Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(55)

I walked into the Humanities building and down the dimly lit hallway, strewn with corkboards tacked up with student clubs and groups, more places I would never belong. Places where I would be welcomed with uncomfortable stares. I jumped down the steps to the sidewalk. Tears pricked the back of my eyes and I blinked hard, trying to kick them back with my eyelids. I shouted them away with my mind. I would not let that asshole make me cry.

…

EMMETT

CeCe walked in a minute late to Shakespeare class. It wasn’t like her to be late; usually CeCe was armed with a pen in hand and ears at attention with giddy anticipation for Watford’s lectures. It was one of her cuter traits.

She yanked the chair back and slammed her books on the table next to me. I immediately straightened up. I could feel something was off. I took in her profile. Even her scar seemed to stand out, red against her white complexion. I was about to lean over and ask what was wrong, until Watford started talking.

“Take out your notebooks,” Walton said. “Today we’ll be talking about the use of beauty in Shakespeare’s plays.”

CeCe smirked next to me. I looked over and noticed her hands visibly shaking on the table. She glanced at me, and for a second our eyes locked. I had never seen so much emotion behind them. Hurt and anger, but more than anything, pure, raw rage.

She stood up abruptly and pushed her chair back, the metal legs scrapping against the floor. She slung her backpack over her shoulders and headed for the door, shoving it open. Watford’s surprised gaze following CeCe, but she didn’t call her back. Her eyes went directly to mine. I raised my eyebrows, my way of asking if I could go after her, and she nodded. I stood up and headed for the door.

I jumped down to the sidewalk. CeCe was already halfway down the street, heading for the walking trails that weave around the lake at the edge of campus.

“CeCe!” I yelled.

Her pace didn’t slow. She started running and I almost laughed. Did she honestly think she could outrun me? I sprinted after her.

“CeCe, wait,” I demanded in a voice so dominating I felt like I was on the football field shouting a play to my teammates. It worked. CeCe stopped and waited for me to catch up.

She turned to me and tears were brimming over her eyes, spilling down her face. I stopped and stared at her normally tough facade, broken and open. It was startling to see. It made my voice catch in my throat. It physically hurt me to see her so upset.

“Well?” she said. “What the hell do you want?” she asked. She wiped the tears off her face.

“What happened?” I asked.

“What happened?” She glared up at me. “Life happened. And life can be a back-stabbing bitch. Okay? Can’t it just suck sometimes? Can’t people leave me alone about it?”

She reached both of her middle fingers up to the sky. “I’m really loving you today, life,” she shouted, flipping off the sun.

In the time I’d spent with CeCe, something told me that pity wasn’t what she wanted. I knew she hardly ever let her emotions show.

“I really wish you would just tell me what’s wrong,” I said. I kept my voice calm and even.

She dropped her arms and shook her head.

“CeCe,” I said and took a step closer. I reached out and grabbed her hand. It fit completely inside mind, like fingers slipping inside the seams of a glove. I squeezed. Something inside of me squeezed harder. The feeling took me a little by surprise.

She stared down at my hand, at my fingers wrapped around hers. Her face was puzzled for a second, and then she yanked her hand back and glared at me.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked.

“What?” I felt my face heat up with frustration. I was so sick of women constantly confusing me. I was trying to be careful with CeCe—I knew she had a volatile side. But I knew she needed to vent.

She pressed her fingertips against her temples and took a shaky breath. “I just ran into Tucker.”

I processed this. “I don’t know him.”

“Rower? Party,” she reminded me.

I instantly knew the drunk asshole falling all over her, staring at her like she was a dessert option.

“Was he the one hitting on you?” I asked and she nodded. Anger shot up my spine. “Did he—”

“No, no,” she said. “He didn’t do anything that I didn’t…allow.”

I nodded, waiting for more. I was surprised to feel my chest tighten, prickling with something close to jealousy. What did she mean allow?

“We didn’t have sex, thank God, we just, you know…” her voice trailed off. Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. “We just messed around.”

“You two hooked up at a party? That’s it?” I was relieved to know they didn’t have sex. Tucker sure as hell didn’t deserve her. But it was more than that. I couldn’t think of a single guy who did deserve her. Who I would be okay with touching her.

She sighed. “I thought he was interested in more. In me. That’s what he said. And he just made it pretty obvious a couple minutes ago that he wasn’t.”

I gave CeCe a knowing look. She should know better than to fall for that line.

“Come on, CeCe, you can’t trust guys when they’re drunk. You’re smart enough to know that. It never means anything. They have one thing on their minds, and they’ll say anything to get it.”