Page 61 of A Stealthy Situation

“Yeah, thanks.”

He holds out the stick, and I take it, gaze catching something on his hand. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” He opens his hand. “Ah, just a scar. I’ve had it since I was little.”

It’s a good one too. Raised and shiny white, stretching across his palm.

There’s only one problem.

I kissed that hand.

That palm … didn’t I?

I stretch my memory back, trying to remember exactly which hand it was. The more I think, the more sure I am.

“That … that wasn’t there before.”

He snatches his hand back. “What?”

“The other night. Maybe …” I laugh and run my hand over my face. “I think I’m going crazy, but I swear that wasn’t there when we … you know. Don’t worry, my mind is just playing tricks on me.”

Benny looks confused as hell for a moment, and then his face morphs. “H-Harrison?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, fuck.”

His voice is so loud it draws attention from the people around us, made even worse when he scrambles for his bag.

“What’s going on up there?” Professor Brooks calls, making yet more people look.

I drop my voice. “You okay, Benny?”

“Fine. I’m fine. I just … I have to go. Not feeling well.” He holds up a hand—the non-scarred one that’s currently lodged in his pocket—to Professor Brooks. “Sorry, sir. Feeling horrible. Gotta run. Class was great. Everything was great.” He keeps rambling all the way down the stairs to the front of the class, and then when his feet hit solid ground, he bolts.

I’m left staring at the door swinging back closed behind him, feeling like something is very, very wrong.

18

BENNY

I have a screen full of missed calls and texts from Em when I climb out of the shower, and my heart shoots into my throat. They’re a mix of “I fucked up” to “I’m sorry,” and now he isn’t answering, and I’m starting to freak out.

Towel clung to my hips, I make for my room, trying him again, while I remind my heart to just stop for a fucking second until I find out what the hell is going on. Those messages don’t automatically mean he’s in trouble. They don’t. He’s still fucking alive, so the rest we can deal with.

I make it to my room and rip through my drawers to find a clean pair of underwear to pull on. Anything has to be better than trying to handle a crisis in a towel.

My phone goes off, and I dive for it, hoping for Em and finding a text from Harrison instead.

Everything okay?

What the hell is going on?

Normally my default is to reply to him instantly, but the twist in my gut makes me wait. Em’s freaked out about something, and Harrison wants to know if I’m okay, which clues me into the fact that maybe something happened between them. Did Harrison spot him in class and think he was me? Did they kiss? Fight?

“Fuck.” One hand rests on my head as I press my phone to the ear with the other, listening to it ring and ring and cut out again. “Fucking shit fuck.”

My window thumps open, and Emmett all but falls inside. He struggles out of his bag and pushes to his feet, eyes wildly meeting mine.

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