I jump about a mile at hearing Tuttle’s question so close to my ear, and I turn to glare at him after slamming my locker door shut. “You wrote this?” I try to sound surprised, but I knew it was him once I started reading. The tortured Romeo to my Juliet.
He looks offended. “Of course, I wrote it. As Romeo.”
“You could’ve sent it to me in an email.” I start to walk and good Lord, he follows me. The crowd parts for us, but that’s because of him. He’s their god, walking among mere mortals.
“Who uses email anymore?” Says the guy who typed it out and used a printer. Talk about old-fashioned.
“Then you could’ve texted it to me.” I hurry my steps, but that doesn’t faze him. His legs are long and his strides are too, so I’m huffing and puffing trying to outpace him while he practically glides through the halls.
So frustrating.
“I thought this way was more creative.” I glance over at him, and he’s smirking. He’s both adorable and annoying when he smirks. “Did you like it?”
I stop at the end of the hall and so does he. He stands in front of me, his body like a shield, as if he wants to protect me from everyone rushing past us. Someone jostles him as they pass by and he takes advantage, stepping closer, and I shift. Press my back against the wall while he rests his hand on the wall above my head.
To the casual observer, we look like we’re a couple. Clearly together. Having an intimate conversation. But we’re not.
I need to remember that.
The way he’s watching me, waiting for my answer, it’s as if he’s seeking my approval. And I can’t help but find that endearing, even though I’m still pissed about the homecoming crap, the way he lurked around the Yo Town parking lot Friday night in the guise of protecting me.
Deep down inside, I liked it. It felt like he made an undeclared choice with that gesture. He doesn’t want Lauren Mancini.
He wants me.
But I’m probably reading too much into it, so I push that thought out of my head.
“When did you write it?” I ask him, tilting my head back so I can look into his eyes.
Big mistake. His gaze meets mine, and it’s like he’s actually touching me. I can read all of his thoughts and they’re focused on me. “Last night.”
“I—I like it. It’s short but thoughtful and just the tiniest bit sad. I could really feel Romeo’s yearning for Juliet.” He stares at me, silent for so long I want to dash away. “Um, I need to get to class, so—” I try to duck under his arm.
Jordan grabs hold of me, keeping me in place. Keeping me close. His fingers gently squeeze my arm as he says, “It’s your turn.”
“What?”
“Now you need to write from Juliet’s perspective. About her feelings toward Romeo.” He raises a brow. “That’s what Mrs. Meyer wanted, right?”
I nod, unable to speak. He’s still holding onto me. And I don’t want him to let me go. Stupid boy. Stupid hormones.
“Text me your entry tonight.” His voice drops, low and sexy and crazy making. “You know where to find me.”
And then he’s gone.
“Thought you said there’s nothing going on between you two.”
I shake my head, shake myself out of my daze, and turn to find Em next to me.
“There’s not.” My voice is shaky. A dead giveaway that he affects me and I’m nervous that Em heard it. Saw that. She could use it against me. I don’t trust her. I believe the stories Livvy tells me. I may feel sorry for Em, but I also know she’s manipulative.
For all I know, she’s manipulating me. I wouldn’t put it past her.
“Whatever. He looked totally into you. And he’s never into anyone.” I start walking and she follows. “So, um, did you talk to Livvy? About me?”
I’m surprised she’s asking. She’s not one for forthright and truthful. “We talked about you on…Wednesday, I think it was? Maybe Thursday.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “I haven’t heard from her.”
“Give her time. She’s trying to work up the courage to reach out to you.” I don’t know if that’s the case. It sounds bogus, especially because Livvy’s been on lockdown for the last week. Her mom relented and let her go to the homecoming game, but she wouldn’t let Livvy go to the dance, which crushed her.
But she got her phone back this morning and all restrictions are lifted, so hopefully she’ll be in a better mood. Girl was grouchy this weekend.
“I thought she was just busy with Ryan,” Em mutters under her breath. Her expression brightens when she catches me looking at her. “I went to the dance and Livvy wasn’t there. Neither were you.”
“I was working. Liv was grounded.”
“Oh.” Em’s cheeks color and I hope she’s remembering that she was the reason Livvy was grounded. She ratted Liv out to her mother that we were staying the night at Ryan’s house the weekend of his birthday party, unsupervised. When Livvy’s mom showed up to take her home, I wanted to die. All I could think about was my mom or dad finding me like that—a disheveled mess after sleeping in the same bed with Jordan and wearing only his T-shirt.
My skin warms at the memory.