He’s talking in circles. Putting us through turmoil for no reason. The solution is simple. Literally right in front of us.

“Kiss me, Jace.”

“No.”

Irritation ripples through me. I’m growing tired of these stupid mixed signals that are impossible to decode.

“Then let me go.”

His gaze falls to my lips and he leans in. “I can’t.”

Before I can blink, his lips feather over mine in a whisper of a kiss.

They’re gone just as quickly.

“Got it,” Jace declares, taking several steps back.

“Got what?” Cole questions, taking the words from my mouth.

Jace holds up his finger briefly then wipes it on his pants. “Dylan had an eyelash in her eye. You know what a baby she is when it comes to eyeballs.”

Cole nods. “She’s the worst. Couldn’t even sit through Saw IV without getting squeamish.”

Jace laughs while I shoot them both dirty looks.

Liam gives me a sympathetic smile. “I d-don’t lik-k-ke eyeballs-s-s either, D-D-Dylan.”

“Yeah, they’re gross.” I turn my attention back to Jace. “Um. Can we—”

“I thought you were leaving?” He averts his gaze. “I have shit to do anyway, so you probably should.”

We both know Jace doesn’t have shit to do. I read the asshole loud and clear.

“Right.” I grab my hoodie. “See you around.”

“W-w-wait,” Liam calls out. “Y-y-you could h-h-hang out w-w-with me.”

Normally I’d take Liam up on the offer, but I don’t want to be anywhere near Jace.

“Thanks, Liam. Maybe next time.”

Chapter 9

Dylan

Turns out there are worse things at RHA than the girls’ bathroom.

Arriving late to class.

Ignoring the beads of sweat trickling down my back, I quickly scan the room as who I’m assuming must be the teacher—given she’s standing at the front of the room with a scowl on her face and all—sighs in exasperation.

“Class started three minutes ago,” she informs me curtly as I make a beeline for the nearest open seat in the back of the room.

Everyone studies me like I’m some new microbe in a petri dish and I walk even faster. “Sorr—”

“Move,” a gruff voice bites out the second my ass hits the seat.

When I turn my head to the right, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Jace is slumped over his desk…glaring daggers at me. “Get a new seat. Now.”

Breathe, Dylan.

I look him right in the eyes. “Nah. I’m good right here.”

Those gorgeous eyes of his darken as he sits up. “Trust me, you’re not. Do us both a favor and sit somewhere else.”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Covington?” the teacher calls out.

He turns his attention to her. “Yeah. This bi—”

“Make me.”

If I wasn’t already aware everyone was watching our exchange, I would be now.

Jace’s voice drops suggestively and my heart speeds up for a different reason. “That would involve touching you.” His mouth curves into a disgusted sneer when our eyes connect. “Hard pass.”

I force myself to pretend his dig doesn’t hurt like hell. “Good.” I straighten my spine and face forward. “Then sitting next to me shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

I’m poking the bear, but I no longer care. It’s clear he isn’t the same Jace. And the asshole who took his place can go fuck himself.

I’m whipping out my tablet so I can take notes when he speaks again.

“You’re right. I just figured you might want to sit next to Oakley.”

Soft snickers fill the classroom. The organ in my chest twists at his betrayal.

Jace kicks the desk on the other side of him, and a groggy Oakley bolts up from his slumber. “Is it over yet? Can we go get pancakes?”

The snickers turn to laughs…until aggravation clouds Jace’s features. “I think Dylan wants to sit next to you, bro.”

A deaf person could hear the implication loud and clear.

My stomach rolls. I think Dylan would rather eat dirt. “No—”

“I’ve got a seat she can sit on,” Oakley says, cutting me off. “Again.”

A few guys reach over to give him a pound, while a group of girls shake their heads in dismay before giving me a look of repulsion.

Oakley gets laughs and high-fives, I get abhorrence.

Even though the rumor he started impacts us both. Double standard much?

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jace glance in my direction. Waiting.

Waiting for me to crumble…or better yet—go off the deep end and scream obscenities at Oakley in the name of defending myself.

Put on a show and feed the drama.

Because that’s what these people love most.

My throat grows tight as I look down at my tablet.

I’m not giving these people shit.

And Jace won’t get a reaction out of me until he uses that asshole mouth of his to tell me why he hates me so much.

Chapter 10

Jace

“How do they expect us to be healthy when they serve crap like gourmet pizza and pasta?” Britney whines before pointing a finger at her friend stationed across the table. “Don’t eat that, Hayley. You were sloppy at cheer practice yesterday. Lay off the carbs.”

If I was Hayley, I’d tell Britney to shut the fuck up and eat my snatch. But like the loyal, pathetic Britney follower she is, Hayley puts her forkful of linguine down. “Yeah, you’re right.” She gives Oakley, who’s sitting beside her, the stink eye as she pushes her tray forward. “I’ve just been really stressed lately.”

High as hell and perceptive as fuck, Oak lunges for her plate. “More for me.”

“It’s totally understandable,” Britney coos sympathetically. “But just because your life is a train wreck, doesn’t mean you have to look like one.” Her gaze catches on something and she laughs. “Exhibit A.”

Old habits die hard because my initial reaction is to put Britney in her place. Fortunately, I come to my senses.

I’ll give my old pal credit. She’s lasted longer than most.

I tamp down the urge to laugh as I watch her look around the cafeteria for a place to sit. She’s not at her breaking point yet, but she looks out of her element.

And nervous.

The earbuds in her ears and the fact she’s absently mouthing the lyrics to one of her favorite songs are dead giveaways.

“The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World. The song was released the same day she was born. And eight years before her mom died.

But no one else would know those things about Dylan.

Not unless they know her like I do. Like I thought I did.

Britney grimaces. “Her bag is ancient, her Doc Martens are an emo fashion disaster, and that mop on top of her head looks like a blue snow cone…after someone pukes it up.”

All that shit might be true, but I guarantee Dylan doesn’t give a single fuck what anyone thinks about her appearance.