Page 97 of Hate You, Maybe
She’s a feather in my arms, pressed against me, holding on for dear life. And as she wraps her legs around my middle, I propel the two of us across the small space over to my desk.
I set her on the edge, and a tower of files topples to the ground, but we ignore the fall. Instead, Sayla arches her back, offering me greater access to the silky skin of her throat.
“Just so you know,” she says, her tone sultry now, “I’m never going to stop talking.”
I detach my lips from her throat, pulling up and away from her. “Look at me.” She slowly opens her lids, and our gazes meet again. “I’ll never stop listening to you.”
She blinks. Inhales. Then she says, “Dexter,” on the exhale, and my name on her lips is the only drug I’ll ever crave.
“Sayla,” I rasp. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to kiss me,” she whispers breathlessly.
“Iamkissing you.”
“I want more.”
“What?”
“More.” Her voice is low and ragged now.
“I can’t hear you.”
“MORE,” she begs. And my insides liquify.
So I give Sayla Kroft exactly what she asked for. More of my arms wrapped around her body, more of her lips on mine. More of me losing myself to her soft sighs. This connection to her is everything I’ve avoided the past two decades, and all I could ever want in this lifetime. I feel like I could freeze the world—just like this—and live inside Sayla’s heartbeat forever.
Except for the crackle of the intercom system coming on and Larry Wilford’s nasal voice blaring from the speaker above our heads.
“Sayla Kroft and Dexter Michaels, please come to my office. Now.”
And with that, he’s single-handedly killed the moment. Completely.
No lips left behind.
“What do you think Mr. Wilford wants?” Sayla asks on our way to the administration building. By now, the buses have all left, and most of the teachers took off after the bell, ready to start their weekend. In a couple of hours, people will return, flooding the parking lot and streets for Friday night football. But for now, the campus is deserted. Still, Sayla and I should be careful. As much as I want to reach for her hand, discretion is key.
We don’t need any rumors about us circulating aroundschool. At least for another week. Until then, everyone’s attention has to be on the accreditation. Not my crush on Sayla Kroft.
“I hope the ringmaster costume I ordered for him fits,” she adds.
“I’m sure the costume’s great.” I shrug. “Wilford probably just wants to thank us for doing such a great job in the lead up to the visitation.”
“Wow.” Sayla huffs an amused laugh. “You’re sure not lacking in confidence.”
I flash her some side-eye. “I didn’t hear you complaining back in my office.”
“Hey!” She swats my elbow. “But since you brought it up,” she glances around, lowers her voice, “we have to promise not to do that again.”
“Well, that could be a problem, Kroft. Because I really want todo that again, as you eloquently put it. We’re way too good together not to. We managed someGuinness Book of World Records-level kissing back there.” I nod back toward the science building. “Do you really want to keep that kind of achievement out of the history books?”
“When you put it that way, I suppose we do owe it to history.” She snickers. “So let’s circle back to this discussion after the accreditation team gives us that four-year pass.”
I let out a groan of protest. “So long?”
She guffaws. “They’re coming next week.”
“I repeat.So long?”
