Page 2 of Stalked
“Trust me, pity is the last thing I feel for you.” I focus on titrating our solution, refusing to acknowledge the twist in my chest. It's easier this way, returning to what we know.
Vane leans over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. “You're adding too much. The indicator's about to change.”
I jerk away from his proximity. “I know what I'm doing.”
“Clearly.” He watches as the solution turns bright pink, overshooting our target endpoint. “Perfect work as always, second place.”
“The difference between us is I'm here to learn, not just to make everyone uncomfortable,” I snap, hating how easily he gets under my skin. “Some of us actually care about our future.”
“And some of us have more important things to deal with than Peterson's boring classes.” He takes the flask from my hand, our fingers brushing again. This time, I don't pull away fast enough, and something electric shoots up my arm.
Vane notices—of course, he notices—and his lips curl into something darker than his usual smirk. “What are you thinking right now?”
“Just wondering if arrogance is contagious.” I turn away, hoping he doesn't see the flush creeping up my neck. “I'd hate to catch your particular strain.”
He laughs, the sound low and genuine enough that several heads turn our way. “You couldn't pull off arrogance if you tried. Too busy being perfect.”
“I'm not perfect.” The words come out more defensive than I intended.
“No?” Vane leans in again, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something woodsy that absolutely does not make my pulse quicken. “Could've fooled me.”
His eyes drop to my lips for a second before he turns back to our experiment, leaving me flustered and furious with myself.
The bell rings, and I've never packed up so quickly. I need to get away from Vane and the strange effect he has on me—especially now that I know things I wish I didn't. Knowing about his family situation makes it harder to hate him, and I need that hatred. It fuels me.
I rush down the corridor and almost walk past my friends.
“Earth to Lia,” Megan says, leaning against the lockers. Her curly hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun that somehow looks effortlessly chic. “You look like you're plotting murder.”
“I am,” I mutter, joining her and the rest of our group. James and Zoe are already deep in conversation about the calc test later, while Dani scrolls through her phone.
“Let me guess,” Dani says, looking up. “Vane Blackwood?”
“He's insufferable! You should've seen him today, swaggering in late like he's God's gift to chemistry, and then having the nerve to criticize my lab technique.”
James adjusts his glasses. “To be fair, he is kind of a genius.”
“Not helping,” I hiss.
“Speaking of the devil,” Dani murmurs, nudging me.
I turn to see Vane walking past with a few guys from the basketball team. He slows when he spots me, that infuriating smirk appearing instantly.
“Already telling your fan club about our chemistry class?” he calls out. “Don't worry, I won't tell them you almost blew up the lab.”
“I did not—” I start, but he's already walking away, laughing with his friends.
“Why do you let him get to you?” Megan asks as we head toward the school exit. “Free period coffee run? I need caffeine before Spanish.”
“Yes, please,” Zoe agrees. “I'll text Jordan to meet us there.”
“I don't let him get to me,” I insist, following them out into the crisp autumn air. “He's just so...”
“Hot?” Dani suggests, grinning when I glare at her. “What? You can hate someone and still acknowledge they're attractive. It's called having eyes.”
“It's called having terrible taste,” I counter as we cross the street toward Beans, our favorite local coffee shop.
“Terrible taste is James's thing,” Megan says, dodging James's half-hearted swipe.
