His lips trail feather-light kisses down the side of my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he...
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C A M I L A
It's Tuesday afternoon. Market strategies. A global economy. Money, money, money, money.
Dr. Wen might as well be speaking Ancient fucking Greek for all the attention he doesn't have from me today.
And then there's not-Brandon, my invasive business class partner right beside me, his presence just grating.
I'm here, sure, physically in my seat at this two-person desk, the one with the slightly wobbly legs, but mentally? I'm a million miles away. No, farther. Much, much farther.
It's been...a lot of days. I still can't decide how to fix this. What to do. It's horrible.
I doodle aimlessly on my paper, a series of swirls and jagged lines that could pass for modern art if I squint. My blue ink is smudging.
Dr. Wen mentions something about leveraging competitive advantage, and how were supposed to incorporate it into our partner projects, and I snort. Yeah, right. My competitive advantage seems to be making a fool of myself in front of the only guy who's managed to make me feel this good, warm, implausible feeling.
His lips were soft, warm, firm, and surprisingly sweet. Addicting with barely a taste.
I should be focusing on the lecture, taking notes, and planning my next study session. But what is Noah doing right now? Is he thinking about that night? The kiss? Does he regret it? He looked like he did, at least a little.
The prof claps in conclusion, snapping me back to reality. I shove my notes into my bag, not bothering to care when they crumple up.
As I shuffle out of the lecture hall with the rest of the zombies, I decide I need caffeine. A lot of it. That'll help clear my head. Then I can decide.
...What? Whether to fall headfirst into whatever this mess is?
Great fucking plan. It's not a plan at all. Plans have steps and actions like Operation Maddie—which is currently dubious at best.
I shove my way to the vending machines and buy a Kick. The first sip is bitter, metallic, and bad—exactly what I need.
"Buying poison?"
The voice comes from behind me, unexpected enough to make me jump. I turn, and there's dark-haired, not-Brandon, leaning against the wall with a smug look plastered on his face.
Fucking lovely. As if being his mandated partner isn't enough.
"Stalking at the party, stalking after class...Follow me to the gym and see what happens," I say, violently sipping my drink. It never kicks in fast enough.
Not-Brandon pushes off the wall, stepping closer. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay after the party. You're distracted in class. That guy with that scar...he hurt you?"
