Page 102 of The Confidant
He sighed when the notification pushed through. And when he ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip, I knew he was getting my messages loud and clear.
I lifted my phone again to type another message, but he noticed what I was doing and gave me a pleading look, as if begging me to stop riling him up so he could focus.
I was having way too much fun though, so I just smiled sweetly back at him and continued typing.
But then he made a show of turning his iPad face down on the podium to apparently finish his presentation from memory.
Well, that’s no fun…
A minute later, he concluded his presentation, doing impressively well without his notes. When he sat back in his seat, he scooted his chair close and pressed his thigh against mine.
And I loved that such a simple touch could make my nervous system go haywire.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, like he was going to text me back.
The three dots bounced on my screen until he hit the send button.
Hunter:If you keep teasing me like this, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen after class gets out…
Goosebumps of pleasure raced across my arms and down my neck. When I glanced sideways at him, his eyebrow was raised in a challenge.
So I quickly texted him back:Is that a promise?
As soon as my text showed up on his phone, he licked his lips as if he, too, was imagining what it would taste like to kiss me again.
And when he mumbled under his breath, “It’s definitely a promise,” I knew I was in the best kind of trouble.
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The final bellrang a few minutes later. As everyone around us packed up their things to head to their after-school activities, Hunter leaned close to my ear and asked, “Do you have the key to the journalism room?”
I sucked in a breath, surprised by his question. But before I could think too much, I said, “Yes.”
“Then let’s go there.” His breath was so hot on my ear it made me shiver. “Right now.”
“Okay.” I gulped.
We stood, and Hunter was just reaching for my hand when Mrs. Johnson looked up from her desk and said, “Oh, Mr. Blackwell. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
Was he going to get in trouble because of my texts?
He gave me a look that told me he might be wondering the same thing.
“S-sure,” he said. But before walking to her desk, he squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’ll come find you.”
I picked up my backpack and left the room on shaky legs.
Is this actually happening?
Were we going to be doing what I hoped we’d be doing in the journalism room?
Would I finally find myself in his arms after so much longing?
I hoped so.
Ireallyhoped so.
