We start on our project, creating this stupidly simple board game that highlights the dangers of herpes. It's real, um, enlightening. It takes the rest of the day to finish, breaking for lunch in the middle.
Afterward, on our way out of the classroom, I feel Spencer step up close behind me. He slides his fingers in my back pocket and leans in, his breath stirring my hair.
“For later,” he whispers, and when I reach back to see what he's done, I find several condoms in my pants. My cheeks heat up, and I swallow hard. But we're not the only ones stealing condoms.
“Now where on earth did I put the rest of these?” Mr. Cruschek is murmuring, shaking out an empty Trojan box. Oops?
“For later, my ass,” I grumble, and Spencer grins at me.
“If that's where you want it …” he says, and I smack him. Hard. But he's muscular, and sexy, and it feels too good to be a punishment.
Damn it.
I really do like the guy, don't I?After class, we gather in the kitchen for Culinary Club, and I actually have to hide my head in the pantry for a brief moment to hide a few happy tears. I never thought I'd get to see another day like this ever again, with Spencer sitting on the edge of one of the countertops and sticking his finger in Ranger's frosting (sounds dirtier than it is), and hearing Spencer's sweet blood-curdling scream as Ranger stabs him with a fork and he bleeds all over said frosting.
Pure bliss.
Afterward, as we file out of the room, Spencer pens me in next to the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask, turning and catching his beautiful turquoise gaze. My heart thunders, but I manage to hold my composure.
“Remember what I said yesterday? We're talking, Chuck. Whether you like it or not.” He pauses, licks his lips, and glances away. I turn and find the twins in the window, watching us.
Great.
A captive audience.
A captive audience made up of super-hot identical twins, the gorgeous golden boy president, and his tatted up VP.
“Even if you just want to be friends,” Spencer continues, turning back to look at me again. The intensity in his eyes is staggering, like a tropical storm, one that I want to strip naked for and dance in the rain. Shit. “That's okay. Just … tell me.”
“What are the alternatives?” I ask, because I hadn't really let myself get that far. Frankly, I'm still recovering from his near-death experience.
“Be my … boyfriend,” Spencer says, flashing that fox grin of his. He leans in toward me, like he did that day when he pinned me against the tree and kissed the shit out of me. His lips trace along the side of my neck, and I shiver. My eyes close of their own accord. “I know I'm a bit of a dick, but give me a chance, Chuck.”
“You tried to beat me up,” I murmur, and Spencer grins.
“Don't lie: I saw that bully romance book in your room. Who doesn't love a good enemies-to-lovers romance? Besides, you had it coming, you dickhead.”
“Screw you,” I murmur back, flushing from head to toe.
A new boyfriend, huh?
Dad would hate that.
I honestly don't care.
“Spencer,” I start, and then the door swings inward.
“Guys, you need to see this,” Ranger whispers, and Spencer and I exchange a look before following them out into the hallway.
There's another note from Adam, taped to my locker (my original locker that I just recently got back because, you know, student council connections and all).
It's written in purple ink, just like all the others.Dear Eve,
That death was no suicide.
We both know that should've been you hanging in that tree.
Run, run, as fast as you can.
Love, Adam“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I choke out as Ranger snatches the note from me and reads it, his teeth clenched, his hand tightening into a fist and wrinkling the edge of the paper.
“This is such bullshit.” He looks up and over at Church. “Can't we pay some independent forensic lab to test this shit? There must be fingerprints or fibers or something they could use to figure out who wrote this.”
“That's not a terrible idea,” Church says as Spencer gapes at the note.
“These are the sort of notes you've been getting?” he asks, raking his fingers through his silver hair. “Who the hell is this sick fuck?” A dark look flashes over his face, and I imagine that if he knew, the whole 'let's beat him up' mantra that the boys are always calling out would ring very, very true.
“This is the fourth one,” I admit, gritting my teeth. “But they're getting worse, more violent. Do you think I should show it to my dad?”
“That's up to you,” Ranger says, frowning hard. This little crease appears between his dark brows, and I have to resist the urge to reach out with my thumb and smooth it away. “But this scares me. I'm worried about you, Char—lie.” I smile. He almost called me Charlotte again.
