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His eyes twinkle with something unreadable before he turns around and leaves.
I slump to the floor, all soaked as I catch my breath.
In this moment, I dare to make a promise to myself.
College and gossip won’t break me.
Whoever trapped me won’t break me.
No one will.
Asher included.
“Ignore them, Reina.” Lucy rubs the side of my arm as if that will make the goosebumps go away.
Everyone in the cafeteria is staring at us. Or rather, they’re staring at me. Since that incident two days ago, I’ve been called every name possible.
People are starting to take pictures of my every move and sending them to that shady Instagram account.
I hate that I subconsciously search all around me as if expecting someone to jump at me.
It’s like everyone waited for this moment to roast me. Even those who remain silent are secretly appreciating my fall from grace.
“Let’s sit with the football team?” Lucy prompts with a beaming smile.
At the far end of the cafeteria, the football team and some of the cheerleading squad sit together—Bree included.
Of course, Asher is with his jerk friends.
Everyone laughs and plays around. Not him. His entire attention is on me as if he’s been watching me since I walked in.
It’s a thing he does, watching me without being obvious, like I’m the center of his focus. The pent-up energy hangs between us like a threat, irrational and unchained.
It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to feel a connection with an asshole who’s out to ruin my life.
I’m not supposed to watch him watch me at breakfast with Izzy or when he’s working out in the backyard.
I’m not supposed to stay up late just to see him return and stand by his car for a second too long, staring up at my window as if searching for something.
Or someone.
Now, our gazes clash and collide. Mine is defiant an
d unbending, his is challenging and quiet.
I can’t help the shivers bursting down my spine or the heat invading the tiniest pores of my skin.
Staring at Asher is beyond gazes and eyes. It’s a war with weapons, blood, and casualties. It’s impossible to predict who’ll lose and who’ll win.
One thing’s for certain: I’ll never raise the white flag.
I’ll pick my battles instead.
Breaking eye contact, I make a beeline toward a back table where the rest of the cheerleaders sit. ‘The less popular ones,’ as Bree so eloquently put it.
I smile when joy breaks out on the girls’ faces. I hate that the others put them down and that I never cared to see happiness on their faces before.
Lucy slides in beside me, shaking her head. “You do know you can’t avoid the main table forever, right?”
