Page 4 of Merrily Ever After
“Lara, right?” The words come out like a croak.
“What?”
“Your name.”
“I …” She seems startled. “Yes.”
“I’m Oliver.”
“I know.”
And doesn’t that just make my ego jump ten feet high. “Nice to meet you.”
She looks at me, aghast. “You need to go to the nurse.”
“Nah. Just give me a minute.” And an icepack.
I am vaguely aware of other students streaming past us, either not noticing or not caring that their fellow student is crumpled on the ground, but I don’t judge them for it. My parents would kill me if I got expelled before classes even really started. Which reminds me.
I roll onto my back and meet Lara’s worried gaze. “Go.”
“What?”
“You have to go, or you’ll get caught. You’ll be in trouble.”
Her forehead creases. She doesn’t move.
“Lara—”
“You go, too.”
I keep my hands cupped over my poor soldier and give her a look.
She hesitates. “Right.” A resigned expression takes over. “Right,” she repeats again, a little quieter this time.
Shestilldoesn’t move.
“You’ll get suspended,” I press, which is a reach, but I don’t want her to get in any trouble at all, so it’s best to scare her. The smart kids scare easily.
But she gets a stubborn look on her face. “So will you.”
Maybe. Unless I can talk my way out of it. It’s my only option right now. The pain is already starting to subside a bit, from sheer torture to this just really hurts, but there’s still no way I can get up in the next few minutes.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to sound stern. “Go.” But she’s not even looking at me, she’s staring at the bob of the flashlight as it comes ever closer.
She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath, and rises to her knees.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused, as she whips off her cardigan.
“It’s my fault you can’t run,” she says, taking a clip from her hair. Her curls bounce down and I get a sweet waft of her shampoo that momentarily distracts me.
“But what—”
My heart just about leaps out of my chest as she swings her leg over my body. Warm weight settles on my stomach and my hands fly to her waist because what else are you supposed to do when a girl straddles you? But whether I’m trying to nudge her off or keep her there, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, because a second later, she reaches for the hem of her T-shirt and pulls it up and over her head.
Bronze skin. Soft stomach. Black bra molded to breasts that I’m pretty sure I’ll spend the rest of my life dreaming about.
Oh, Christ, am I hallucinating? Can you hallucinate from a kick to the balls? “What are you—”
