put a dent in his stomach.
I can’t rob her of prom and friends when I know I won’t be here to pick up the pieces. I’ll either be gone or she’ll make me go.
How do you tell your friend—your best friend—that you’ve been right here, under her nose, playing with her like a puppet? That she had no idea the guy who was fucking her Friday night was the boy she grew up with?
It all just got so out of hand.
I close the door, gently releasing the knob to keep from alerting anyone who might be awake that someone’s breaking into their house.
Looking around the downstairs, I don’t see or hear anyone, so I jog upstairs, careful to keep my steps light and quick. Veering to the right, I twist the knob to Ryen’s bedroom and open the door.
But I hear a gasp and look up to see her scrambling on the bed, pulling the sheet over her chest as she sits up.
I narrow my eyes, shocked she’s awake already as I close and lock the door. I was just planning on lying down next to her, savoring the feel of her for a little while.
Our days might be numbered.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells. “How’d you get in here?”
“Same way I got in last time,” I reply, walking toward the bed. “There’s a spare key under the flower pot outside.”
She rolls her eyes, probably at her moms’ stupidity.
