Page 12 of All Your Pucking Secrets

He looks completely unconcerned. “I’m happy here.”

“Well, I’m not happy with you here. Get lost.” I huff and catch a whiff of menthol. Great. He still smells the same as he always did. Part of me wants to breathe him in and reminisce while the rest of my mind is screaming at me to run.

“How are you?” He doesn’t move. “Were you okay last night? I was worried about you.”

My jaw drops. The absolute nerve of this guy. Asking if I was okay as if he wasn’t the reason I was very much not okay.

“That’s none of your business,” I tell him.

“But I’d like it to be,” he murmurs, and my tummy flips over at his low, husky tone. The same one that used to drive me wild. “I care about you, Echo. I know it’s been a long time, but I want—”

“I don’t care what you want,” I hiss, wary of speaking too loudly and drawing attention. “Leave me alone.”

He gives me a hurt look, as if I’m the unreasonable one between the two of us.

I’m perfectly reasonable. I cut someone who hurt me out of my life and moved away from a town that had treated me unkindly as soon as humanly possible. All of that was logical. He’s the one muddying the waters.

Tyler hefts his backpack onto his lap and opens it, the zipper loud enough to grate on my frayed nerves. He reaches inside and draws out a small gift box, which he offers to me.

I ignore him.

“Come on, Echo. Take it.”

When I don’t respond, he reaches for my bag as if to slide it inside. I snatch the bag away and shove his shoulder, annoyed when I’m tempted to keep my hand on the firm muscle and savor it for a moment.

“I want you to have this,” he says quietly. “Think of it as a peace offering.”

“If you put that anywhere near me, I’m going to throw it across the room,” I say through gritted teeth.

His nostrils flare. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“How about I’ll tell you that when you tell me why you’re bothering me after three blessed years of never having to see your awful face?”

To my surprise, he winces.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m here for you.”

“And I don’t believe you.” Once upon a time, I would have, but I’ve learned that Tyler likes to play games. He enjoys hurting people. The only reason he’s here is because it benefits him for some reason—and I’m sure it’s not that he’s been pining for me since we graduated high school.

Fortunately, at that moment, the professor arrives. It’s only then that it occurs to me that this isn’t the sort of class Tyler should be taking. It’s behavioral analysis, which is a prerequisite for my psychology degree, but I doubt it’s relevant for the business degree he intended to study toward.

That means he’s here only to mess with me.

As the professor begins speaking, I force myself to pay attention by jotting down a summary of everything he says in a form of shorthand I developed myself. I got tired of people trying to cheat off me, and now they never can.

After a few minutes, Tyler’s knee bumps against mine. Sparks sizzle up my thigh and I do my best to ignore them.

“Do you still want to be a doctor?” he asks under his breath.

The guy in front of us turns and glares. I mouth a silent apology.

“Echo?” Tyler prompts.

“No.” Back when we were together, I’d intended to go into pre-med, but that changed after The Incident.

“Then what?” he asks.

I pretend not to hear. He leans sideways, getting way too far inside my personal space, making it difficult to breathe without inhaling his masculine menthol scent.

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