by Leila James
Too bad for me, I’m being forced into proximity with them. But at least Aria’s comment was mildly helpful, as Alora turns with a huff and stalks off to her first class.
Aria covers her mouth, winks at Micah, and walks away.
Her departure leaves Micah and me alone together. His gaze as it lands on me is cold. Mocking. Finally, he rolls his eyes a little and says, “So, six o’clock?”
I nod, eyeing him like he’s about to strike out and bite me. If I thought I was capable of speech right that second, I’d have verbally agreed, but as it is, his eyes tracking down my body make me shiver. Whether in fear or distaste, I don’t know.
“I saw you watching us, you know.”
Or could it be the tremble running through my body means I recognize the energy he puts out there. I might even like it. Crave it. Crave him. “What? I wasn’t wa—”
“I always know when your thirsty eyes are on me, Daphne.”
I press my lips together, remembering the way his lips had slid over hers and his tongue had— My eyes slam shut. The defensive maneuver does no good as I can still feel the heat of his body right in front of mine.
“You were watching us when I grabbed her ass and pulled her against me. You watched how eagerly she kissed me. My dick was hard.” He dips his head close to mine. “And you watched every fucking second of the show,” he whispers, so close to my ear, his breath tickles my skin. “Did it turn you on, Daphne?”
I’m mortified.
By the time I open my eyes, he’s gone.
At the coffee shop, six o’clock comes and goes without any sign of Micah. I’ve blown through my AP Calculus, AP Spanish V, and AP Government homework before I even realize he’s late. Biting my lip, I pull out my AP Literature work and buckle down to write an essay while I wait.
Twenty minutes later, I look around, deciding he’s a bona fide no-show. I pull out my phone, kicking myself for not getting his number this morning. What if he got into an accident on the way here? What if he forgot what time we were meeting and had no way to confirm? What if he’d come down with something and had to go home?
Or, what if he decided, after thinking about how he caught you watching him with Alora this morning, that he’d rather not spend time with you? I glance down at my skinny legs peeking out from under my skirt and cringe. I’m obviously not the kind of girl he’s used to hanging out with, so even if it is just to be tutored … maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. I might mess with the image he has going. Maybe now that he’s actually been forced to notice me and can no longer look through me, he doesn’t really care for what he sees.
With a depressed sigh, I leave my work at the table and walk up to the counter to order myself another hot tea to pass the time. While I wait for it, I pull up my Insta account, flipping through some photos. And I don’t know why I find myself doing it. Not long ago, I’d told Scarlett that Insta is the devil, and here I am searching for Micah to see if he has an account.
Bingo. He sure does and— What the … My shoulders slump. He posted a pic of himself and his teammates at the little diner down the street less than ten minutes ago. Cold tingles skate through my body until my skin erupts with goose bumps. He told me to meet him here. And he’s down the street with his football buddies?
There are several people sitting at tables in the coffee shop who all hear my muttered curse and look up. I cover my mouth with my hand to stop the other bad words that want to escape.
Kendra, who owns the shop, sets my tea down in front of me and quirks up an eyebrow at my expression. “You okay, Daphne?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, would it be terribly difficult for you if I asked to take this to go?”
“Not at all.” She deftly transfers my tea to a to-go cup and passes it across the counter to me. I have to take the cup with both hands because they are shaking so badly.
Fucking Micah. I can’t believe he blew me off.
Chapter 9
When I passed Micah in the parking lot this morning, he hadn’t said a word about his missed tutoring session. He’d looked me up and down with disdain—why, I have no idea—and then continued his conversation with Beau. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Remind him? I’m not his mama. But dammit, I need him to show up; if not for himself, then for me. Too bad he has no idea that he’s adversely affecting me by behaving like an asshole.
I’m sincerely dreading having a class with him today, which is irritating because I love my foreign language classes.
Micah walks into our Spanish class, all swagger. He glances at me sitting at my assigned table in the back but doesn’t say anything as he folds his big body into his seat and spreads his legs out, exactly as he’d done in the headmaster’s office. Jesus, no wonder Scarlett tripped trying to step over him in their English class earlier this year. He’s huge.
A few minutes later, as I’m staring daggers into his back and unsure if I even want him to know that I’m pissed off, Alora leans over to him and whispers in his ear. He swivels in his seat. “You need something, Daphne?” He gives me a blank look that I find wholly unnerving.
I wet my lip before I open my mouth to respond. My voice sounds scratchy and rough. “Did you forget we’d planned to meet at the coffee shop yesterday?”
“Oh. That. I get hungry after practice. I swung by the coffee shop after I got a bite to eat and you weren’t there.”
I stiffen when I notice the entire class has turned around to see what drama is unfolding next to entertain them. Oh, shit. I bite my lip for a second to stop its wobble. “I guess we have different ideas of what ‘meet at six’ means.”
“I guess you couldn’t be bothered to wait for me.”
Anger flares in my eyes. I hiss, “I did. I was there until six thirty. I changed my plans for you. I’d been there since three thirty, Micah. I sat there for three hours to accommodate your practice schedule.”
Alora gives a dainty little snort. “Wait, so is this the only way you can get a date, Daphne Davis? Offer up your tutoring services? That’s beyond sad.” Her wicked cackling makes the rest of the class laugh in turn.
My vision goes hazy, and I don’t bother looking around to see who thinks this is funny. Assholes.
“I’d say you’d have more luck if you offered a different kind of service, but I’m guessing you're not experienced enough for something like that.” Alora takes one look at my appalled expression and exclaims, “Oh, Double D, don’t cry! I’m just kidding!” She slaps the table in front of her as if me being upset is the funniest thing she’s ever seen.
Shock at both Micah’s dismissive attitude and Alora’s unwarranted attack floods my body. His brows raise as if asking me if I’d like to respond. When I don’t, he turns around and drapes his arm over the back of Alora’s chair, leaving me to stew in silence alone.
“Daphne, could I speak to you for a second?”
I’d been off in my own little world, walking past the gym on my way to AP Lit when the deep voice of Coach Roland catches my attention. I suck in a breath. He’s a big guy, obviously a former football player himself, with crinkles at the corners of his piercing blue eyes and a headful of gray hair. I’ve never taken PE at Rosehaven, so other than our interaction on Monday, I’ve had no other contact with him, and have no idea what kind of man he is.
I turn to him, my eyes as big as saucers. Oh my God, does he know I haven’t started working with Micah? That our first session was a big, fat flop? “Um. Sure.” I glance in the direction I’d been heading. “I really can’t be late for Mrs. Harden’s class, though.”
“Let’s walk, then.” He juts his chin in the direction I need to go, and we start walking. His hand raises to his face, and he runs it over his jaw a few times as if he’s thinking hard about what to say. “I wanted to ask how it’s going with Micah.”
My eyes dart to his. “Oh.” It’s chilly in the hallway, but I swear sweat trickles down my back. I feel what’s coming. Shifting my book bag higher on my shoulder, I nod. “We
actually haven’t started yet. We’re trying to figure out how it would work best and where to meet and all that.”
He side-eyes me. “Is that so?”
No. “Yes. We’re planning on starting tomorrow and meeting twice a week.” Please oh please, don’t ask me any more questions. I blow out a controlled breath through pursed lips. Why am I compelled to fib for someone who’s been nothing but hateful to me for three days?
He nods, thoughtful. We stop at the doorway to Mrs. Harden’s room. “Okay. Just make sure you tell me if there’s a problem.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I stare at him. “I will.”
“Good. I’m putting my trust in you, Daphne. I need our boy’s grades up.”
“Yes sir. I’ll try my best.”
He takes one last look at me, nodding, before striding away.
Our boy. Why did those two words stand out to me over everything else he’d said?
Chapter 10
Ever since I’d been called into the office Monday morning, each day has felt like an eternity. All I do is attempt to dodge Micah or hide from Alora and her nasty attitude. It’s getting ridiculous. I’m constantly on edge, waiting for the next ambush. And I’m pretty sure they know that they unnerve me, which just makes it more fun for them. Something like that.
I throw my book bag onto the oversize bean bag that sits in the corner of my room. Exhausted, I flop onto my twin bed and stare at the ceiling. My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I pull it out, checking my text messages.
Max: Hey.
Me: Hi.
Max: How’s it going?
Max: You’ve been awfully quiet lately.
I give a ragged sigh. He’s gently prodding me for information. Max knows me so well he won’t outright ask what’s going on, but he knows what it means when I withdraw into myself like this. Sometimes I just need to be inside my head for a little while to process things.
The last time I felt like this was right after I’d arrived at Rosehaven. I may have been invisible to Micah, but I definitely felt the immense pressure of all of my classmates knowing I was a scholarship student the second I arrived. I’d had the horrid feeling that everyone was watching me and not one of them felt like I belonged. That’s partly why I’ve always just been nose down in my studies. I don’t want to attract attention and have always assumed that if I mind my own business, I won’t be interesting enough to any of the Roses for them to bother with me.
Funny how I’d wanted to be invisible to everyone but the boy who’d once come to my rescue. And then he’d managed to make me feel as if I meant nothing to him.
Me: Micah is a big dick.
Max: Huh?
Scarlett: Hey, I’m here, too.
Scarlett: Back up, you lost me.
Me: Micah didn’t show up yesterday afternoon.
Me: Then he was a real asshole about it when I pointed it out.
Scarlett: WTF? Why would he do that?
Me: Acted like it was my fault that I didn’t wait.
Me: Only I’d been at the coffee shop waiting three hours for him to finish practice.
Max: Seriously? I don’t get it.
Me: He said he was hungry and getting food.
Scarlett: Do you want me to talk to him?
Scarlett: Or I can talk to Xander?
Me: Right. Because that wouldn’t be embarrassing AF.
Scarlett: Sorry. Xander wouldn’t say anything if I asked him not to.
Scarlett: Fuck. Wait. Maybe he would.
Max: He would. They have their bro code thing …
Max: But they also call each other out when they’re acting like dipshits.
Max: Scar, didn’t you say that Micah was pissed when Xander was messing with you?
Scarlett: Yep. He was for sure. Beau, too.
Me: Yeah. But you’re you, and I’m nobody.
Scarlett: Stop. So not true.
Me: To them, I’m definitely a nobody.
Me: I don’t understand how being volun-told by his coach that I have to help him is somehow my fault.
Max: Definitely stop listening to whatever they are saying.
Argh. And I haven’t mentioned to Scarlett or Max the sexual undertones that Micah uses when he talks with me, or just how diligently Alora is sharpening her claws on my back. Or that I now have to deal with both of them as a spirit girl and a homecoming committee member.
Max: Should I have a conversation with Micah?
Me: NO.
Max: Because I can if you want me to. He doesn’t scare me.
Max: You’re acting weird. What is it about him?
Max: Why does he have you all twisted up?
Me: It’s dumb. Don’t worry about it.
It’s so dumb, Micah doesn’t even remember. He has no idea that I’d wondered about him for close to seven years.
Chapter 11
It’s Thursday. One more day to freedom. Hiking my book bag onto my shoulder, I exit my French class and look around to see if I can catch up with Max and Scarlett to walk with them to lunch.
“Tell me you didn’t,” a deep, gravelly voice rasps right next to my ear. Just as I spin on my heel, Micah grabs my arm above the elbow and jerks me into an empty classroom.
Caught by surprise, my mouth opens and closes a few times before I finally manage to stutter out, “Didn’t what?”
“You know what.” He takes a step toward me, and I edge backward. We continue this strange dance, like he’s the predator stalking his prey, until I back right into the teacher’s desk and am forced to stop. I end up half-sitting on the edge of it, leaning backward, in a continued attempt to retreat.
Chest heaving, Micah plants his hands on either side of my hips, nudging his way between my legs as if it means nothing to him, and dips his head toward mine. “You told my coach that we didn’t meet on Tuesday.”
Vehemently, I shake my head. “I did not.” Okay, I sort of did, but I didn’t rat him out like he thinks. And, oh God, he’s way too close and he’s scary and he smells way too good. Scary good. My mind goes blank. Why the hell am I even thinking about the way he smells when he’s staring at me like he’s either going to flay me alive or … turn me over and spank me?
“Then why’d he fucking make me sit the bench at practice yesterday? I’m going to ask you one more time. Did you tell Coach that I didn’t want to be tutored?”
I choke out, “No, that’s not what I told him.”
“What the fuck did you say, Daphne?” When he says my name, his lip curls into a snarl.
My heart thunders under my rib cage. “I-I told him we hadn’t scheduled a time yet and were hoping to meet today.”
He cocks his head to the side. “That’s all you said?” He slides his hand around the back of my neck, holding me where he wants me.
My breath huffs past my lips. “Yes. I swear. And he tracked me down. It’s not like I went to him.”
He nods. “Good. You let me deal with my own shit. Got it?” His fingers slide up my throat before he grips my chin. “Don’t fuck this up for me.”
I try to get a breath, but I can’t. Fuck what up? We’re nose to nose, and he’s stealing all the air. Again. “I—”
My response is cut off when he moves his hand to the top of my right thigh and squeezes. His dark eyes bore into mine as his hand drifts up my leg. My chest expands, then deflates in fits and starts. What is he doing? The heat of his hand transfers through my skirt and makes my belly turn upside down. Then, lower inside me, there’s a distinct, needy throb. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Micah chuckles as if he can tell that my body is rioting at his touch. His hand dips inside the pocket of my skirt and smoothly draws out my phone. He eases back, stands up straight, and holds it in front of my face until it unlocks for him. I find it very disconcerting how close he’s still standing. “Since I’m being forced to do this, next time, just text me and tell me to move my ass if I’m running late.” He looks down for a few moments, tapping on my phone screen wit
h his thumbs.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, he bends at the waist so we’re eye level again, one hand resting next to my hip. With the other, he palms my phone and presses it to my chest, right between my breasts. And he doesn’t move. His big hand—the one I’d seen catch a football pass with ease at the only game I’d ever attended—is now splayed over me. Touching me. And that hand is bigger than I’d thought. I wonder if all of him is bigger than I’d thought. More heat rushes to my face. I have no idea what he’s thinking. He tucks his head next to mine, bringing us cheek to cheek. His voice is husky as he whispers in my ear, “Take your phone, Daphne.”
With a gulp, my hands fly up in an attempt to do just that. Only instead of taking my phone from him, I end up trapping his hand. His warm skin against my chest ratchets up my heart rate, and I know he can feel how hard it’s beating. I blink several times before meeting his gaze as his thumb grazes my nipple, which is now like a hard pencil eraser sitting on my chest. A throaty groan erupts from his chest. “Fucking hot.” He flicks my nipple again, then manages to extract his hand from mine without my phone dropping to the floor.
I swallow, unable to control the storm of feelings he sends through me. My eyes are riveted to his body, and I take in his immense chest, which narrows to a trim waist. My eyes drift further south to the impressive hard-on contained inside his pants. I haven’t ever seen a dick up close and personal—unless you count the nasty dick pics that had been sent to Scarlett’s phone courtesy of Aria a few weeks ago. But he seems big. Very big.
My eyes remain fixated on his crotch, and I can’t make my gaze return to his. I sense he’s in predator mode again, watching my every move.
“Are you fucking checking me out right now, Daph?”
