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I just don’t make friends. Or have them. I don’t want them, and I wouldn’t make a good friend in return either. So, there’s no point.
But I’ve never been too good to brag.
“You could say that,” I respond with an expression of pure content and a Cheshire cat smile.
“So …” she says, “who is he?” She talks while opening her textbook followed by her notebook, filled with what looks like an actual outline and highlighted words.
It’s obvious she actually gives a fuck about chemistry or at least about passing the class. Good for her.
Before I can even open my mouth, I catch a glimpse of Dean from the corner of my eye. With his height and broad shoulders, he takes up the whole doorframe before walking in. I can feel my body react to his. The way my heart skips, my thighs tighten. I’m more than acutely aware of his presence.
I bite down on my lip, raise a brow and nod my head in his direction although I keep my eyes on Angie’s.
I can hear him stride across the room and take the seat next to mine, but all the while Angie’s expression drops. Her back stiffens and she forces a smile that’s not genuine.
“Just be careful,” she mutters without looking me in the eye and then goes back to her notes.
That’s not the reaction I was expecting, and my gaze lingers on her longer than it should.
I don’t like it. Not in the least.
During the entire class, I can’t help but to glance at her. I’m still trying to make sense of her reaction but she ignores me entirely.
Even when Dean puts his hand on my thigh. Even when he leans over and covertly whispers dirty little promises in my ear. My focus is on Angie, who looks more and more uncomfortable even though she’s not looking at us.
Before we’re even halfway through class I pass him a note and feel like I’m back in fucking high school. This … whatever this is between us, is stupid. All of it. But I guess I’m the stupid one really because I keep falling for this shit with Dean.
The question is simple;did you fuck her?
I get a what-the-fuck expression in return from him, paired with a furious headshake and then a cocky smirk. The note he sends back pisses me off. He likes that I’m jealous.
I’m not fucking jealous.
This right here, this is why I don’t have friends. Or boyfriends or fuck buddies oranyonein my life. I don’t need the spiked lump in my throat that makes me wish I had more water in the bottle in my bag so I could take a large gulp. Or maybe vodka in the bottle. I could use a shot to get rid of this tension.
I have to force myself to relax and the moment I do, finally listening to the professor, Angie gives me a friendly smile. Genuine. Maybe I’m just crazy.
I’m irritated, all because of one look from a girl I don’t even know. That’s not me. Just as I’m shaking it off, Dean’s heavy hand lands on my desk holding a scrap of paper meant only for my eyes.
You want a list of the girls I’ve fucked?
“Oh my God, shut up.” I don’t hide my irritation as I mumble the response.
Professor Grant glances our way as Dean chuckles. At least he’s having a good time with it all.
He lowers his hand to my thigh again, scooting his desk closer to mine as quietly as he can. He’s a big brute in that tiny desk and can’t do a damn thing quietly. I don’t know why it makes me smile like it does. He plays it off, mouthing he’s sorry to the professor and I find myself trying to bite back the humor.
But I instantly realize why he moved closer when he slips his hand onto my thigh.
I should look to see if the professor sees, or maybe even Angie. My dirty mind looks to see what time it is and quickly calculates how many minutes are left before class will be over.
When I peek at him, knowing there are only ten minutes or so remaining, he’s sinking his teeth into his lower lip, giving me a sexy grin as he squeezes my upper thigh and then lets his fingers drift closer and closer to where they want to be.
I’m in jeans so there’s no way he’s going to be doing anything too scandalous. I like his ownership of me. I like that he likes me and doesn’t mind showing people.
I like that I like him too.
Even if Angie has a stick up her ass about it. Or not … what do I know?
