Her smile is weak. Barely there.
Girl worries too much.
Once we’re out in the hall, Figueroa turns on me, his expression grim. “Why were you late?”
This from the teacher who normally doesn’t give a shit. Who told us at the beginning of the school year that attendance was a chore he hated but was forced to do. “The weather. Weren’t you outside?”
“The sidewalks were all cleared earlier this morning. If you left in enough time, you would’ve made it.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, on the defensive.
“The sidewalks were icy as fuck.”
“Watch your mouth.” His eyelids flicker, as if he’s got a twitch. “Why did you come in late with Wren?”
That’s what this is all about. Good ol’ Figueroa is curious.
“That’s none of your damn business,” I drawl, leaning against the wall. “And what, we were like two minutes late?”
“Late is late.”
“From the teacher who doesn’t have a tardy policy.”
“I still have to follow school rules.” His gaze is steely. “As do you and Wren.”
“You’re just mad,” I murmur, so low I almost think he didn’t hear me.
But he did. I witness the anger crossing his face that very moment. “Explain to me what you think I’m mad about?”
“The fact that Wren isn’t interested in you—that she’s interested in me. We’ve already had this conversation, Fig. And I told you what was going to happen. You don’t have a chance in hell getting in her panties.” I smile, enjoying the anger I see flashing in his eyes.
“How would Miss Beaumont feel, knowing you talk about her in such a manner?”
Doesn’t he sound like a stuffy old teacher who respects his female students? What a crock of shit.
“First, you’ll never say anything to her, because you know she’d be more offended by the fact that you brought up her panties to her in the first place. And second, I’ve been in those panties, so she couldn’t deny it even if you mention it to her.” Oh, I’m feeling really smug now, mentioning the ‘in her panties’ bit, and I fucking love it.
“I don’t believe you,” Figueroa says through clenched teeth.
“Go ahead. Ask her.” I flick my head toward the closed classroom door. “Call her out here.”
“I am not about to get involved in my students’—sexual activities,” he says.
I laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Are we done with this conversation?”
“Watch your tone. And don’t be late. I’ll write you up next time. Wren too.” His words are clipped.
Oh, she won’t like that. A write-up might send her spiraling.
Standing up straighter, I salute him like the asshole I am. “Yes, sir.”
He sneers at me but otherwise doesn’t say a word, both of us walking into class at the same time, Wren’s curious gaze on me the entire time. She even turns in her desk, lowering her voice to whisper, “What was that about?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I glance up to find Fig’s gaze on us, and I smirk at him as I reach out and tuck a stray tendril behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it.”
TWENTY-SIX
WREN
I can’t concentrate with Crew sitting so close to me in psychology. We’re supposed to be working on our outline, and I’ve pretty much put together my part, though he isn’t quite finished. I’m trying to help him by pointing out our many differences, but we end up arguing over them.
Then I get distracted by his stupidly handsome face and the delicious way he smells. How rumpled his hair is thanks to that beanie he’s been wearing off and on all day. He’s currently chewing gum, snapping it and blowing bubbles, and I send him an irritated look.
“Do you have to keep doing that?”
He blows another bubble and pops it with his lips. “That bug you?”
I nod, glaring, though I don’t really mean it. More like I’m enjoying giving him a hard time.
“Want a piece?”
“No, thank you.” I reach for my backpack, unzipping the front pocket and pulling a fresh Blow Pop from within. My candy of choice. “I’ll have one of these.”
His gaze narrows. “You’re playing with fire by sucking on one of those in front of me, Birdy.”
“Really?” I tear the wrapper off and stash it in my backpack before I set the candy in my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.