Page 21 of In the Net
His eyes pop up from his screen, locking with mine. A beat of silence passes while a shared understanding dawns between us.
“No way,” Sebastian says. “You’re my competition?”
My nerves buzz. I never thought Sebastian would enter this contest. He already has so much on his plate with hockey.
He’s a threat, I have to admit it.
His writing might not be the most technically polished, but it’s inventive and bold. It catches people’s attention.
Not only that, but this competition isn’t anonymous. The judges will see the name of every entrant attached to their essay.
In a school as hockey-crazy as Brumehill is—especially after the team won the college championship last year—I wouldn’t put it past them to be biased in his favor.
“Guess so,” I answer, trying to firm up my voice with confidence.
Sebastian shrugs, shooting me a cocky look. “Well, may the best man win.”
I purse my lips. “Only one of us is a man.”
He grins. “Exactly.”
Am I above sabotage? Should I go get another drink, then pretend to trip and spill the liquid all over his keyboard, hoping that it ruins his computer and that he doesn’t have the file saved anywhere online, thus losing it for good?
Tempting. But, yes, I think I am above a stunt like that. Damn it.
Besides, Sebastian has done me two good deeds in a row with Mackenzie. At the very least, not only should I not sabotage him, but maybe I should even …
“Well, I wish you good luck,” I push out the words.
“Ha-ha,” Sebastian says mockingly, his fingers already dancing over his keyboard.
“I mean it,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve been working hard on it. Brumehill should send its best to this conference, so whoever writes the best essay deserves to go.”
The clatter of Sebastian’s typing stops. He looks at me with a lifted eyebrow, an edge of surprise in his blue eyes.
“May the best man, or woman, win,” he says, this time with a touch of sincerity in his playful tone. He extends his open hand toward me in a sportsmanlike gesture.
I slide my hand into his. With a firm but gentle pressure that’s so much warmer than I expected, he gives my hand a shake.
A tendril of charged heat snakes up my arm and fills my chest with a light, unsteadying feeling that urges me to pull my hand out of Sebastian’s grasp maybe a bit too quickly.
Sebastian quickly turns his attention back to his computer screen, the ticktack of his keyboard popping over the ambient sound of conversation and clanking glassware.
I, on the other hand, find my concentration stalled out. My mind is stuck trying to explain away why there’s a lingering buzz on my hand that was just enveloped in Sebastian’s.
I try to refocus myself by reading over the last two paragraphs I’ve written. I feel like I’m just about to dive back into my writing, when Sebastian pulls my attention away again.
“Oh, shit, that must be her.”
I lift my eyes to see that Sebastian’s head is turned to the checkout counter of the café here on the ground floor.
“Who?” I ask, the fascinated look on his face making it impossible for me to mind my own business. Even though I should, especially where Sebastian is concerned.
“I think that’s the girl,” he says again, mostly to himself.
“What girl?” I ask, a pinch of annoyance in my voice. If Sebastian is going to commandeer my table and then distract me by talking out loud to himself about some random girl, he might as well have the decency to let me in on what’s so damn interesting.
I follow the line of Sebastian’s eyes to a girl restocking the display of chips and snack bars next to the order counter. My brows perk up, because she’s gorgeous.
