It takes a minute, but when he next speaks, the worry is gone. And so is everything else except the teasing drawl that’s as much a part of him as his amber eyes and muscles. It’s like the warning never happened, even before he says, “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You’ve got an odd definition of fun.”
“You have no idea.” He wiggles his brows. “So what are you up to anyway?”
I stare at him. “Do you ever finish any conversation without starting another?”
“Never. It’s part of my charm.”
“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that.”
“I will.” He walks several more feet with me, happily bopping along to a song that’s only in his head. “Where are you going? The classrooms are back that way.”
“I’ve got to go to my room and grab some warmer clothes. I have art next, and I’ll freeze if I go outside like this.”
“Wait.” He stops dead. “No one told you about the tunnels?”
“What tunnels?” I eye him suspiciously. “Are you messing with me again?”
“I’m not, I swear. There’s a whole network of tunnels that run under the school and lead to the different outbuildings.”
“Seriously? This is Alaska—how did they dig tunnels in the frozen ground?”
“I don’t know. How do they drill in the frozen ground? Besides, summer is a thing.” He gives me the best Boy Scout look in his repertoire. “I promise. The tunnels are real. I just can’t believe the omnipotent Jaxon Vega forgot to mention them to you.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to start in on Jaxon now?”
“Of course not. I’m just saying, I’m the one telling you about the tunnels and keeping you from freezing off all the important parts of your anatomy. He could have mentioned them to you before sending you out into the cruel, cruel winter.”
“It’s fall.” I roll my eyes. “And are we going to do this every time we talk about Jaxon?”
He holds his hands up in mock innocence. “As far as I’m concerned, we never have to talk about Jaxon.”
“Funny claim coming from a guy who keeps bringing him up.”
“Because I’m worried about you. I swear.” He draws an X over his heart. “Jaxon’s a complicated guy, Grace. You should stay away from him.”
“I find it interesting that he says the exact same thing about you.”
“Yeah, well, nothing says you have to listen to him.” He makes a disgusted face.
“Nothing says I have to listen to you, either.” I give him a shit-eating grin. “You see my conundrum, right?”
“Ooh. The new girl’s got some claws after all. I like it.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a total weirdo. You know that, right?”
“Know it? I own it, baby.”
I can’t help but laugh as he makes a ridiculous face at me, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. “So are you going to show me these tunnels sometime this year, or am I going to have to do my best impression of the abominable snowwoman?”
“Definitely the tunnels. Turns out I’m headed that way myself. Come on.”
He reaches for my hand and makes an abrupt left turn, tugging me down a narrow corridor that I don’t think I would have even noticed if he hadn’t dragged me into it.
It’s long and winding and slopes down so gradually that it takes me a minute to notice we’re descending. Flint keeps a firm grip on my hand as we pass a couple of students coming the other way.
The hallway is so narrow that all four of us have to press our backs up against the wall to keep from crashing into one another as we pass.
“How much farther is it?” I ask as we get back to walking normally. Or at least as normally as we can walk as the ceiling starts to get lower as well. If this keeps up, we’ll be duck-walking through this thing like they had to do in the pyramids.
“Just another minute to the tunnel entrance and then a five-minute walk to the art studio.”
“Okay, cool.” I pull out my phone to check how we are on time—seven minutes—and see that Jaxon has texted me twice. The first one is just a string of question marks that I assume is a reminder about my schedule. And the second is the start of a joke:
Jaxon: What did the pirate say when he turned 80?
Oh my God. I’ve totally created a monster. And I love it.
I text him back a laughing emoji along with a string of question marks of my own. I also text a copy of my schedule—not because he demanded one earlier but because I want to see if he’ll follow through and find me again. Once the texts are delivered, I shove my phone back in my pocket and try to tell myself that I don’t care that much if he shows up or not. But it’s a lie, and I am very well aware of that fact.