Page 11 of Undeniable

I expected her to ream me for not paying attention to her or participating, but her green eyes glinted with curiosity.

“Umm… why do you want to know?”

“I just…” I began and rephrased my next comment so many different ways in my head that I finally gave up. “I just don’t see you around very often unless we’re with your family or in class. I was wondering what you do… on the weekends.” Thankfully, it didn’t sound as condescending as it had in my head. At least to me.

Her brows furrowed, and she moved the notebook and her pen from her lap to the bed beside her. She readjusted and stretched her legs out in front of her. The toned muscles in her thighs and calves flexed and she rolled her head along her shoulders as she leaned backward, letting her weight fall on her hands.

Her red hair, which grew lighter over the years, fell over her shoulders.

I didn’t see her like that much anymore—relaxed and unbothered. On the off chance we were stuck together, she mostly ignored me or threw annoyed scowls in my direction.

I much preferred the version of Ivy now sitting in front of me.

“Just because I don’t hang out with the same people you do doesn’t mean I’m notaround.”

“Sure. But, like, this weekend, why didn’t you come to the bonfire? The entire senior class was there.”

She tilted her head to the side like she was cataloging my question and appraising me at the same time. Her undivided attention made me apprehensive, and I readjusted in the small, white desk chair that was obviously not made or purchased with a fully grown man in mind.

Finally, I looked away from her and down at my fidgeting hands for something else to do.

“I actually did go to the bonfire,” she said. My gaze bounced to hers. She didn’t seem angry or upset, only resigned to the fact that I’d obviously been so caught up in my own bubble, my own world with my own friends, that I’d completely overlooked her. I didn’t mention the fact that most of Saturday night felt like a hazy, far-off memory. I didn’t even remember getting home, and I’d had to piece together most of the night from photos a few of my friends sent me.

It wasn’t my finest hour.

“Really?”

She nodded slowly. “I just didn’t participate in the… chaos.”

“I’m not sure how I missed you,” I muttered, mostly to myself, but she heard me, of course. We were only a few feet apart.

Her laugh was soft and she leaned forward, recrossing her legs and retrieving the notebook once again. “I can tell you how you did it. You were really drunk, for one. And when you weren’t playing some stupid drinking game with my brother and Brendon, you were a little preoccupied with Madison. Or was it Hailey?”

I immediately clocked the change in her tone, but I couldn’t be sure it was jealousy. Jealousy and just flat-out annoyance sounded similar, especially coming from Ivy.

Her attention quickly darted to her notebook. Her stare stayed fixed on the lined pages like whatever she’d written were the most fascinating words she’d ever read. And something inside of me begged to know.

“You jealous, Killer?”

At that, her eyes snapped up. They widened momentarily but quickly narrowed. “I’m not sure what would make you say that.”

She gritted her teeth, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Riling her up was one of my favorite pastimes, and she made it too damn easy.

“The way you said their names. Like you were personally offended that I’d spend time with them.”

“Spending time with them? Is that what you call having your tongue down their throats and their hands down the front of your jeans?” The bite in her words was telling. As was the flush on her cheeks that drifted down her neck and blossomed over her chest. Watching her reaction lessened the sting of her words.

Her response seemed to even catch her off guard. Nervously she began fiddling with her necklace—a small aster flower I remembered her mom bought her for her birthday several years ago. Ms. Sharpe had explained to all of us that the aster was Ivy’s birth flower and in the center was her birthstone. And I couldn’t remember a time she wasn’t wearing it, and better yet, I knew she was nervous when she began to slide the small flower back and forth along the chain.

She’d done the same thing in the classroom the other day when she confronted me about asking about the possibility of changing partners.

“Had I seen you, I would’ve said hi,” I said, deciding I’d had my fun and trying to simultaneously backtrack.

Although it fed something inside of me to know she was fighting her jealousy.

“Sure,” she said, shifting again on the bed. The papers rustled around her and I noticed when her blue ballpoint pen marked her inner thigh. The mark was small yet obvious against her pale skin.

She didn’t notice, more concerned about sitting on her notes and rumpling the papers around her, but I couldn’t look away.

---