Sharon’s note: I hate the broody asshole characters in romances. Being a jerk and hiding away your pain doesn’t make you deep. It makes you immature. Either you guys agree with me, or you just want to choose all the most violent options. Either way, I am totally here for it. Warning: Non violence related option pending.
Wannabe is leaning forward and his grin is wide. That works great. I took the extra minute to rinse my shirt in the hopes that it won’t stain. Now it’s practically sopping. I hurl it directly into his face and it makes a very satisfying squelching noise before it plops to the floor.
He’s still leaning forward, but the grin must have fallen off his face with the tee-shirt.
“Go to hell.” I tell him sweetly before I turn on my heel to go to class. He can have the damn shirt.
Fortunately for me, the teacher doesn’t seem to care that I’m late. He’s shuffling through the papers on his desk. I sneak to one of two open desks in a row and pray that he doesn’t notice me. Max is sitting across the room and shyly gives me a thumbs up. He did loan me a shirt, so I return the gesture.
The door opens again and Wannabe struts through it like he owns the place. The teacher looks up and frowns. “Mr. Drakon, so good of you to join us.”
“Oh, no problem.” Wannabe smirks. The teacher’s frown turns into a glower while a scant few kids in class chuckle. Of course, the only place for Wannabe to sit is directly behind me. At least his hair looks a little messed up.
With a little huff of displeasure, the teacher gets up and starts a lecture on the civil war. Honestly, I’m not listening. Partially because the teacher is really boring, but also because Wannabe is hovering over my shoulder and breathing down my neck.
“You never heard my condition.” He whispers.
“You never got out of my way.” I grumble.
“But all I wanted was a kiss.” He’s so close I can almost feel his lips against my skin.
I look back over my shoulder. Yep, he is entirely too close. “Why?”
“Why?” He repeats, seemingly confused by the question.
“Yeah, why? You don’t know me. The only reason for you to ask something like that is if you’re trying to be an asshole.”
“I’m . . . I’m not an asshole.” He sits back in his chair, looking hurt. “I mean, I’m a little wild, but . . .”
“No, I’m pretty sure you’re an asshole.” I turn my attention away from him.
He doesn’t bother me for the rest of class. I even manage to get out of there without talking to him again. Everything is uneventful until lunch. Now comes the trial of every new kid. Where to sit.
The tables are large and round. They sit about eight people cozily. Across the room is Max, who is desperately gesturing for me to sit with him and his friends. It looks like he saved me a seat next to him.
Wannabe is also trying to get my attention. His bid is holding up my shirt and pointing to it with an apologetic smile.
There are a few other tables with open seats. The closest one has a group of girls that are all wearing anime tee-shirts and seem to be in a hot debate. There’s another with only a single person at it. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but they’ve got a slight frame, are wearing a black hoodie, and people are avoiding them like the plague.