Page 29 of Speak

Because I find something on this piece of fucking paper I never thought I would.

1999 – Maddeline Bordeaux – T. Whitmore

My sister.

Chapter Seven

Jonas.

“Are you coming to the game on Friday?” Riordan asks and then takes a small sip of his Americano. “It’s our first game. We’re playing Turner Falls. Only forty minutes away. You can take the bus with us, probably. Unless you have friends you want to go with?”

I try really hard to stop myself, but I have no willpower whatsoever when it comes to her. I reach over and wiggle my finger into Raven’s fishnet stocking when she crosses her leg and leans her body toward me on Wednesday morning out on the quad before Harrington’s lecture. I fuckinglovewhen she wears these. They make the uniform look all nerdy-gothy-chic and it’s too fucking hot. Like she’s the girl mommy warned me about and she’d upset everyone if I took her home to meet the family.

I would absolutely, ten thousand percent let Raven Monroe wreck my fucking heart for one taste of her. If she stomped on it with those heeled biker boots she wears? Even better.

She’s wearing her hair down in waves and her bangs are pulled back, letting that silver streak in her hair show. I was looking at it earlier, and it seems to come from the roots, they don’t match the rest of the brown in her hair so I don’t think it’s dyed. I think it’s natural. She didn’t have it before. I want to touch it. I want to see if it’s as silky as it looks. Like spider-silk.

This time, Idostop myself from reaching out and touching. Not that touching her thigh and the tip of the vines of her Lotus and spider lilies tattoo is acceptable but she hasn’t stopped me.

I can’t help but wonder if she puts her hair up in a messy bun when she studies. I want to know if she sleeps with her closet door open or closed like me. If she likes it colder than a witches tit when she sleeps. What does she sleep in, a t-shirt? Pajamas? A sexy little silk negligee?Naked?

I need to know the important things, like; does she highlight her favorite passages in her books or does she dog-ear them so she knows exactly where they are? What songs make her dance? Which ones make her sad days sadder? Does she watch movies with the subtitles on or off like a psychopath? I want to know it all and it kills me she won’t say anything; content to keep her secrets while I’m dying to tell her mine.

Practice was brutal this morning so we decided to get some caffeine from the Koffee Kart to get some energy so that’s exactly what we’re doing, sitting around, sipping coffee. Except her. Because she couldn’t order and I don’t know her order. But I plan on rectifying that by ordering everything on the menu and having her try them all, then putting them in order from least to favorite.

Her finger has been tracing the outline of the veins on my forearm since I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, sending little bolts of electricity shooting throughout my entire system. If she likes it, I like it more.

Her eyes flicker to me, as though she’s asking my permission or apologizing in advance. Her hand leaves my arm and settles on Riordan’s hand who looks super surprised at the gesture. Even Chase shoots me a glance. I almost growl but she scrunches her noseand gives Riordan a tiny squeeze like she’s politely saying, “No, thank you.” Then pulls her hand away, ducks her head back down, and continues to lazily trace my veins with her fingertip as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen and I’m practically preening.

Look at my enormous fucking feathers, boys.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Large crowds aren’t great for her.” She stops her trailing and looks up at me, and when the sun hits her light brown eyes, my heart shudders at the way it looksas if bees themselves created this specific honey to drop in her eyes that are full of something akin to gratitude.

“What about the after party tomorrow? Win or lose. The party is on Greek row just outside of the campus. We can sneak you both back in.” Chase says, waggling his blonde eyebrows.

“Dude. What did you not understand aboutno large crowds?”

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. It just sucks you won’t be at the game. I’m sure lover boy here would just love to see you in his jersey, cheering him on.”

Her eyes go wide and her eyebrows furrow together in question and my heart rattles and stops and clangs and starts pumping backwards. I kiss where her jaw ends and she squirms. While the thought of her in my number makes me rock hard, I say “You don’t have to go, baby. The game will be live on the student athletic portal. I’ll actually be happier knowing you’re safe and in your dorm than out where something could happen to you and I can’t help you.”

She goes back to tracing my veins until an alarm on her phone alerts us it’s time to head inside. Chase and Riordan turn around in that weird twin synchronization and head to their lectures in the English department. I grab her bag along with mine, throw them both over my shoulder, then pull her to me by her waist, settling my hand on her curvy hip, loving the way it fills my palm and then we weave into the throngs of students heading to class.

“Faker.” “Lying bitch.” “Attention whore.” “Psycho.”

Her shoulders slump at the comments, head bowing and I hold her tighter to me and squeeze her hip. I lower my head to her ear as we get closer to Harrington’s lecture hall and see a small line formed. “They’re all entitled bastards, baby. You don’t owe them shit. Not a glance, not a thought, and especially not your voice. So, hold your head up high when you’re with me or anytime you set foot outside your dorm. I got you.”

She looks up at me beneath those long sooty lashes of hers and if I could melt down to the ground in a puddle of flesh, I would. I know she hasn’t full on kissed me yet, and right when I lower my lips to hers, someone clears their throat.

I could murder him.

She turns a bright shade of pink and I turn to look at Harrington’s smug as fuck face. I let out a low growl and squeeze her side. “To be continued.” I wink at him and kiss her temple as I see it’s our turn to…sign the fucking sign-in sheet.

Well fucking played, Harrington. He may think he’s slick, but I’ve seen the truth in his eyes. The way he looks at Raven like a starved animal.

She’smine.

“Any day now, Mister Anderson, Miss Monroe.” He glares. But his eyes aren’t on me. They’re on Raven and they follow her the entire time we walk to our seats and then during the entire lecture, his eyes keep flicking from the other students back to her. Any sudden movement she makes, tucking that sexy stripe of silver hair behind her ear, crossing her legs, picking up her pen, he stares her down as if trying to somehow retrieve answers, telepathically daring her to look at him. But her eyes stay glued to her notebook, her textbook, and every now and then, when she does looks up, her knuckles turn white with how hard she grips her pen.

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