Page 63 of All My Kisses for You

His smile is grim. “Then there will be hell to pay.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rhett

I wait for Willow outside of our English class, anxious to talk to her. I haven’t seen her since Friday morning when Westscott dragged me away from her. Such a dick move. I messaged her over the weekend and apologized over it, and she was sweet, reassuring me it wasn’t my fault. Then we talked about football and the fact that she was home for the weekend, which was a disappointment. I wanted to see her. Was even going to ask her if she wanted to hang out Saturday night, but my plans were crushed by her being off-campus.

We’ve been vibing all week. I was swamped with school work and football, and she was always patient, always seemingly eager to talk to me. I like that. I like that she’s not naggy or demanding, though I never believed she would be. She’s cool. I like her.

A lot.

I was completely preoccupied over the weekend anyway, so I didn’t have too much time on my hands to feel down that she wasn’t around. After our close win, Coach called special practice sessions both Saturday and Sunday because we need to make sure we’re up to speed for the first home game this upcoming Friday.

We had an extra practice this morning too—we will all week, just like we did last week. I was up by five-thirty and went for a run. Worked out with weights for thirty minutes and then was out on the field, sweating my ass off despite the cool air and the misty clouds that hung over the stadium.

My energy hasn’t waned though. If anything, I’m even more amped up. Excited to see her. Hear her voice. Flirt with her a little bit. Willow Lancaster is nothing but repressed energy, and I can sense there’s a bad girl underneath all that innocent shine and she’s dying to come out. I can’t get the memories of her from that party a couple of weeks ago out of my head, when I kept whispering in her ear. The way she leaned into me. Those breathy sounds she made and how her body trembled.

I look forward to seeing her on campus. In class. Talking to her via DMs when we’re not in class and practice is long done. We stayed up way too late Thursday night chatting, which I thought would have me dragging ass on Friday but I was fine. She gives me energy.

Life.

Fuuuuck, she’s going to be my undoing if I don’t watch it. And I need to stay focused. Football is number one on my priority list. School is number two. Girls—Willow—will have to be number three.

I check my phone for the time. Two minutes or less until the final bell rings. Minus the first day of school in our photography class, she’s always early.

Where the hell is she?

The bell is literally ringing when I see her running down the hall, headed straight for me. I push away from the wall, waiting for her, and she comes to an abrupt stop when she notices me standing there. Her shiny loafers squeak as she shuffles her feet along the floor and her cheeks are a dewy pink.

“Rhett!” she chastises. “You should get inside. The bell just rang.”

She goes zooming right past me without waiting for a reply and I follow her into the classroom. “Where were you?”

“Running a little late.” She practically falls into her desk.

I sit in the one behind her like usual. “You’re never late.”

“You’ve known me for a couple of weeks. Meaning, you don’t know me that well at all.” She sniffs, turning so her back is to me. All that long, glossy dark hair swings and I’m tempted to pull on a strand.

I rear back a little, mulling over what she just said. Her dismissive attitude. What’s her problem? I’m filled with the sudden urge to get under her skin—what’s fair is fair, right? She’s definitely under mine.

“Pretty sure I’ve got you somewhat figured out, Will. You’re an early bird.” I give in to my impulses and wrap a thick, silky curl around my finger once. Twice, before I give it a hard tug, making her yelp and jerk away from me. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Willow sends me a quick glance from over her shoulder, seemingly surprised that I can read her so well. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Uh huh.” I don’t believe her. She’s acting weird. “You know you don’t have to keep anything from me.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and I just know something is bugging this girl. But what could it be?

Mrs. Patel starts taking attendance, but I’m barely paying attention. I’m too caught up in watching Willow. How the tension never leaves her shoulders. How she keeps fidgeting, like she can’t get comfortable.

Seriously. What’s wrong with her?

Of course, I can’t ask her because today’s the day our teacher decides to give a big lecture on the joys of F. Scott Fitzgerald and his books. She rambles on about the meaning behind the novel we’re supposed to be reading, The Great Gatsby.

I haven’t even cracked it open yet.

She even has some of us read parts of the book out loud, which means I keep my head down, hopeful she doesn’t call on me. I can’t concentrate for shit, too wrapped up in the swing of Willow’s hair and how I can smell her perfume, that faintly floral scent I remember inhaling Friday night when she sat on my lap. I wish I could bury my face in her neck and breathe deep, imprinting her smell on my senses forever. If I did that though, she’d probably freak the hell out.

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