Which I suppose she should.
Figueroa blows out a harsh breath, pointing at me. “You so much as touch a hair on her head and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I interrupt, my voice scarily calm. “You’ll kick my ass? Bring it. I’m not scared of you. And I know for a fact I could destroy you, Fig. You’re getting soft in your old age. Your only exercise currently is rolling around with Maggie in the back seat of your car. Don’t you get sick of that shit?”
He stares at me, his breathing coming fast, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I shove my hands in my pockets, already bored with our conversation.
“Leave Wren alone,” he demands, but there’s not as much power in his voice as there was before. “That’s all I’m going to say. If you do anything to hurt her, there will be repercussions.”
I watch him walk away, amused. His threats are meaningless. They just make me want to break down that steel wall Wren guards herself with and fuck with her head. Drive her out of her mind with wanting me.
I could do it. It wouldn’t take much. The girl is starved for male attention. You can just tell. She keeps herself so tightly locked up. She’s got to be harboring some secret fantasies deep inside.
Hopefully they’re sick and twisted, and she’ll let me reenact them with her.
This stupid project will help me get to know her. Learn what makes her tick. I’ll figure her out, seduce her, and next thing I know, I’ll be walking into Honors English with her under my arm, my lips on her forehead as I stare at that jealous dick we call our teacher, sitting behind his desk.
It’ll be my fucking pleasure to put on that performance.
A smile curls my lips as I, once again, head for the dining hall.
I can’t fucking wait.
The moment I enter Skov’s classroom, my gaze lands on Wren. She’s sitting in my seat, Malcolm and Ezra flanking either side of her at their desks, the two of them competing with each other as they try to gain Wren’s attention. Her head whips back and forth between them, a little smile curling her lips.
I suddenly understand what Figueroa must’ve been feeling when I said all of that shit about Wren to him. I’m feeling it now, no matter how much I want to deny it.
Full-blown jealousy consumes me, making my blood run hot and my head want to explode.
She doesn’t notice me until I’m practically standing on top of her Mary Jane’d feet, her head lifting so her wide-eyed gaze meets mine. My friends go silent. Feels like the entire room goes quiet as we study each other.
“You’re sitting at my desk, Birdy,” I accuse, my voice low.
My friends share a look, no doubt noting my ominous tone.
Wren is seemingly unaffected by it. “I thought we were meeting back here.”
I glance over at Ezra, who has a shit-eating grin on his stupid face. “You shouldn’t talk to her.”
The smile fades and now he’s scowling like me. “You don’t own her.”
“You definitely don’t,” Wren retorts when I bring my attention back to her. “They’re my friends. Unlike you.”
Point taken. One for Birdy.
“Lay off, mate.” This comes from Malcolm.
I ignore them both, focusing all of my attention on Wren. “Where am I supposed to sit then?”
“You can sit at my desk.” She points at the empty seat in the very front of the room.
I grimace. “No thanks.”
She rests her linked hands on top of my desk and the wildest idea comes to mind.
I decide to go with it.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I stop right next to Wren’s—my—chair and sit down, nudging her over, which isn’t too difficult.
She weighs nothing, and doesn’t take up much room on the chair. Her scent is heady, like a burst of wildflowers in the middle of a spring meadow. She’s warm and soft, and she fits perfectly by my side. I sling my arm around the back of the chair, half-tempted to pull her onto my lap.
“Crew!” She’s squealing. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She angles her head toward mine, and our faces are so close, I can make out the faint freckles across her nose. Of course, she has freckles. She’s sweetness personified. “I’m sitting at my desk.”
“I told you to go sit at mine.” For someone who looks ready to swallow her tongue, she’s pretty damn calm. The only tell being her pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of her throat. Her lips part, soft puffs of breath leaving her, and I wonder what she’d do if I leaned in and pressed my mouth where her pulse throbs.