Page 18 of The Thought of You

“So great of you to join us,” I chirp, infusing my voice with honey-sweet sarcasm. “You’re late, but at least you made it before we all left this time.”

“At least you remembered to, you know…” He twists his thin lips as he points across his chest and nods toward what better not be my breasts.

Except he’s totally referring to my breasts.

What was I thinking by telling him about my lack of bra last week? Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at all when I overshared, and I cannot believe he’s bringing it up now in front of the students and my friend.

On the other hand, I can believe it. The guy’s maturity level is that of a gnat.

Caroline pops in and stands on the other side of Austin, whose eyes crinkle in the corners as he stifles a grin with his palm.

When I glance back at Owen, he’s still looking at my chest, his lips now twitching like he’s fighting a laugh.

“What?” I clip.

Owen points at me again. “You got a little something on your ti—I mean, your chest.” He clears his throat and glances over my shoulder at some of the freshmen who poke at each other, completely oblivious to us.

I peer down and find three pieces of tissue paper clinging to the sequins on my vest.

“I can help you with those.” The goon stalks toward me with outstretched hands, a smirk the size of his ego stretching across his clean square jaw.

I swat Owen away and hiss, “You are so unprofessional.”

His gaze travels over my body and up to my mouth as amusement blinks in and out of his expression, alternating between it and something I can’t decipher.

I can usually read him easily—he’s not exactly a complex specimen—but this look is new.

Rustling distracts me from getting to the bottom of this mysterious element clouding Owen’s light eyes, and I drag my attention to the root of the interruption.

“Hey! Those are not for you.” I march toward the students rifling through my bag of Skittles, and I wave my hands over them like I would shoo away a swarm of flies. “You can have the cookies, though.”

“This is a huge bag of Skittles. Literally thousands, so plenty for us all.” Maple crosses her arms over her chest in an equally bold and very naïve move. Chucking the braces has done something extra special to her confidence, aka teenage snark.

“Literally refers to an actual fact, so it does not apply here.” I blink over her and Frances, who sidles up next to Maple like we’re in a standoff on the set of Grease.

God, they remind me so much of the evil twins I graduated with—Emily and Yvonne. They never ignored an opportunity to sling spiteful comments my way, and I was certainly an easy target. The backbone I now carry was only in the incubation stages back then.

But unlike the ornery PE teacher behind me, I am a professional. No haughty teenager, whether or not she reminds me of someone I once despised, is going to make me stoop down to her level.

“Let me give you a more accurate example of the word’s correct usage.” I exaggerate my contemplation with a double tap to my chin. “You literally have two hours to finish this float. If you don’t, you literally won’t be allowed to attend the dance on Saturday night. So, you should get to work literally right now.”

Several grumbles of outrage ensue as an overpowering presence casts a shadow over me.

The smell he dragged in with him is less potent now, and when his forearm brushes against mine, my skin pricks.

Is Owen offering his support, like a united front type of situation? Or is the jerk after my Skittles for himself? I can’t be sure.

Maple scoffs. “The only reason I’m even here is because my dad made me. What about the rest of our class? They didn’t show up. Why don’t they have to be punished?”

“Plenty of your classmates have helped as much as they could. Let’s be considerate of their obligations outside of school, shall we?” I say, carefully riding the delicate line of oversharing and being direct.

Instinctively, I flick my gaze over to Austin, who gives a simple but meaningful nod.

He never came to float when we were in high school. He had too many responsibilities at home, plus his part-time job at the auto shop. I had my own worries too—it’s how our friendship was first forged during our senior year.

“Miss Lockhart, this isn’t fair!” Maple whines, stepping forward like she’s the leader of the entire unruly pack as she garners their support.

This has gone far enough.

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