He swallows hard and I can see his throat working. I want to reach out and touch him, but he’s already backing away.
“I thought—it sounded like—”
I just nod at him. “I thought it was something bad, too.” Smith just shakes his head, then turns to head through the library doors. For a long minute, I watch the hinge swinging back and forth, not quite closing. The indecision of that mechanism feels too much like a metaphor. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and head in after Smith.
Chapter Eleven
Sparring Partners
For the remainder of the class, I manage to stay away from him. Instead, I watch Smith as he and his friends tease the girls and joke around with each other. I force myself not to engage. That’s what Smith wants, I tell myself. He wants me to get riled up. He wants me to cause a scene. I don’t know why he wants those things, but I feel it. It’s like a needling ache in my psyche.
So, when the first-period dismissal bell rings, I can’t help but feel relieved. I walk back to my classroom and let myself in. The darkness of the room gives it a sort of calming effect, so I keep the overhead fluorescents off. With a sigh, I kick off my heels, pad over to my desk chair, and drop down into it.
“Tough day¸ dear?”
I jump at least a foot, then look at Smith, who’s now standing in my doorway.
“Don’t you have a second period to go to?”
He shakes his head. “Nope—they’re on a field trip to Annapolis. I couldn’t go with them.”
“Why not?”
Smith doesn’t answer that, just moves further into the room, shoving his hands in his pockets. Behind him, the door shuts loudly. We both jump a little this time.
“What do you want, Smith?”
My voice is tired. I can hear it in my own ears. But Smith doesn’t seem fazed.
“A thank-you would be nice.”
I sigh. “Thank you for launching yourself at me to protect me from the rogue trashcan. I owe you one.”
He grins at that, then crosses his arms.
“I also think you owe Kristin an apology.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Public displays of affection in school aren’t appropriate—especially not during class.”
“There wasn’t any affection. We were just talking.”
I bark a laugh. “Right.”
“Look, if it makes you feel any better, I promise I won’t sully any little girl’s virtue.” He looks me over slowly. “I usually prefer someone a little more . . . experienced.”
“Please.” I snort. “You and your band of thugs seem to thrive on that sort of thing.”
For a long minute, he just stares at me.
“My friends might seem a little thuggish to you,” he says, his voice quiet, “but that’s your opinion—and it’s pretty shitty for you to say so.”
I shake my head. This conversation was going nowhere fast.
“Look, what do you want from me?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“I want you to say what you really mean,” Smith says. He takes a few steps closer to me, then stops.
I feel frustrated tears in the back of my throat, so I stand up and turn my back to him before saying, “I think it’s stupid that you’re blowing off classwork or wasting time on girls or hanging with losers like J. D. You need to try focusing on school for once, Smith. You shouldn’t screw up this opportunity when you’re so close to finishing up.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
I can hear him take a step closer and I whirl around to glare at him. He is practically prowling, catlike, toward me, and I start backing up until I’m almost caged into the corner. Somehow, it’s the opposite of menacing. It’s suddenly very hot in this room.
“Besides,” Smith says, his voice barely above a whisper, “this is really none of your business.”
“Please,” I scoff. “This is absolutely my business.”
“Yeah—how, exactly?”
“I’m your teacher. It’s my job to care about your well-being.”
“Oh?” Smith’s openly grinning at me now. “You want to tell on me for not doing my homework? Are you going to call my mommy, too?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” I say quietly. “I just—I don’t want to see you make a big mistake and get yourself in trouble and . . .”
I trail off because, really, there shouldn’t be any other reason for me to be concerned about whom he surrounds himself with.
“And what?” His voice is so low, it’s a half growl. I shrug.
“And nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
I throw up my hands. “Can you please stop cussing in front of me? This is ridiculous.”
Smith rocks back on his heels. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t get you—and I don’t know why I keep wasting my time.”
“You want me to tell you that I care about you?” I snap, folding my arms over my chest. Against my wrist, I can feel my heart slamming up against my rib cage. “Fine. I care. A lot. Probably more than I should.”
Smith looks at me then—like, really looks at me, starting at my still-bare feet and letting his gaze travel up over my skirt and blouse. When it settles on my face again, his eyes convey something like determination, tinged with something else. Something like need.
“I probably care a lot more than I should, too,” Smith says.
He shuffles forward again and I take a shaky breath. My back is to the wall, and my palms are splayed against it now. The painted cinder blocks feel far cooler than my skin, which is apparently beginning to overheat.
“Care about what?” I ask.
Both his hands reach up and cup my cheeks. He strokes the skin along my jaw with his thumbs and steps closer, pressing his torso against mine.
“About you. Fuck, Hyacinth, all I do is think about you,” he says gruffly.
I can feel my lower lip tremble. I shouldn’t be letting this happen, but I’m paralyzed to stop it.
He leans in and breathes my name against my lips. His breath is minty and tangy, like toothpaste mixed with something tropical. I have to hold in the whimper that’s bubbling up inside me. Instead, I reach up to clutch his biceps, hoping my nails digging into his skin will make him realize what he’s doing. What we’re doing. What we shouldn’t be doing.
But, instead, the opposite seems to occur.
His eyes flash from denim to midnight when he feels my grip, and before either of us can do anything else, he lowers his lips to mine. And there’s only one word in my head when he does.
Yes.
He’s gentler than I remember from before. His lips are warm and lush as they try to convince mine to respond. For a moment, I feel frozen in place—then the forces within me that have been begging for this take over. I grip his shirt in my fists and sort of shudder as his tongue flicks out and lines the seam of my lips. I open for him without any pretense and he growls his approval, diving into my mouth like I’m something he has to devour.
His hands coast over my back and down to my ass, pressing me into the wall and himself into me. I feel his erection, insistent and hot, against my core, and my nipples harden against the confines of my bra.
“God, you’re sweet,” he whispers against my mouth.
And I’m not sure if it’s his voice that breaks the spell or my own conscience, but I’m suddenly pushing hard, forcing him back away from me. Even after he’s let me go and stepped away, I keep pushing, like I need to get him as far as possible. Like I don’t trust myself to be as close to each other as we are.
“What the hell was that?” I sputter, moving away from the corner of the room. “Why did you—how could you—Jesus, I can’t even form a coherent thought.”
“That good, huh?” He smirks.
I glare at his smug grin.
“No. It wasn’t ‘that good.’ It was that inappropriate, maybe. That wrong, for sure. That unbelievable, that ridiculous that—”