I know now that she’s probably angry that I’d abused our friendship or something, trying to make a move on her when we’ve spent the past three months all platonic. But I thought hanging all over Coop was a little much and told her so.
I get distracted from her answer as I watch her lips try and deny it. There is no space between her body and mine, and I’m having a hard time trying to do anything other than stare at her mouth. Her eyes finally meet mine, and I think I’m gonna lose it, watching her look at me like this when I’ve got her body practically pinned to the wall. What would she do, I wonder, if I were to kiss her right now? Just slam her up against this locker and suck on that bottom lip of hers for the next hour or so?
Fuck. Now I’m getting a semi.
But Layla doesn’t look like she wants to kiss me. She looks like she wants to kill me. And seeing this look on her face makes me realize she’s done with me. Done playing with the new kid. The mystery’s worn off, and she’s already chewed me up, so now it’s time to spit me out and move on.
And that’s what I get for taking a shot at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life. Fucking maneater. I thought she was different.
Okay, Miss Popularity. I hope you and your dreamboat Coop will be perfectly happy together. Until then, “Fine. You want to play games, go right ahead. I don’t have time for this. You want to talk, you know how to find me.”
And then I storm off, for English class of all places, wondering how the hell I’m going to spend the next forty minutes sitting in the desk behind her without smelling her hair. I punch a locker in frustration and just vow not to breathe for the rest of the day.