“He can tutor you in math, help you get a good grade!”
I had nothing to offer. I had no idea who John Clary was.
As each of the girls launched a million questions at her, the bell rang to signal it was time to head to class. Poor Reeve. She looked as comfortable as if she were standing naked in front of her history class, giving a report on the Salem witch trials and using her own body as a visual aid for the torture.
I said my goodbyes and stood. When I turned, I bumped into someone. I muttered an apology, my hands flattening on a hard chest as I sought to regain my balance.
Whatever I’d meant to say next died a quick death the moment I realized my hands were on Cole Holland.
My hands were actually on Cole Holland.
I looked up…up…up…and there he was. I inhaled sharply, caught the scent of sandalwood and almost moaned. He smelled just like he had during the… Oh, sweat heaven. Was this a hallucination, too? Here, now? I dug my fingers into his chest. He was solid, warm. Which meant…this was real. This was happening.
A gasp left me, and I tried to jump backward only to bang into the table bench. I couldn’t dart forward. He was too big, caging me.
My stomach started performing stupid backflips, decided that wasn’t enough, and next gave a full-on circus trapeze act.
“Well, well,” Kat said with a little too much glee. The other girls frowned at Cole before scurrying off. “You here to walk Ali and me to class or what, big boy?”
A muscle ticked in Cole’s jaw, a sure sign of sizzling anger, blatant aggression, and—I could have been imagining here—that he hoped to one day be the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.
“Well?” Kat prompted.
“Ali.” His gaze never veered from my face.
One word, and yet his voice…thrilled me. Deep and rich and ragged, as if my name had been pushed through a meat grinder. Why was that so smexy? And how was the voice I heard now the same one I’d heard in my visions?
“Me?” I managed to squeak out. “Why?”
Stupid question. I knew why.
He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, “Let go of Frosty’s leash. You’re choking the life out of him.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. “He deserves to choke. He didn’t keep Little Frost in his pants this summer.” The words snapped like a whip.
“He did,” Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence.
“Not.”
“Did.”
“Not!”
“Did,” he said, calm now despite her growing fervor.
My head would have zinged back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match, but Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I didn’t have the strength to pull away.
“Not, not, not!” she shouted with a stomp of her foot.
Finally he looked at her, releasing me from the force field of that otherworldly gaze. “What are we, five?”
“Six.” Kat anchored her hands on her hips. “So tell me this. Do you know Frosty remained faithful to me because you were with him every minute of every day?”
Silence.
“I didn’t think so. Ali?” she said, and I knew what she was asking. Did I want her to stay with me?
“I’m fine,” I said, still squeaking. Come on and grow that pair of lady balls Kat thinks you already have. There’s still time to bring home the victory on this one. I’d lived through hell on earth. This should be nothing.
Cole returned his attention to me, expectant.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, for my benefit rather than Kat’s. At least I’d sounded halfway normal. I would get this meeting over with, get my questions answered, and boom, everything would go back to normal.
“Just remember what I told you.” Off she skipped, leaving me alone with Cole.
What had she told me? That he was dangerous—check. That he still hung out with his ex—check. That he liked to body slam and throat smash—double check.
“You have Mrs. Heldermon next,” he said, a statement not a question.
“Yes.” Surprise filled me, and not just because he hadn’t cussed, as I’d previously imagined. “How did you know?”
He massaged the back of his neck, just like he’d done when he’d talked with Mackenzie. Please tell me that wasn’t a sign of irritation. “My class is in the same building. Yesterday I saw you go into the room.”
And yet, I’d never seen him—and I’d looked. Oh, how I’d looked. Either my powers of observation were lacking, or his ability to camouflage himself was incredible.
“Come on,” he said.
We kicked into motion. Everyone who spotted us did a double take. Friends were nudged and heads were quickly turned in our direction. It was like we were on a screen playing the newest reality show—Survivor: Asher High—and they were our trusted viewers.
When we were out of eavesdropping range, Cole said, “Whatever you’re doing to me each morning—” a hint of anger bloomed in his tone “—you need to stop.”
My gaze whisked up to his face so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. “Whatever I’m doing to you? How about what you’re doing to me?”