I take a deep breath and smile widely when I realize I’m about to cut through the library just to intercept her.
It’s absurd, and it makes absolutely no sense at all, but I can’t contain my laughter as I jog through the library and get to her classroom door just as she’s rounding the corner.
For the life of me, I can’t remove the smile from my face.
Because I know—I really know—that I’m about to kiss her, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it. This thought makes my stomach flip more than anything else ever has.
Her hair is covering most of her face, and it looks like she’s grinding her teeth. She hasn’t seen me yet, so I back up casually against the wall, cross my arms over my chest, and keep my smile in place. If she looks up even briefly, she’ll see me and have to acknowledge me.
She has to feel this.
How can she not? My entire body is buzzing with whatever this is.
She quickens her pace, looking like she’s got something on her mind. When she glances up briefly toward the door, her eye catches mine, and she slows to a stop.
Students file into the classroom, but she continues to watch me. She takes no notice of the people passing her and her shoulders slouch. Her face looks sort of panicky even though I’m still smiling. I can’t stop. I must look a little freaky standing there with a gaping grin on my face.
But I feel it—this tension in the air between us. It’s mesmerizing.
She must feel it too.
Because even though I can’t put my finger on why, there has never been a girl I was more certain about kissing than Arleen Carson.
I close the distance between us and watch as the air empties from her chest and her body tenses.
I need her to feel this.
I loop the necklace that’s in my pocket around my finger just before I reach for her, and as the locket dangles from my thumb, I cup her cheek in my hand.
She swallows and closes her eyes. “Please, Simon.”
I hear her plea and inch my lips closer.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
My eyes open wide as I see her fear. Not the kind of fear of the unknown. Or the kind that she’s scared that people will see us.
Jesus. Is she scared of me?
I look around the hall, and the few people that are lingering aren’t paying any attention to us. But I still feel like I’ve got a knife in my chest.
It’s more than embarrassing. It’s desire at its worst met with denial at its best.
She really doesn’t feel this, does she?
My eyes close on their own accord as I slowly shake my head. I look back into her eyes one last time to see if I’ve misread her, to see if there’s some other reason hidden behind them as to why she isn’t kissing me.
But I see nothing.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll leave you alone.” I feel like I’m about to puke as the words come out.
Her eyes brim with tears, but I don’t stick around long enough to watch one fall.
I have my own wounds to nurse.
Chapter Fifteen
Now that I know Arleen will never be here before nine o’clock, I can use this place for what it has always been for me—well, what it had been to me before I found Arleen here a month ago.
I rake my hands through my hair and try to calm my heartbeat, but there’s so much building inside that I can’t bear to let it stay. The only thing I can think to do is scream.
Within thirty seconds I’ve screamed every combination of curse words imaginable. And damn, it feels good.
“You missed debate tonight.” The whisper comes from the corner, and I swing around to see Arleen standing near the broken wall.
My nostrils flare and I feel once again like the village idiot. Now, not only has she turned me down, but she is witness to my frustration about it.
“So?” I grab my backpack and begin my exit. Fuck this. I’m done.
“The first thing you need to know is that Miss Shields paired us up for the debate tournament in Saint Louis in two weeks.” She speaks quickly, before I can leave.
I stop a few feet in front of her and flex my jaw. “Well, I’ll make sure I speak to Miss Shields about that. Don’t worry, you won’t have to see me.”
“Simon, wait. Please.”
I fling my backpack off my shoulder and toss it to the ground. “Why? What’s the point? You’ve made it clear how you feel, and I don’t intend on being someone who sticks around where he’s not wanted. Sticking around isn’t really my gig.” My voice is stern, my insinuation obvious. She had to know my reputation. I had always been a bang ‘em and leave ‘em sort of guy.
But with her I hadn’t wanted to be.
I was an idiot.
Her eyes squint shut. “The second thing you need to know--”