I gulp the moment he slumps down in his seat, his arm grazing mine. I hesitate to look at him, because I’m afraid he might look even worse than before. No, I know he does. And I don’t like seeing him that way.
The teacher glances sternly at him one more time before continuing with his lesson.
Hunter sighs and buckles. He drops his arms on the table in front of him and lets his head rest on them. With his head completely buried between his arms he looks like he’s falling asleep.
When he starts snoring, I know he has.
I pick up a pencil from my stack and poke him with it, but he only groans. He moves around a little, but doesn’t stop snoring. The more I try to wake him, the more he starts making noises, and I don’t want the teacher to hear. What if he looks this way and sees him sleeping in the middle of class? I don’t want Hunter to get in trouble. However strange it sounds, even to me.
I bend over and put my mouth close to Hunter’s ear. I’ve never been this close before, and it makes me shiver. My lips are so near to his skin, I could kiss him and feel what it’s like. If I could only do it. If I had the courage.
God, what am I thinking?
The smell of his aftershave is intoxicating, and my lips start to quiver the moment I try to speak. “Wake up,” I whisper.
He takes in a huge breath, and suddenly his face is turned to me.
A squeal almost comes out of my mouth, but I stop it by jamming my lips shut. He’s looking straight at me, eyes wide open. His lips are parted, his hair is messy, and I can feel his breath tingle on my lips.
Holding my breath, I just stare back.
“Well hello there,” he says, a devilish smile appearing on his face.
“I … uh …” I stammer.
I scoot back to my place and draw back as far as I can. I suddenly feel very, very exposed. Like I just kissed him or something.
As if I would ever do something like that.
“You what?” he says, leaning on his hand.
“You were sleeping in class. I was waking you up,” I say, staring ahead.
I don’t dare look him in the eye, because I realize what those eyes are starting to do to me. Once I see them, I can’t look away. They’re pulling me into something that’s really not good for me.
But damn, those eyes. I just can’t look away anymore.
“Nah,” he says, closing his eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
He yawns, and it makes me chuckle a little. “Guess you didn’t sleep either last night.”
“Not really, no.” He comes up from his sleeping position and stretches, making me gaze in awe at his well-built features.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Why am I drooling like this? This is so unlike me. I never fall for the bad boy. I never like guys who act like him, aloof and cocky. Why is this so different?
Frowning, I sigh, and start twiddling with my pen.
“You always come so close to guys you barely know?” he suddenly says.
I open my mouth to say something, but I have no clue what he’s talking about. Shaking my head, I say, “What?”
“You were only a few inches away from my face a couple of seconds ago.”
I blush hearing him say that. I know I was, but I’d rather not be reminded of something embarrassing.
“I’m just trying to help,” I say.
“I don’t need any help,” he says, clearing his throat.
“You said the same thing last night.”
“Yeah, and I meant it.”
“Well, you sure looked like you could use some help,” I say, pursing my lips.
He sighs. “As if it could do anything. As if it could solve my problems.”
“Maybe it could, if you’d accept it.”
He slams his hand on the table, and the sudden bang makes me jolt up in my seat. He stares at me, the look in his eyes violent.
“Nothing, nothing, can help me,” he says, his nostrils flaring.
My eyes sting with tears, and my hands form fists just from anger. “Fine. Whatever. I’m just trying to help. You don’t have to take it.”
His hand slips from the table, and he turns his head toward the exit, probably thinking of a way to escape. He’s still breathing heavily, and I feel terrible because of his sudden outburst.
But we barely know each other. This whole thing, the way he’s acting, is not because of me. Something must’ve happened to him to make him act like this. I wonder what’s bothering him so much that it makes him so explosive.
Was it the phone call?
“Look … I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
I bite my lip as I almost see him think. He’s staring at his table, probably mulling over his words, over what is happening in his life.
Sometimes I wish I could see inside.