Page 82 of Ruthless Court
I glance toward Professor Aldridge. He’s reading something on his tablet, either unaware or wisely refusing to participate.
Kane sets one hand on my desk.
“Move.”
“No.”
His eyes drop to my glasses, then climb to the bun on top of my head.
“Still wearing those?”
“I enjoy seeing.”
“They make you look like a footnote.”
I stare at him. “A footnote?”
“Small print. Extra information nobody asked for.”
“That’s surprisingly literary for you.”
His jaw shifts.
“Move, Footnote or do you like Bookworm better?”
“Ass.”
Two students nearby pretend to organize their notebooks while listening to every word.
Kane bends closer.
Clean soap. Rain. A trace of whatever athletes rub into sore muscles.
“You crashed my party, ruined two shirts, and now stole my seat. Begging for my attention? Book worm?”
“Um, no… please. You are the one who walked into me twice.”
“You’re a menace. Clumsy. I’m a world class athlete. You ran into me, sweetheart.”
“You’re blocking the board, dick head.”
“I love it when you talk dirty, Sandy.”
Professor Aldridge finally looks up.
“Mr. Haverhill, unless you plan to teach today, sit down.”
A few people laugh.
Kane holds my gaze another second, then drops into the chair beside me.
His knee hits mine beneath the narrow desk.
I shift away.
He doesn’t.
The lecture begins.
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