Forever Could Be Ours

Chapter 25. | Three Soft Knocks

ALEXANDER

Three soft knocks tap against the door followed by an avalanche of fainted music and chatter when Hayleigh opens the door to the classroom. Her long dress sways with each movement as she tiptoes inside, using her bare shoulders to close it with a soft thud.

"Hi." Her voice is soft and delicate, a smile tucking at the corners of her mouth when she sees me sitting on the edge of the desk.

I loosen the black tie around my neck with one hand, the other resting on the wooden surface. "Hey, pouty."

In the dark room, I still see the sparkle in her eyes. Our only light source is the soft glow from the table lamp on my desk and the moonlight casting gentle shadows through the windows.

Instead of scolding me for the nickname like she usually does, she glances around the room. "Bold of you to invite me in here, Mr. Reid. Didn't think you'd have it in you."

The formal addressing of my name sizzles something in my chest. Hayleigh has referred to me as Mr. plenty of times, but it's usually wrapped in humor.

I can't trace it in her voice right now.

"This was the only way I could get you alone."

Her smile grows wider at the confession, but I doubt she understands the deep struggle behind it. Watching William with his hands all over her body the entire evening has been the closest I've come to actual torture.

'Starting fresh' my bare ass. I know Hayleigh only agreed to go to the formal with him to close a chapter completely. Firmly believing that William only wanted to make amends and be friends. Which I find sweet because I don't want to judge Hayleigh for believing the best in people, even the shit-faced ones.

But William Blaine doesn't fool me. His actual intentions are easily spotted, even from a mile away, and watching him try his utter best to impress her all night has left me more agitated than I perhaps wanted to admit or realize.

I've had enough of watching someone touch what's mine.

And rearing him across the room wasn't appropriate with an entire audience of students gawking, so stealing her from him was the better and less irrational alternative.

Hayleigh unglues herself from the door and saunters toward me when I beckon her closer.

"Good," she says, standing between my legs and wrapping her arms around my neck. "Because I was getting fed up watching her touch you."

She doesn't need to clarify who. I already know.

I've spent the entire evening kindly rejecting and prying Meredith's hands off mine. After too many glasses of red wine in the teacher's lounge followed by a glass of Mr. Smith's fifty-year-old scotch, she couldn't read right from wrong.

Or read anything in general.

After pointless attempts to get Cade, the intern from Macquarie University, to dance with her, she pointed all her attention to me instead.

I hate rejecting people, especially women. It makes me feel like a complete arrogant asshole. Like I'm too good. But the truth is, I've always hated dancing. There isn't an inch of rhythm in my rigid body and my towering height makes me feel like a giraffe on roller skates with defected wheels.

I didn't even dance at my own formal. I specifically told my date that the consequences of asking me out would be that I would restrain myself from the dance floor. I don't even know why she asked me. I also spent the majority of the evening performing on stage with my high school band. When I didn't, I kept myself to the dance minimum of tapping my toes on the ground.