Page 40 of Satan's Spawn
Crayton looks anything but amused as his gaze deadlocks on mine, forcing me to look down to my feet.
Shit, shit, shit.
How the hell does he do that? Make me want to shrink to nothing without even saying a word? Without even being near me?
When my eyes lift again, his stare is even harder than before, like my reaction is pissing him off.
So then why the hell won’t he look away?
Leave me alone.
My breath hitches as he runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, as if contemplating all the ways he can rip me apart limb from limb with his teeth.
It’s scary, as it should be. So why the hell is there this flutter of excitement in my belly with the sight of him so…sadistic?
A hand on my back makes me jump, breaking me out of this twisted bubble I found myself in with Crayton.
I don’t dare to look over at him again.
“Shit, sorry.” Archer laughs. “You okay?”
The apology in that question is proof he knows why I was distracted.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I force a smile, even though all I want to do is steal another glance at Crayton. To feel those flutters again.
“Ignore the asshole. You’re one of us now.” Archer whispers as ushers me ahead, Hendrix following.
“Where’s your group?” I question, noticing everyone’s attention on me again.
“By the entrance, c’mon.” He picks up his pace.
I spot a bunch of guys, even a couple girls in the mix surrounding the table closest to the door, and assume it must be his friends since they’re the only ones who don’t seem to be paying attention to us.
They’re too busy focusing on the guy and girl standing and acting out some sort of exaggerated skit.
The drama club, of course.
Archer did mention he was the leader of it.
I can get on board with the artsy, free spirits for sure. I live with two of the like. It’s probably why I’ve become comfortable so quickly with Archer.
I tell myself “fuck it” and shake off my nerves, the dirty looks, mentally preparing myself to make, what I hope is, the best first impression to more potential new friends.
Smile, be yourself, forget about the jerks. That monster. You got this, Bex.
The pep talk adds a little spring in my step, enough so that I don’t even acknowledge the feminine whispers at the table we’re passing. Which includes Alexis. Instead, I glance over at Hendrix, who’s already plucking a piece of sesame chicken off her plate.
The little spring goes full on flop, though, as I trip on something and pummel to the floor, the contents of my bag flying out as I land on top of my tray of spaghetti.
Effectively turning my white oxford a gross orangy red.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
The entire room erupts into laughter around me, and it isn’t until Archer is helping me up that I process what’s happened.
“You stupid bitch. You tripped her.” Hendrix sneers behind me as Archer steadies me on my feet. My hands are shaking with adrenaline.
“The skeezy bitch should’ve watched where she was going.” Annalie, a girl I share math with also, and one of Alexis’ minion’s, cackles. “Plus, I heard she likes being on her knees.”
