Page 64 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

She gives me an uncertain look.

“What?” I ask. “You wanted me to listen to a Taylor Swift song, and I want to listen to this one.”

Giving in, Margot presses play but not without warning. “Just don’t make it weird.”

The song starts, and even though the intro is softer than what I’d usually listen to, I wouldn’t say it’s bad. The tempo during the pre-chorus even has my head bobbing. Being this close to Margot while listening to a song about secret hookups playing in my ear might bring back a few memories from this afternoon. My only saving grace is that I’ve never seen her in a dress. If I had, I might be imagining taking it off her a little too easily.

“Well?” Margot asks when the song ends.

Bringing my lips to her ear, I whisper, “Well, that song is certainly inspiring me to want to do something, but I’m not sure writing is it.”

She pushes me away from her, but her cheeks flare. “I knew you’d make it weird.” The next song on her playlist starts, and I immediately recognize the familiar opening guitar rift from “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys. Now I know I’m screwed. This song already makes me think of her, and listening to it with her sitting here is enough to make my hand wander to her thigh.

“What are you doing?” she breathes, her body tense.

I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s not like we’re going to have sex in the middle of the damn common room, but even though I know that, I still want to be closer to her. I want to feel the way her breath catches when she’s turned on. I want to see her lips part from something I’ve said. Hell, I want her to want me—just a little bit longer.

Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who wants those things, and the other guy looks like he’s headed over here to give us a piece of his mind.

41

margot

I shift out of Jackson’s reach as Keith approaches, and thankfully, Jackson has the common sense to take his hand off my leg. “Keith, I’m sorry I didn’t see your messages all day. I couldn’t find my phone.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Keith,” Jackson adds a little too apologetically. “She left it in my room.”

I glare at Jackson before looking back at Keith. His eyes jump between us, and I can only imagine the puzzle he’s piecing together.

Keith’s gaze finally settles on me, and I feel the weight that comes along with it. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

I don’t want to go somewhere with him alone. The pressure of this conversation already feels suffocating, and I don’t think we have anything to talk about.

Both guys are staring at me, each trying to sort out what I’m thinking.

“Um,” I finally say. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.” I look over at Jackson for help.

A slow smile pulls at his perfect lips. “Oh, no. We’re done. You are free.”

I balk at him, but all I’m met with is the familiar glint of challenge behind his eyes.

My eyes dart to Keith again, and I blurt, “I really need to study.” I’m not even sure I would believe the words coming out of my mouth, but it’s the only thing I can think to say.

Keith’s frown deepens, and I feel terrible. But he texted me so many times, and this needs to stop. I knew he might have a crush on me, but he was texting me like I betrayed him.

Jackson picks at his guitar strings. “Maybe you and Keith can discuss things over dinner.”

“What?” I snap, but he keeps his eyes on his guitar like he never said a thing.

Keith’s voice somehow makes it to my ears. “I mean, I’m free later if?—”

“No,” I say with more force than probably necessary.

Jackson finally looks up from his guitar to meet my gaze, his hands stilling. “No?”

“No,” I repeat, giving him a warning look.

Jackson stares at me for a long moment, and I almost falter under the intensity behind his eyes. “I could have sworn you were done studying.”

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