Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” Chris’s smile warmed. “Thanks, Mr. Falwell.”
Rian didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t, or he might crack.
Lachlan might have said he wasn’t heartless, but this...this ridiculousness about protocol felt just...just...
Cruel.
But his phone gave him another reason to escape, and he followed its vibrating buzz back to his desk. He half expected another 585 number, a voicemail or a text.
Instead it was a new text from Louis, Damon—black diamond, white circle.
Terse words.
We need to contact Chris’s parents. He looks like he’s on something.
Rian sank down in his chair, staring at his phone. That...was all Damon was going to say to him?
Of course that was all Damon would say.
That was all that mattered.
So he tapped back, He looks worse today. Said he’s just been up late studying for Iseya’s midterms. He paused, biting at the inner flesh of his lower lip, then added, What do we do?
A few moments of silence, then a curt buzz: Let me think.
Rian stared at his phone helplessly, his heart sinking. His fingers flew over the screen. Why did you kiss me? he typed out.
But let it sit.
Unsent.
Before he deleted it, typed Okay, and hit Send before he could second-guess himself.
Then turned his phone face-down on the desk and looked away, without waiting for a reply.
He didn’t want to see it.
He didn’t want to wonder.
And he didn’t want to make this about himself and his own chaotic, churning, rioting feelings.
Chris was more important.
Rian would just...
He’d deal, that’s all.
Yeah.
He’d just...deal.
Even if he had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
...again.
Fine. Fuck. Whatever.
He’d deal with that, too, with enough coffee.
Whatever happened, he’d just...
Find a way to deal.
* * *
Damon was not fucking dealing with this very well at all.
He glowered at the punching bag in the small weight room attached to the school’s gym, and slammed his fist into it until a deep dent formed in the rubbery blue casing, the impact reverberating up his arm. Normally a spar with a sandbag and a few hours working himself into a lather calmed him down; it was a simple, quiet pleasure, thoughtless exertion focused only on form and technique that gave him an outlet for his frustrations, leaving him clean and light.
It wasn’t fucking working.
Not today.
Not when he was pretty fucking sure Rian was avoiding him.
Probably because Damon was avoiding him.
What the fuck else was he supposed to do? He let out a fuming, irritated sound as he crashed his taped knuckles into the bag again, sending it swinging, the chain overhead creaking. He shouldn’t have kissed Rian. He didn’t know what to do about it. What to say about it. He’d been thinking about it all fucking weekend, until his skin nearly itched with the memory of Rian’s body pressed close against his. But if Rian had just brought it up with that insatiable curiosity he had, they could’ve called each other every damned name in the book, fought it out, and then put it behind them as a fluke.
As long as neither of them said a damned word...
Damon couldn’t stop himself from wondering what if.
What if the janitor hadn’t interrupted?
What if Damon hadn’t lit out of there like his ass was on fire?
What if he’d stayed and pulled Rian into his arms and kissed him again and again, softly and fiercely and every way in between, until Rian’s eyes were hot melted honey and he looked at Damon with his sugar-candy lips bruised so sweet?
Stop it.
He sent another hard roundhouse slamming into the bag, the impact shocking through his whole body until he tensed to take it, absorb it, then stopped as the reminder alarm he’d set on his phone went off.
That faculty meeting.
Fuck.
Groaning, Damon caught the bag and stilled its swing, just lingering for a few moments, taking several deep, centering breaths.
They’d be around nearly two dozen other teachers and staff.
They wouldn’t even have to look at each other.
Just...breathe.
He kept reminding himself to breathe through a shower and through dressing in a clean T-shirt and track pants, before making his way to the large conference room situated between the principal’s and assistant principal’s offices. Principal Chambers wasn’t there; Damon wasn’t sure what Chambers actually did or if he even lived on campus, when the only time he’d ever met the man had been during his job interview. Instead Assistant Principal Walden always presided over these meetings, and it was downright disgusting how crisp and put-together Walden looked at the head of the long oval conference table, when the rest of them looked about ready to fall asleep in their chairs with an hour until the morning bell for breakfast, and two hours until bell for classes.
Damon was pretty sure Walden held meetings this early not so staff would be clear for cafeteria duty, but because the man was a fucking sadist.
And Damon had to be a fucking masochist, because even as he stole his usual corner chair under the window...his eyes gravitated to Rian.