Page 20 of The Tenth Circle
Stepping to the side, I gesture for him to pass.
He does so with a nod. “Later, Hendrix.”
“Later, Stevenson.”
The second he disappears into the stairwell I’m on the hunt again, weaving through the masses with a higher sense of awareness of body space.
I turn a corner, then another, cursing the assholes taking their time when I’m tired of wasting mine.
Then, in the near distance, I spot a glimpse of familiar platinum hair hiding behind some giant of a man.
Things seem cordial but concern lingers for the simple fact Bex is way more passive than me and some of the twats in this school.
Then, the giant’s face shifts slightly, revealing the star quarterback I’ve been drawing and stabbing with pencils all week.
Oh, hell. Fucking. No.
Concern turns to boiling rage as my feet pick up speed.
I contain the feeling as much as I can, not wanting to show my hand, so I do in the form of worry.
“Dude! What the hell?!” I fix her bag over my shoulder again. “You disappeared for over twenty minutes. Gibson was pissed.”
Saint has the nerve to greet me with a wide grin—all handsome, confident, and repulsive.
Oh how badly I want to whip out a pencil.
Get him right in the cheek.
But, instead of the preferred wanton aggression, I choose the least obvious option and stab him with my eyes.
No satisfaction for pricks.
“I don’t believe we’ve met, either.” Saint holds out his hand for me to shake, similar to Stevenson but far less sincere.
In fact, it’s mocking, because not only is he continuing this “Hendrix doesn’t exist” charade, his eyes are trickling down my body like a bead of sweat.
Fuck this guy right up the ass with Bex’s sparkly dildo. Which won’t be hard to find since she forgets to hide it every night.
“Uh. Hendrix,” Bex says in her default awkward tone. “This is Saint, Crayton’s best friend.”
Lest we forget Crayton. The psycho she’s become enamored by who I refuse to acknowledge…along with hisbest friend.
The self control lasts about three seconds before I look down at Saint’s outstretched hand and spit out, “Gross.”
“Harsh,” he counters, dropping his hand.
I rip a page from Saint’s book and ignore the comment. “You’ve been hanging out with him?” I turn and face my friend, creating a much needed barrier between my chest and his bright blues. “Seriously, Bex?”
I feel his eyes on my ass now—and I refuse to acknowledge the same pattern from my Crazyman. We are not going there.
Nope.
Not while I have pretenses to maintain.
“Hey. What’s wrong withhim?” Saint pouts like the petulant child he’s proving to be.
My head whips his way. “Besides the rumors you’ve slept with the entire female population?”
