Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Was it terrible that I was imagining it was James?
Maybe that was why I shouldn’t go to the William Handhurst library on Wednesday. But I knew I would.
I’d denied myself Mr. Warner for too long already, and the fact that he’d pushed after calling out my BS assignment response, which wasn’t BS at all… My destiny to go on Wednesday was now written in stone.
I just didn’t know what the fuck the point to any of it was. What was I going to do, tell him how I felt? Push it on him so he’d know why this was such a shit idea? And unfair to me to get together with him, when I knew it was pointless fantasizing about tasting those slim, pink lips, running my hands through his hair, feeling that body I’d seen too many times on builds against me…
“What are you doing?” Ben asked.
“Huh?” I looked down, and he was glancing up at me.
“That move on the back of my neck. That’s very…sweet. Suspiciously so.”
Fuck. I’d clearly gotten carried away as I nuzzled into his neck.
“I’m not sweet. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“Not about me. But who were you thinking about?”
He rolled on his back, glaring at me in that playful way he had.
“Honestly, Ben?”
“I think you know I’d prefer that.”
“I…can’t say right now.”
He rested his hand against my cheek. “I’m sorry, Kylie. You know I’m here if you need anything.”
“I do. And I appreciate it, little boo. Just hold me, though.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and as soothing as it was, maybe it only made it harder, since I knew who I really wanted to be holding me right then.
And no matter how hard I tried to push the thought out of my head, it didn’t do me any good.
God-fucking-dammit, you broke me, Teach.
16
James
Following our talk after class, I was as certain as ever that I’d been right to assume something was wrong with Kyle. He was trying to reach me, to tell me something, more than what was on that page.
Even when Kendra and I were the only ones who showed up at the library on Wednesday, I was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was on Kyle’s mind.
“Like you’d do for any other student. Because that’s all I am to you.”
He had to know that wasn’t true, not even close.
In a room of half-stocked shelves, Kendra and I sat with stacks of boxes, sifting through the mess before I heard someone rapping at the front door. When Kendra went to see who it was, hope swelled within me.
It wasn’t only about wanting to find out what was weighing on him. I wanted to see him and have one of our usual chats, see him smiling, be the reason for that big-ass grin I knew could stretch across his usually frowning face. That was the real Kyle Forsythe—cracking jokes and laughing—not the hard shell he showed the rest of the world.
No matter how many times I told myself not to get my hopes up, I found myself growing excited about the possibility of seeing him again, until I heard two distinct female voices, and Valerie from fourth period entered with Kendra.
I embraced my disappointment as Kendra talked us through the sorting process, pulling books from the boxes and sorting them on carts to then get on the shelves.
Valerie was all-too-eager to work near me, chatting me up. It was funny how someone else could attempt to talk to me the way Kyle or I might have, and I was so much more hesitant. Although, I guessed it had more to do with Valerie’s pushiness than anything else. At one point, I glanced across the room at Kendra, who was smiling at me, that knowing look in her eyes. I rolled mine as we continued working.
“Y’all need an extra hand?”
That voice was music to my ears as I turned to see Kyle standing in the doorway, smirking.
Seemed like forever since he’d permitted me a view of a pleasant expression. And I felt like I deserved it. I missed that face. It wasn’t until he’d denied me it that I realized how much I missed our friendship…no, something more…this connection we shared.
“Hey, Mr. Forsythe,” I said. “Yeah. We can find plenty for you to do.” I surveyed our minimal progress between the stacks of boxes and partially sorted carts. It would definitely take more than a few of these volunteer days to sort through the mess.
“Hi, it’s Kyle, right? I’m Ms. Eiken. I think I forgot to lock that front door.”
She likely knew his name and reputation from around school, but I worried he might believe I’d shared it in confidence, despite telling him I hadn’t revealed anything about his bisexuality. But judging by his chill response, I assumed he was used to being recognized on account of his father.