I bend down at her desk. “Your car’s on fire.”
“Omigod!” Cynthia Patterson yelps and sprints out of the classroom without a backward glance.
With a smug smile, I pull out her abandoned chair and settle in.
“Mr. Royal, what are you doing in this class?” the teacher asks.
I have no clue who she is. Based on the lines in her forehead that she’s trying to Botox away, she’s in her forties. Too old for me.
“I’m here to learn. Isn’t that what everyone else is doing here?”
“It’s Feminist Thought.”
I cock my head. “Then I don’t know why you’re discriminating against me. If we want more gender equality, shouldn’t this class be mandatory for males?”
Teach makes one last effort to kick me out. “You don’t have the books necessary for the class.”
“No worries. I’ll share with Hartley for now. We’re old friends.” I pick up my desk and move it right next to hers.
“What are you doing?” she demands under her breath.
“You have an amazing ability to whisper-shout, do you know that?” I drag one of her books onto my desk.
“You have an amazing ability to piss me off.”
“I’ve been perfecting this skill since I made my first appearance in the world.” I kick my legs out. “My momma told me that I came out punching. Thanks for helping me out last night.”
Reaching into my pocket, I do a quick examination of the room, then slide my hand under the table and nudge Hartley’s thumb with her key.
She startles for a second, glances down, and tenses. “I told you to leave it in the mailbox,” she mutters.
“Figured this would be easier.”
She searches my face. “You must have a deal with the devil. It’s the only way you look this good after a night of drinking and getting your ass kicked.”
“I didn’t get my ass kicked.”
“Really? Is that why you blacked out? You didn’t get hit so hard in the head that you couldn’t see straight?”
“That’s right.”
I get nothing more than a head shake after that. Her jaw remains stiff. At the front of the room, the teacher is droning on about third-wave feminism. She’s oblivious to the fact that hardly anyone is paying attention.
“Why are you here?” Hartley finally says.
“Oh, didn’t I mention? I’m in all your classes now.”
Her head swivels toward me. “Oh my God.”
“Well, except for music. I’m tone deaf.”
“Oh my God,” she says again.
“I knew you’d be excited.”
She groans so loudly that everyone turns in our direction. “What was that, Ms. Wright?” the teacher asks pleasantly.
Hartley is visibly clenching her teeth. “I just can’t believe that even in this progressive modern society, drug trials are still primarily based on male subjects, endangering the lives of women every day. It’s shocking.”
“Shocking!” agrees our teacher. “And yet true!”
The moment she resumes her lecture, Hartley scowls at me. “Switch your schedule back to whatever it was before, Royal.”
“Nah.”
She clutches the edge of the desk with both hands as if fighting the urge to punch me. “Fine,” she mutters “Then stop talking to me. I’m trying to learn something.”
“What’s there to learn? Women deserve the same rights as men. End of story.”
“Do you really believe that?”
I raise both eyebrows. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Obviously not.”
I wink. “So does that mean you like me now because I’m super enlightened?”
But my charm goes unnoticed, because her eyes narrow suspiciously. “I don’t know why you’re following me around, but you need to stop. I’m not interested in you and will not be interested in you in the future. And from what I hear, you have a line of girls about ten deep who are ready and willing to be whatever you want, so just—” She makes a shooing gesture with her hand. “Just go away.”
I ignore everything she said except for the obvious. “You’ve been asking about me, have you?”
She shuts her eyes and spins back to face the front.
“What else have you heard? I like hearing gossip about myself.” I nudge her arm.
She moves it away from me and remains silent.
“My favorite rumor is that I’ve got a magic tongue—because it’s true. I’ll be happy to demonstrate for you at any time.”
Hartley crosses her arms, still not saying a word to me.
I glance down at the schedule. “I can’t wait for us to go to British Lit together,” I whisper gleefully.
Her jaw tightens.
This is fun. This is really fun.
Chapter 8
Hartley ignores me all throughout British Lit and then in Government, another class I’m not actually enrolled in but that I attend because it’s on her schedule. The teachers don’t even bat an eye at my presence; they just assume that if I’m there, then the office must know and is cool with it. Kind of irresponsible of them, if you ask me.
I guess technically what I’m doing can be considered stalking, but it’s not like I’m hurting her or being extra gross about trying to get in her pants. She’s just fun to bug.
Not that I’d be against getting in her pants. Or, rather, under her skirt, which covers the ass I’m currently admiring. It’s lunch, and I’m lurking behind Hartley in the cafeteria line. Her cute behind juts toward me as she reaches up to grab an apple.
Yeah, I’d tap that.
“Are you for real?” She spins around with indignation, and I realize I’d said that out loud.
I’m not about to apologize, though. I’m Easton Royal. I say dumb shit all the time. That’s part of my charm. “What? You should be flattered,” I assure her. “I’m a hot commodity at this school.”
Hartley purses her lips. I can see a hundred angry retorts flying through her head, but she’s a smart girl—she’s already figured out that arguing with me is absolutely pointless. I only get a kick out of it.
So she turns around and continues to pile food onto her tray.
I amble after her, doing the same. Astor Park’s cafeteria choices are serious shit, and totally unnecessary. A celebrity chef is hired each semester to create a menu full of poached fish and tarragon chicken to a bunch of teenagers who would rather have burgers and fries. The cafeteria is as overdone as everything else in this joint.
“You want to sit together in photography?” I ask her. “I heard we’re pairing up this afternoon and taking pictures of our seatmates.” I lean closer and murmur in her ear, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Hartley plants a hand on my arm and gives me a small shove. “We’re not showing each other anything. And you’re not even in that class! Stop coming to my classes!”
I smile broadly at her. “And deprive you of my awesomeness? Never.”
She blinks. Then blinks again. Then she stares deep into my eyes. “Easton. Do you have a…problem? Like…upstairs?” She taps the side of her head.
I burst out laughing. “‘Course not.”
“Okay. So then you’re just so full of yourself that you don’t listen to a word anyone else says. Got it.”
“I listen,” I object.