Page 83 of Wicked Ends
“Not that long, thank you. Anyway, class is starting soon, you should run along. I’m sure you have better places to be than standing here talking to us teachers.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Professor,” Marcus said, but he did leave.
He passed behind me. His hip brushed my shoulders, and I could have sworn it was on purpose. Just that one fleeting touch sent heat dripping down my spine.
“You don’t have to eat that if you don’t want to.” Sally nodded toward the apple. She held her hand out. “You want me to have it? I forgot to get one.”
“Sure.” I went to pick up the apple and froze. There was something carved in it that I hadn’t noticed before. I picked it up, keeping it angled away from the rest of the table.
I’d rather eat you.
I panicked and did the only thing I could think of—took a huge bite, trying to cover the entire area where the words were carved into the red skin.
I chewed my huge mouthful as Sally watched me with wide eyes.
“Sorry, I guess I felt like an apple after all,” I said when I managed to swallow the enormous lump.
“Okay, that’s cool,” Sally said and shot me a grin.
She grabbed her tray and stood. I followed suit quickly, shoving the bitten apple to the corner of my tray. Sally raised an eyebrow at it.
“I think it’s bad,” I explained, cringing at how lame an excuse that was.
She nodded and turned from the table. Grateful she wasn’t asking more questions, I followed.
“I’ll walk you back to class.” Wade got up and went with us.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protested.
“It’s my pleasure,” he said and smiled at me. “Besides, those folders look heavy.”
I had no idea how to refuse his offer without sounding rude, so just nodded. He grabbed the armful of folders I’d been planning on working on in the faculty lounge. We walked along the hall and turned the corner. Students milled around, and at the endof the corridor, I spied Marcus again. He had his huge practice bag slung over one shoulder and his hockey stick clutched in one hand. He leaned against a wall, talking to another hockey player.
His gaze landed on me as soon as we approached, and I felt his warm perusal, his attention running over me like water.
“Don’t loiter, boys,” Wade barked. He sounded self-important and was no doubt trying to get Marcus back for his little age jibe earlier.
“Course not, Professor.” Marcus moved to the side and passed far too close to Wade. It almost seemed like a threat, but the easy smile on Marcus’ face suggested otherwise.
Wade looked a little flustered, his brain probably warring with his gut.
“Let’s go, Anna.” He took a step toward me. Then suddenly, he was gone.
I looked down and saw Wade on his knees on the ground. The end of Marcus’ goalie stick was jutting out, angled just right so it was between Wade’s legs.
“Damn it, Professor, you’ve got to take it easy on those knees. They say the older you are, the more dangerous a knee injury is. You could become immobile if you continue to be reckless.” Marcus’ tone might have sounded concerned to everyone else.
But not to me. I could hear the mocking, and the warning.
He helped Wade up by the hand, holding it in a firm grip. Wade winced. Marcus held it a second too long, until Wade ripped his hand out of his grip.
“I’ve got it, Bailey, no need to break my hand,” he spat, clearly embarrassed by his fall.
“Isn’t there?” Marcus murmured when Wade bent down to collect my scattered files.
“What?”
“Are you okay?” Marcus said instead.
