Page 30 of Faux Real
“What?” Oliver asks, his eyes darting to my open palm. “Right now?”
“Yes,” I whisper in a harsh tone, forcing a smile for the audience. “Take it. Quickly. People are watching.”
“Fine!” Oliver grumbles, reluctantly reaching out and grabbing my hand as we walk toward the senior’s common room. “Happy?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m simplyecstatic,” I say as our classmates’ faint whispers swirl around us.
Maybe Hilton Hears will retract their last blast. There are enough students around that the news should reach the wannabe Gossip Girl in no time. Here’s hoping.
As we turn the corner, Oliver adjusts his grip on my hand, his rough fingers linking through mine. They’re like gritty sandpaper, barnacles on an otherwise smooth rock.
“You have calluses,” I observe, the heat from his hand flowing up my arm. I didn’t notice them earlier, granted I was in a mild state of shock.
“Yes, I’m aware. They’re from drumming and riding,” he explains, cocking his head toward me and adjusting the textbook propped under his arm. “Is that a problem? Would you prefer it if I hadsoft feminine hands?”
“Nope. I have no preference.” I clear my throat, the tips of my fingers tingling as we reach our floor. “I was just making an observation.”
“Well,yourhand issweaty,” Oliver notes with a cheeky grin. “Just an observation.”
“Ah!” I exclaim, tugging my arm away. “No, it’s not! It’s just— it’s condensation fromyourstupidlyhothand.” I look the other way, hoping he doesn’t notice my cheeks burning up. “Maybe you should go get that checked out. It could be aseverehealth complication.”
“What sort of health complication stems fromwarm hands?” Oliver asks.
“Uh—I can’t think of anything off the top of my head but I’m sure it’s not normal to have such a high body temperature.”
“Well perhaps I’m dying then,” Oliver smirks. “Because I always runhot.” He pauses, subtly licking his lips. “Always.”
“Oh—” I swallow away a lump forming in the back of my throat. Maybe I’m getting sick. “Well in that case, maybe you should, um...move to Siberia then.”
Oliver chuckles. “Siberia? What?”
What?Oh, God.
“Uh—” I stammer, biting my lip as Oliver keenly waits for an explanation. Where was I going with this? Think, damn it, think! Oh. “Cause it’s cold there?”
“It’s cold?” he asks, an amused smile capturing his lips.
“Mhmm,” I hum, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. “You’d uh—you’d save a lot of money on coats...because you’re, you know, always...hot.”
Oh dear lord.What is coming out of my mouth? I’m usually good with words. No, I’mfantasticwith words, with explanations, with basic communication skills. It’s Oliver. He’s tripping me up with his stupid accent and his...height. Yes, his height. Tall people intimidate me.
“Coats?” Oliver asks, leaning toward me, his grey eyes scanning my face. “You alright? You look a little...flustered.”
“It’s been a long day,” I peep, inwardly whimpering. Why is he so close to my face? “I’m just—tired.”
Yes. I’m tired. Exhausted actually. I should nap. If I nap now, I can study later and then wake up early enough to run to town and back. Excellent idea. As per usual.
“Funny, me too,” he says in a low suggestive hum. “Maybe we should go and sleep...together.”
My eyes spring open at his outrageous and utterly inappropriate suggestion. “What?”
“What do you say, love?” Oliver wiggles his eyebrows. “Apparently, I can keep youverywarm.”
“Wha—”
I pause, catching a hint of mischief glowing in his eyes. Oh, he’s messing with me. Fuckface! He’s trying to rattle me. Well, two can play at this game. I straighten out my shoulders and take a stride toward him, my eyes hooded, flirtatious.
“My room or yours?” I ask in a whisper, biting my lip.
