She deadpans, arching a brow, “Someone is awfully confident.”
I lazily grin, continuing. “Some tight leather pants would be nice too. They’re in, you know.”
She gives me a bland look. “I’m a twenty-two-year-old girl going to a club for the first time, not a forty-year-old man who just bought a Harley and is going through a midlife crisis.”
I laugh and give her a sharp, impish grin. “So you think you’re going?”
“So you think you’re my stylist?” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest, avoiding my question.
“Touché, Finch. Touché.” I stand, stretching my limbs before extending my hand to her. “But I know I aced that test, so you’re going.”
She suppresses a smile, accepting my outstretched hand, and I help her up. “You’re going to need an A, remember?”
“You believe in me, remember?” I counter, smugly throwing her words back at her.
She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Touché.”
She begins walking down the hall, her grip on my hand loosening. I can tell she’s going to let go of it, but I don’t let her pull away. I keep my grip casual but firm, my stride cool as I walk beside her hand in hand.
I sneak a quick glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her cheeks have a noticeable blush and she’s staring at our joined hands, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love that I have this sort of effect on her.
“Lunch?” I ask casually, shoving my free hand in my pocket.
She looks up at me, blinking once, processing. “Lunch? Uh, yeah, sure,” she says, clearly flustered, but she still doesn’t pull away. She shyly holds my hand all the way to the cafeteria.
>> <<
Formaldehyde hangs in the air and the dead rats on the tables are covered with wet paper towels to prevent them from drying out, making this look like a weird episode ofCSIor some shit.
“Class, I have your tests from yesterday. When I call your name, please come up and I’ll hand them to you,” Tracy instructs, pulling a large stack of tests out of her colorful tote bag.
Tracy begins reading off names, and I glance at Olivia, who looks nervous.
Chairs scrape against the floor one by one as students go up to collect their tests. Olivia’s name is the seventh one to be called, and she stands to go grab her test from Tracy, followed by Rat Boy and Delilah shortly after.
“Pearson,” Tracy calls, and Adrianna stands to go grab her test.
As soon as Adrianna’s hands grasp the paper, Tracy calls my name. I stand up, then walk slowly to try to avoid Adrianna. But Adrianna deliberately walks slower, forcing me to walk past her. She purposefully brushes against me, sending me a flirtatious smile. You’d think after I dodged all of her texts she’d finally give up, but no.
I don’t react, breezing past her to grab my test, my heartbeat nervously kicking up a notch. I take my test from Tracy, quickly glancing at my grade, and my heart sinks.
No fucking way.
My shock, disbelief, and disappointment quickly bleed into anger. Fuming, I clench my hands, wrinkling the paper a bit. I turn on my heel and trudge back to my seat, avoiding Olivia’s stare. I take a seat, shove my test under my lab manual so no one can see it, and try my best to leash my temper.
“Bronx?” Olivia asks softly, hesitantly.
“Not right now, Finch,” I state, refusing to look at her, and she immediately backs off. I don’t mean to be so rude and abrupt, but I know if I don’t have a minute to cool down I’m going to lose it.
For the rest of the lab period Olivia lets me simmer in my sour mood. She lets me be, and as soon as Tracy dismisses class I’m packing up my stuff and leaving in record time.
“Bronx, wait!” I hear Olivia call after me.
Eventually she catches up, rounding me and placing her hand on my chest to stop me. I stop, not wanting to bulldoze her over.
She looks up at me, her warm brown eyes questioning and vulnerable. “Talk to me. What was your score?”
My eyes bore into hers, and for a moment I see a glimmer of hope behind them. I can tell there’s a part of her that thinks I’m faking her out—like I did last time.