Page 54 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

This is a dream. I pull away first and pinch my thighs. This is not a dream. Ben touched me.

“Hi. We have a class together, right?” We have more than one class, but I nod, and a tiny smile spreads to his lips. Another smile? What’s going on? “Did you get Mr. Sam’s note? I missed it.”

I think the fact Ben is talking to me like a regular person erases my ability to speak. My mind blanks, and my eyes zero on his lips. He snaps his fingers in front of my face. I wet my lips, but the words refuse to form. I copied the note and understood it.

“Hello? Hi? Hey? Are you there?”

Air rushes into my throat. “Yeah,” I breathe out. “Yeah, I did. I did.”

Ben’s eyes roll over me to the point of self-consciousness. I hide my trembling hands under my script. He needs to stop doing that, stripping me naked with a look. I clear my throat, forcing his eyes back to my face, and he nods slowly. A half-smile hits his lips. He’s more handsome with a smile. He leans back on the chair, and a bolt of jealousy hits me. Oh, to be a chair so I can enjoy his touch again. I shake my head to clear those thoughts. His closeness must be driving me crazy.

“Can I have it?”

“No.”

Ben arches a brow. “No?”

I clear my throat and, hopefully, the cobwebs in my brain. “I will give it to you if you apologize.” His laughter is seductive, a hoarse sound I can get used to hearing. Ben spares me another look and doubles over in laughter. I press my lips into a line. I mean it. “Or you can ask Abigail for hers.”

They stayed back to talk after class. I wasn’t spying on them, but ignoring the invisible distance between them was tough. He stood as close as he stood beside me in that video. I hated it. I didn’t like hearing her laugh at what he said. Olivia will have a fit if she finds out I am not the actual competition. I will be more than glad to be the snitch. I stop my thoughts from straying to darker zones. Besides, I have Lett. He understands me. I don’t need to impress him. We flow so easily.

“No. I want yours.” Good for me because I won’t hand over that note without a proper apology from him. He fixes me with a smile, and my heart gallops. I love his smile. His eyes, too. They steal attention. “But I won’t apologize. Because I already did, and you accepted my apology.”

What is he talking about?

“Okay…” My eyes return to my script, but I can barely focus on my lines. I stare at my sneakers for a second. “Will you at least stop calling me Juliet? My name is Tessa. T. E. S. S. A. Tessa.”

“I know your name,Juliet,” he replies, voice dripping with arrogance. I hate this guy sometimes. His confidence in his superiority bothers me because it’s hot. “About that note? Where is it?”

“Um…” I trail off.

He bends over to lace his boots, and his muscles flex against his shirt. I bite my lips. “Don’t do that.” Do what? My teeth sink deeper into my lip, and he says, “Stop it. You will hurt yourself.”

The only thing that can hurt me is his presence and this awkward conversation.

Ben groans, and I find it harder to understand his point. “Now, your lips are bleeding. You never listen, do you?” Oh. I press a finger to my lip and retract it to the sight of blood coating my fingertip. Without meeting his gaze, I swipe it over my jeans, and he chuckles. “Now, the note?”

“No.”

“I just saved you from chewing your lips and losing blood. You could have died from blood loss.” I roll my eyes so hard that he laughs. “In my opinion, Miss, that’s better than an apology.”

Clutching my knees, I shake my head. “I don’t need your opinion. I need your remorse.” Silence falls over us. Ben snickers. I look up, and my eyes twitch. He has my backpack. He is going through my backpack. I try to snatch it from him, but it’s too late. He holds my calculus note above his head with a sheepish grin I want to wipe off. “Haven’t you heard? You don’t go through a lady’s bag.”

“But you’re not a lady. You are a girl, Juliet,” he mutters with no malicious intent. I scoff, and he shrugs. Our knees touch. His eyes hold mine, and my chest tightens. “Word: Lady. Etymology: Middle English. A woman of authority, a breed of higher class. The mistress of a household.”

He’s brilliant, and he’s gawking at me. I swallow my initial comeback, thinking long and hard of a smarter reply. “There are many meanings for a word. A lady could also mean a young woman.”

“Yeah,” he comments as he lowers my bag to the floor, “but you are a girl, not a young woman.”

“Ben,” I whine.

His brows crease. I try to avoid more body contact. “What’s wrong with being called a girl?” My mouth drops open when he touches my arm. “Close your mouth, sweetie. A fly might get in.”

When I thought we might get along, he had to remind me of his authentic self. Ben brings out his phone to take pictures of today’s note, and the click-click of his camera breaks the silence at intervals.

“Are you even going to read it?” I whisper.

“Nope.”

---