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I still am.
My breaths are all choppy. And my eyes are wide like saucers and I’m definitely all flushed and pink.
“You were about to go all emo on me.”
“It’s called expressing emotions.”
“You’re not going to list a hundred different synonyms of it now, are you?”
“I —”
“Because I really didn’t order an English teacher.”
Yeah, he ordered a stripper.
The complete opposite of the English teacher, certified logophile that I am.
Blushing even more, I swallow. “You could’ve just replied to my text.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not a fan of texting.”
“Or just called.”
“Not a fan of calling either.”
I wonder if like texts, he prefers phone sex over simple, friendly calling.
Knowing him, he probably does.
And I admit that I was being sarcastic in the texts before, but I know that that’s what every girl wants: to be phone-sexed by Reign Davidson.
Who’s now taking in my room.
As if getting reacquainted with it.
My bedroom hasn’t changed much since he was here last. I’m just as averagely messy and a staunch lover of pink as I was before. And it’s all there for him to see in my scattered textbooks and strewn-about clothes and pink pens.
He opens a notebook, flicks through the pages; picks up a bundle of study cards and holds them up to me, with a quirk of an eyebrow.
“Uh, it’s for school,” I reply, feeling slightly breathless at his arrogant expression. “I have exams in a few weeks. Finals.”
And isn’t that wonderful?
My time at St. Mary’s is approaching its end and God, I could die with happiness.
“Good,” he says and I know he means it.
It’s there in his biting tone and pulsing jaw. He really hates that school for me.
I tamp down a rush of butterflies enough to say, “I mean, I won’t be going to my dream school but I can’t wait to get out of there.”
Even though I’ll be going to community college instead of NYU, I really can’t.
I’m just looking forward to no more curfews and rules and uniforms and absolutely no classes with barred windows. I will also be moving back to the manor and commuting to classes from here.
Although that’s slightly less appealing, given how my parents are, but still.
“You might.”
