I still fucking want you, asshole.
No one could ignore you.
How the fuck could I even try?
“Hi,” he says softly, and I realize I even missed his voice.
I don’t respond.
I keep the intolerable, all-consuming fireworks show inside my body a secret, because he can’t know the effect he has on me.
I just keep running.
And he stays in pace, right at my side.
16
Sev
“You look hot when you run.”
Weston doesn’t bat an eyelash at my words.
I’ve been running beside him now for a while, and he’s only glanced up at me once, before I fell into rhythm with him and started jogging at his side.
I thought he’d be out making his usual laps around campus around this time, and I was right. He often runs with his bestie, but Rayne isn’t there this time. He’s been silent, trying his hardest to ignore me.
“And you look like someone who’s way too obsessed with me,” he says back, his breath broken up with every footfall as he runs.
His words spark something inside me, because he’s too close to the truth.
I’ve been fucked up about it all week.
I’ve wanted to go to Onyx House every single day since we got back to campus, and it’s been tormenting me, like I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, andbothof them have been screaming at me to go to Weston.
And I’m starting to feel like breaking every one of my rules.
To act on impulse.
To tell Weston how I actually feel.
“Yeah, and maybe I’m not afraid to admit I missed you,” I tell him. “Has that crossed your mind?”
He frowns and still purposely doesn’t look over at me. The way he looks now, with the thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of his body, makes me feel like my body is on fire. His loose white tank top has arm holes that are cut super low, revealing the sides of his torso.
I want him bent over for me again.
I want fuckingallof him, and it’s been driving me batshit insane all week as he avoids me like I’m a ghost.
“You didn’t text me or stop me after Sellwood’s class,” he says. “Doesn’t seem like you missed me.”
“You didn’t text me, either, Sheriff,” I tell him.
“Did you want a good morning text every day and a good night one before bed?” he asks.
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but it would be kind of cute if you actually did that. Might help my morning wood?—”
“Fuck off,” he says softly, but there’s a softness to his tone, with no bite.