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Mr. Brooding Bad Boy himself looks up from his cell.
He graces me with a stare.
Raises a brow. I guess we're working together.
Cruel, evil TA randomly pairing students.
Now, I have to work with the six-foot-two water polo player who believes he's God's gift to women.
Who spends every single minute of recitation glaring at his notebook like the paper did him wrong.
His gaze shifts back to his cell. He taps a text. To some girl, I'm sure.
The real question is if he knows her name or not.
The man is too important for details like that. Or irrelevant classes like Art History. It's beneath his mighty athletic prowess. Especially when there's some girl offering him blow jobs in exchange for...
God knows what he has to offer.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not immune to that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing. And, sometimes, when he's listening to class discussion, his emerald-green eyes on fire with enthusiasm...
I'm only human.
I do see the appeal.
Even if we've never spoken outside of class discussion.
"Let me see. Who's left?" The TA looks around the room. "Yes. Alex Mets and Laurie Tyger. That's everyone. Take the rest of class to discuss.
This project is due two weeks from today. I expect great things and I expect team work." He motions for us to stand then slips into his seat.
Hero's emerald-green eyes fix on mine.
He stares through me, assessing my potential.
It's ruthless. Efficient. Asinine.
But then I'm doing the same.
I slide my notebook into my bag. Stand. Cross the room to his desk.
He stands. "Let's talk in the hallway."
"Sure." I sling my bag over my shoulder. Run my fingers down the nylon strap. Tell myself I can handle him actually speaking to me.
He picks up his back pack with two fingers and follows me out of the room.
The hallway is quiet. Calm.
I find a spot in the corner, under a row of Monet prints.
Afternoon light streams in through the window. It bounces off the white walls, the slick tile floors, the shiny rubber of Hero's Converse.
"This good?" I take a seat on the bench and set my bag in my lap.
He nods and sits next to me.
"I was thinking we'd do pop art." I press my palms against my jeans.
"It's newer, so the influence is still obvious in pop culture. My sister is always buying me stuff inspired by Lichtenstein or Andy Warhol."
Hero nods.
"You can do the written summary. I'll do the visual presentation."
"We'll do it together."
" We will do it together?"
"Yeah." He stares back at me how is that a question?
I force a smile. This is a group project. I have to be polite. Even if he's going to be all broody and bossy and unhelpful.
"We'll go to my place after school."
"Your place?"
He cocks his head, incredulous.
"We're not going to—"
A chuckle spills from his perfect lips. "You think I want to get you into bed." He laughs again, really laughs, like he finds the idea absurd.
Like he'd never considering lowering his standards enough to sleep with someone like me.
Fucking asshole.
The first time I see him laugh he's laughing at my...
Whatever.
Sorry I'm not some rich cheerleader with triple Ds. Not that there's anything wrong with being wealthy, or well-endowed, or cheer inclined.
Just...
Ugh.
He's not turning me into one of those girls who pits herself against other girls.
He's a spoiled rich boy with too much attitude.
So what if he's also hotter than the sun?
I shrug my shoulders. Attempt a serene expression. "You think I haven't noticed the way you stare at my chest?"
"Yeah. You have nice tits."
My cheeks flush. Nobody compliments my chest. I have a lot going for me, sure. I'm tall for a girl. Which means long legs. And my light hair is a homing beacon.
But my chest?
I'm as flat as they come.
And he...
No. I'm not taking this as a compliment.
I fold my arms, but it does nothing to cover the careful rip across the chest of my Veruca Salt t-shirt. "I wear this because I like it. Not because I want attention from frat bros."
"I'm not coy about sex. When I want to fuck you, I'll let you know."
"When?"
"Yeah. When." His voice is steady. Sure.
I...
He...
How does he do that?
I try to think up some response, but nothing comes. When I want to fuck you, I'll let you know.
Who says that?
Who...
Why...
My blush spreads to my chest.
My body responds with gusto. It has a perfect response.
Yes, now, let's skip the assignment and make art instead of love. OMG, that's so cheesy, is my brain really that dead? I need to finally punch my v-card and you're the hottest guy I've ever seen. Even if I kinda, sorta hate you.
The bell saves me from my dirty thoughts.
Merciful bell.
Evil bell.
His lips curl into the world's smallest smile. "I'll meet you here."
I force a nod.
"At four?"
"Yeah."
"Until then, Josephine."
"Until then."
I try to adopt a poker face, but I can't.
That tiny smile, the one at my expense—it's the best thing I've ever seen.
He's so... annoying.
And charming.
And I kinda really like him.
YOU ARE READING
BROKEN (Herophine Fanfic)
ChickLitI lost her once. I won't lose her again. After my brother's death, I was drowning.She was my life raft. Josephine and I were opposites, the outspoken art student and the brooding athlete. She was passionate where I was apathetic, bright where I wa...
