Page 4 of Wicked Mistletoe

Should I just go to class even though I’m late already? Or am I supposed to just wait here forever?What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

My mind is spinning with indecision when the library door squeaks open.Oh shit.Quickly, I pull out the nearest textbook and scurry back to my seat to pretend I’ve been deep in study mode this whole time. I place the book on the table and run my hand over it—once, twice, three times—but it does nothing to calm the sudden rush of nerves.

When I finally look up, I see his shoes first. No way. My stomach flips. Same guy from the cafeteria? Mr. Nice Shoes? My gaze crawls up, and sure enough, there he is. Those silvery eyes catch mine for a second, and it’s like a mini staring contest before my eyes start burning and I quickly shift my gaze to his neck.

Fuck! It’s definitelyhim.

He slides into the chair across from mine, and we’re both stuck in this awkward silence. I’m just about to break it when he suddenly reaches into his jacket. For a second, I think he’s mimicking me. Then he starts to pull his hand out, and my brain jumps to something ridiculous—what if he’s about to pull something insane like a knife? Okay, maybe not a knife—but instead, he pulls out… a chocolate bar?

He pushes it across the table toward me without a word. And I just blink at the thing as if it might attack me, confusion pulling my brows together. Then my gaze drifts to the tip of his crooked nose.

“You missed lunch. Thought you’d be hungry,” he says by way of explanation, and a little warmth wraps around my spine. My fingers hover over the chocolate bar before I finally pick it up.

“Uh, thanks,” I mumble, quickly peeling off the wrapper and taking a bite. It’s rich and sweet, and suddenly I realize just how hungry I am. I’m aware of his eyes on me as I practically inhale the chocolate bar, but I deliberately focus on his hands—big, rough hands, resting on the table.

A little embarrassed at myself, I flip open the textbook in front of me for a distraction. Physics. Perfect. “So,” I ask, turning a few pages like I’m casually running a tutoring session, “what’s your weakest subject? Which one do you need help with the most?”

He waits a beat, then says, “Now that you’re not about to pass out from hunger, I’ll give you my answer:no.”

My gaze snaps to his brows. “No?”

“No, I do not want to be fucking tutored by a girl two years younger than me—no offense. I don’t need it, no matter what Logan thinks.” His face hardens into a fierce scowl. “I’ll come here every day like he wants, but don’t you even dare try to tutor me, got it?”

Huh. Well damn, isn’t he just a ray of sunshine...

My eyes drop back to the book, but the words on the page blur into an indecipherable mess as I try to think of how to get past this Mount Everest of an attitude. I mean, I was all set to begrudgingly help the guy, mainly to avoid feeling guilty when he inevitably failed. But now? Now that I know who it is?

I’m actuallyexcitedto tutor him.

Not just because he stood up for me in the cafeteria or gave me a chocolate bar. And not because I can’t fathom sitting across from him every day and just staring at each other in awkward silence. Not even because it might make me finally go mad.

No. It’s because Ilikebeing around him. Twice now. And every time my spine tingles and my toes curl, like my body’s reacting to his presence before my mind catches up. It’s like standing too close to a live wire—there’s danger, sure, but hell, is it thrilling.

“Rafael, I?—”

“How do you know my name,Emilia?”

“Probably the same way you know mine. From the principal, Mr. Logan.” I shoot him a look that says, “Seriously?” He gruntsin response and leans back, crossing his arms, watching me with an almost amused intensity.

“Look,” I start again, “I’m grateful for what you did in the cafeteria, and for bringing me the chocolate. You seem like a nice guy and?—”

A snicker cuts through my sentence, yanking me out of my train of thought. I glare at him, but he just waves me on like this whole thing is a big joke. Whatever. I roll my eyes and continue, “If we’re going to meet here every day anyway, we might as well do the tutoring. What’s the point of wasting both our time?”

The corner of his lips tilt up in a smirk, and he leans in with his elbows on the table, “Here’s the deal: I’ll let yoututorme if you share something about yourself—something only a few people know, something you wouldn’t want others to find out.”

What? This guy, who’s been nothing but a mystery, is now asking for my deepest secrets? I chew on the inside of my cheek, weighing my options. “Fine… but only if you tell me something nobody knows about you as well.” I counter, meeting his gaze by accident, and?—.

Oh, God.

Everything muffles—even my thumping heart—and the world blacks out at the edges of my vision. I’m falling, drowning, lost in the shimmering depths that look like liquid mercury, a hauntingly beautiful silver, as chilling as the winter frost outside yet burning with a fierce intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, the words escaping unbidden.

Something flickers in those mesmerizing depths—surprise? Amusement? For a split second, I see past the cocky façade, glimpsing something raw and real. Then I blink, and it’s gone. Did I imagine that?

Suddenly, the reality of what I’ve just done crashes over me like a tidal wave. Oh no. No, no, no. I just complimented him.Out loud. To his face. Panic rises in my throat, choking me. What’s wrong with me? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

My eyes skitter away to settle on his ears, my heart pounding so forcefully I’m sure he can hear it. Heat creeps up my neck, and I can feel the blush spreading, betraying me. Great, now he probably thinks I’m some awkward, blushing schoolgirl with a crush. Which I’m not. Definitely not… Right?

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