Dark Notes(48)

I run a hand through my hair and slow my gait. I don’t remember feeling this wild and out-of-control with Joanne. But I didn’t pursue her, either. Not in the beginning and certainly not after. I’ve never chased a woman. Never had to. That alone is enough to make me question why I’m craning my neck and scanning the crowd of students, hoping to catch a glimpse of long dark hair. Ivory Westbrook is f*cking with my head.

A few halls later, I spot her leaning against a wall of lockers and smiling at Ellie Lai.

The sight of her sends a shot of warm satisfaction through me, locking my legs and paralyzing me twenty feet away. My infatuation might be ridiculous, but it’s no less real. I’m completely and thoroughly hypnotized by her.

She stands out among everyone in this school. Not because of the drab style of her white button-up and tattered black skirt, but because she shines above her financial limitations, radiating the kind of beauty that can’t be bought. Everything looks lackluster in comparison to the glow of her skin, the brightness of her eyes, and the potency of her aura. I’m so f*cking drawn to her I can’t see straight.

The flow of students streams between us, but it only takes a moment for her to sense me. When her eyes find mine, her smile slips. Her lips separate, and her hand forms a fist at her side.

She resents me for putting space between us, but she understands why I did it. Even so, we both know that space hasn’t accomplished anything. With every passing day, it becomes tauter, thinner, straining to seal up and fall away. Like now.

Her gaze holds mine, piercing me with a vulnerable plea. Take the risk. Find a way. I need you. Maybe those are just reflections of my own thoughts, but I want to grab her wrist, pry her fingers open, and wrap them around mine, while promising to give her anything she wants.

Ellie pokes Ivory’s arm, and just like that, Ivory looks away, the trance broken.

I blink and suck in a frustrated breath as Ellie’s attention bounces between Ivory and me. Fuck.

Relaxing my shoulders, I give them a small chin nod and turn down the hall. Thank Christ, none of the other students seem to have noticed my frozen fixation. I swipe a hand down my face and fight the burning urge to glance back at Ivory.

By the time I reach Crescent Hall, my mind is a mess of disjointed arguments. I can give us both what we want. But can I keep her safe from the fallout? Is she safe now? Without her at my side every damn second, I have no idea who or what is threatening her. I f*cking hate it.

I approach an empty intersection in the corridor and pause at the sound of a familiar voice around the corner.

“I don’t care what she agreed to do.” Sebastian Roth’s high-pitched whine grates across my skin.

She who? I hover at the bend and remain out of sight.

“Dude, let go of me.”

I’d recognize Prescott Rivard’s nasally voice anywhere. These two pencil dicks are inseparable friends, which piques my curiosity about their argument.

“I’ve had an arrangement with her for-f*cking-ever,” Sebastian whispers, angrily. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

Paranoia punches behind my ribcage. There’s only one girl in this school I would fight over, and I know exactly how they look at her in class every day. I hope, for their sakes, they’re arguing about someone else.

Their heavy grunts echo through the hall, followed by the squeak of their shoes. If they fall around the corner, they’ll see me, and I’ll interrogate. But I wait, listening to them struggle while holding my breath. Say the girl’s name. Say her f*cking name.

“Stop! You’re wrinkling my shirt,” Prescott says. “We can’t do this here. If my mom hears us—”

“I don’t give a shit!” Sebastian shouts.

Down the hall, a few girls round the corner and freeze mid-stride. I give them a stern point in the opposite direction, and they turn and rush away.

“You’re the one that’ll get in trouble.” Sebastian lowers his voice, his breaths rushed. “Seeing how you’re the only one f*cking her anymore. Maybe I’ll pay a visit to dear ol’ Mom and let her know how you’re spending your allowance.”

My hands clench and my vision clouds as I connect the motivations of horny rich boys to that of a beautiful girl with an unknown source of income.

Adrenaline shakes my body and shortens my breaths. I want to hit something. My fingers dig into my palms. I want to f*cking kill them.

“You wouldn’t,” Prescott says, his tone venomous.

“Try me,” Sebastian growls.

The sound of knuckles smacking flesh reaches my ears right before Sebastian falls into view. He lands at my feet, his plastic-framed glasses hanging lopsided on his forehead.

Cupping his mouth, the scrawny hipster groans and rolls to his side. “You f*cking psycho!”

Prescott pounces from around the corner. Neither of them notices me as Prescott crouches over Sebastian and rears back his fist—

“Stand up!”

They freeze at the whip of my voice and lift their eyes, their faces blanching into colorless hues of Oh shit.

Sebastian recovers first, scrambling out from beneath Prescott and jumping to his feet. He adjusts his glasses and points at the dean’s son. “He hit me. You saw that, right?”

The little * isn’t even bleeding.

Prescott smirks, taking his time straightening his tie without standing. Refusing to acknowledge me. I can change that.