Stain (Stain #1)(52)

Which helps tremendously considering the course load we get swamps all of us, especially with just this AP class alone.

“Hey, Aylee, Jen’s going for a snack run. You want anything? It’s on Alex,” David announces with a grin as he leans back against his chair.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.” I set my bag on the table and take the seat next to Cory, who has his ash-blond head down while texting.

“So, Aylee, I was just going over what we discussed in class today. You’re still up to tackling Greece, right?” David asks.

I nod, taking out my four-subject notebook, with its colorful array of Note Tabs sticking out from every other page. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Great, so we’re doing what we agreed on. We each research one of the historical eras, take notes, and then we’ll write up a master note with all the necessary events that’ll be on the test. We’ll run copies and study off of that.”

“You got it, commandant.” Cory’s snarky response earns a glare from the uncontested leader of our group.

When Jen returns with a bag full of food we aren’t supposed to have in here, she leaves it under the table to keep it from getting confiscated by one of the librarians. We work silently for a bit before splitting up to go research our assigned subject. It would’ve been easier simply using the Internet to gather all the necessary information, but Mrs. Keegan is against Internet research. As she puts it, ‘any Joe Schmoe can create a Wikipedia page these days, and mess with history. Whereas the words written in history books will never be altered to fit someone’s biased view.’ She has a point. But it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. Cory and I head to the second floor where more of the history books are kept. There’s no one up here in the stacks but the two of us.

“So, Aylee, I was wondering something,” Cory begins as we walk down the carpeted aisle and split to search for our section of history. I go right, while he goes left. Lost in concentration, I move through the towering shelves in search of books on ancient Rome, and am only half listening to what he’s saying.

“What?”

“What sort of music are you into? Because I have these Avicii tickets for Saturday and I know it’s last minute but I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for a while now.” I hear him laugh softly, a noise that sounds both like relief and release of nervous tension. “So, anyway, are you free tomorrow night?”

I’m grateful that we’re separated by the rows of shelves because I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a boy ask me on a date before. Heck, I’ve never had a boy be interested in me. Ever.

Except maybe for—

“No.”

One throaty word startles me to the core, and my mouth drops open as a gasp falls from my lips. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. I’d know that voice anywhere, even in a din. With eyes wide and a booming heart, I forget for an infinite moment how to breathe as he brushes my unbound hair to one side, exposing my neck to the delicious warmth of his wet lips. He’s right there, right behind me, pressing up so close I feel every inch of his hardened physique molding up against the softness of my backside. “Tell him no, Aylee.” It’s a whispered growl, heating with authority. Every inch of my skin crackles at his voice, at his nearness, like a livewire doused by water. With hands at my hips, he turns me around to face him. It’s been days since I’ve seen him and yet, the way my mind, body, and soul responds to the mere sight of him is astounding.

“Aylee?”

I can’t even think properly let alone reply when I hear Cory call me through the muddle in my head. “I’m...”

“Aylee?” I turn my head to the right to find Cory standing at the entrance of the aisle. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s seeing. Probably me being squished up against the bookshelf behind me by a scowling, pierced, and tattooed guy who doesn’t seem at all inclined to release me any time soon. “Aylee, are you all right?”

“I’m…”

“She’s busy.”

Cory glares. “How about you let her talk?”

“How about you f*ck off?” Testosterone brimming, he pulls away from me and makes a beeline for Cory. I have to run and maneuver my way in front of him to get him to stop in his tracks.

“Maddox, don’t…” My hand falls on his abdomen, just a few inches south of his rapidly-beating heart. When he looks down at me, it’s with storm clouds in his eyes. “Please,” I add.

“I need him to go away,” he answers, almost too quietly, like he can’t quite get around to tempering his rage.

I nod and attempt a smile. “I can do that. Just let me go talk to him.” When I move away, his hand whips out to grab my wrist.

“Do it from here.” He doesn’t let me go. His hold is loose enough to have me pull away if I want to, but I don’t want to. Not even a little bit.

Turning, I address Cory, who’s taken the entire exchange with a frown on his face. I can definitely understand how odd this must look. “I’m okay, Cory.”

His skepticism comes through in his next question. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”

“Or something,” Maddox growls.

“Aylee…”

“I promise, I’m okay. Maddox is just kidding around. I really wish I could go out with you this weekend, but I’m going to be painting Maddox for my art portfolio. That’s actually why he’s here. I need to talk to him about it.”