Page 9 of Heart of Thorns

A chill flies down my spine.

I place the beer bottle on a nearby table and slip through the crowd. The bodies press in on me, and the room seems to be growing hotter by the second.

Bri calls my name, but I don’t look back. Every bone in my body urges me to escape. But before I can, Marley steps into my line of sight. She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, probably picking up on my internal panic.

“I’ve got to go,” I mutter.

“Are you okay?” Concern takes over her features.

I nod. “I’m fine. Professor Garcia texted, and she lined up a project for me to do tomorrow. I need to get my supplies together.”

It’s not a lie. Professor Garciadidline up a project for me. She’s been scheduling them here and there since the accident. Only, it’s not the real reason I’m leaving.

My heart beats harder when I turn away from Marley’s questionable gaze.

I need air.

Cool air.

I head toward the entryway. When the open front door comes into view, I relax.

But it only lasts a second.

A tall, overpowering presence steps out from the shadows. The hood of his black sweatshirt is pulled up over his head, and if it wasn’t for the glimpse of his warm, golden eyes, I’d feel threatened by his height.

I put the brakes on so I don’t stumble into him, and a rush of pain travels down my leg all the way to the floor.

“Fuck me,” I say under my breath.Ow.

“What was that?”

My attention snaps to his mouth. He’s grinning.

I recognize him right away. Unfortunately.

Him? Again?The one who stared at me on the sidewalk after the baseball incident, a not-so-silent witness to my humiliation. He picked up my meds, too. Said the name of the painkiller like… I don’t know what.

I don’twantto know.

“Move,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Yo, Thorne!” someone calls from the kitchen.

Thorne. I know that name.

The guy in question—Thorne—jerks his chin in their direction, but he keeps me pinned with a curious stare. His expression is open,bright. I don’t understand it, or why he’s looking at me like that.

My chest tightens, and my heart thumps against my ribcage. A reminder of my growing need to escape.

“Move?” he repeats.

I raise my eyebrows.Yeah, move.

Sure, I’m being rude. But I’m seconds from a fucking panic attack and I’m beginning to sweat. The party is in full-force, and the more people who pile into this frat house, the harder it’ll be to get out if something happens.

God, I’m a fucking basketcase.

Thorne crosses his arms, and there’s a hint of humor on his chiseled face. “I’ll move…” he says, dragging the words out. “When you ask me nicely.”

---