Page 47 of Forbidden You

Just the ones I care about. Which makes her the only one.

“No. Only the one who should be in school getting a degree.”

Her demeanor changes, her fierce attitude being replaced by slumped shoulders and an averting gaze. Whatever it is, it’s eating her from the inside, and in turn, eating me.

“You can feed Rae that bullshit story about you failing your classes, but I’m not buying it. There is something you’re not telling me.”

Her arms fold together. “Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe,” I concede before I continue to tell her she’s full of shit. “But you dropped out of Stanford even though your grades were higher than the average. You weren’t failing. In fact, in most classes, you were top of the class. That tells me you left for a different reason. But I can’t seem to figure out what is important enough to leave your dream. Because that’s what you told me last summer, that Stanford was your dream.”

She shrugs, faking indifference. “Dreams change. I was homesick.”

“Err,” I make a buzzer sound. “You don’t get along with your parents and you were home for two weeks before you jumped on a plane to a different state. Try again. Tell me therealreason. Tell me what happened.”

Her eyes cut to thin slits in ferocity but her energy gets smaller by the second. When her phone starts to vibrate on the table, she gives it a quick glance, then closes her eyes in defeat. I’ve seen her do that a few times now when her phone rings and she ignores it.

Who the fuck is that?

Before she can grab it, I reach out, snatching it from the table to see who’s calling.

Trent.

All of a sudden, the wires in my head connect, and I narrow my eyes at her.

Wasn’t that her ex-boyfriend last summer?

“Unless,” I trail, “you left because ofsomeone, instead ofsomething.” I hold up her phone, and I watch how her usually sparkling face falls to a gloomy expression.

“Maybe I should answer it,” I suggest.

“No!” Terror flashes in her eyes and she lunges over the table, her palm facing up.

“Ding, ding, we have a winner.” I decline the call, then put it in her hand. “You’ve got two minutes to tell me whoTrentis and why he keeps calling you, or I’m going to find out myself.”

“No one. Just some guy from Stanford.”

“Yeah?” I eye her, suspicious. “Is that why every time he calls you, your body goes rigid and your mind seems to take off when you see his name popping up on your screen?”

She stays quiet, scowling.

“Let’s trade,” she offers. “I tell you why I dropped out of Stanford, and you tell me why you are so desperate to ignore this chemistry between us.”

I let out a pleased grunt, knowing that’s easy. “Sure. You first.”

She sucks in a deep breath, the features on her face relaxing a little as she exhales slowly.

“He’s my ex,” she finally confesses. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving. I just left.”

I hold her gaze, looking for the lies, but I can’t really decipher if she’s bullshitting me or not. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

She’s not the kind of girl that necessarily avoids confrontation. Hell, she’s giving it to me all the fucking time.

“We broke up.” She shrugs. “He wants me back. I knew if I told him, he would try to convince me to stay. I didn’t want him to. He’s the star tennis player on campus and he can be very persuasive.”

There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place, like she’s still holding back.

“So, why did you drop out?”

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