If I Didn't Know Any Better

“What’s up, Georgia?”

I lift my gaze from the scuffed tips of my sneakers. The rigid metal of the corridor lockers digs right into my spine, offering a stark physical reality to ground my spinning mind. The suffocating grief from last night still clings to my skin like a thick, inescapable film. Every time I blink, my mother’s booze-soaked voice keeps playing on an endless loop in my head. Her venomous slur cuts deep, reopening fresh wounds. *I dreamed that you were the one who died in that horrific car accident. Instead of Toby and Dad.*

Then Declan strolls down the crowded hallway, and the dark clouds in my head scatter.

His easy, devastating smile is on full display. Those bright amber eyes lock onto mine, and the sheer force of his attention scrambles my fragile nerves. The heavy, suffocating ache of my broken family gets shoved aside, replaced by a sudden rush of adrenaline. He is walking with a few of his teammates, but the moment he spots me, he breaks away from the group.

Without a single word, he steps right into my personal space. He cages me in, placing his forearm on the lockers just above my head, physically pinning me to the cool wall with a heated, heavy gaze.

My mind betrays me. It flashes back to the visceral image of him kissing Brielle yesterday in the parking lot. The raw, possessive grip of his large fingers digging deep into her soft skin, pulling her flush against his hard chest. The memory strikes a match in my lower belly. My core flushes with a sudden, confusing heat, a distinct pulse of arousal making my thighs clench together. The intense wetness between my legs is undeniable.

He leans dangerously close. The spicy scent of his cologne wraps around me, masking the stale smell of the school corridor. His deep voice drops an octave, a low rumble meant only for me.

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re looking at me like that because you can’t stop thinking about that kiss with my girlfriend."

His free hand moves. He boldly grips the sensitive skin at the back of my neck. His fingers are warm and firm, sending a shiver down my arms. His arrogant grin widens, showing off a sliver of white teeth.

"Were you secretly wishing it was you in my lap?" he demands to know, his thumb brushing my hairline in a slow, deliberate motion.

My breath hitches in my throat.

The honest answer is yes. I want to know what those large hands feel like on my skin. I want to know what that kind of raw, unfiltered possession tastes like. I want to feel the weight of his body pressing me down. But my racing heart needs a firm boundary. He is taken.

Refusing to submit to this arrogant game, I twist my neck away from his possessive hold. I lift my chin, throwing my shoulders back, and look directly into those predatory amber eyes. I refuse to back down. I match his low, challenging tone.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you are the one who has been obsessively thinking about kissing me."

His eyes instantly gleam. A sudden, unhinged excitement lights up his striking features, like a bored child who just found a dangerous new toy to play with.

He steps impossibly close. He steals every remaining inch of my space and sucks the air right out of my lungs. My chest brushes against his chest with every shallow breath I take. The tip of his nose grazes mine.

"And what if I told you I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the very second I saw you in the office?" he whispers, the words brushing right against my lips. "I've been thinking about you nonstop."

He purposefully grazes his soft lips against mine. The fleeting, barely-there contact sends electric shocks straight down my spine. I freeze. My hands clutch the straps of my backpack as I stand there, desperate for him to close that agonizing fraction of a distance completely. Just kiss me. Please.

The harsh, shrill ringing of the school bell shatters the quiet intimacy.

Declan lets out a frustrated sigh, his jaw tightening. His breath fans across my heated cheeks as he pulls away. Without hesitation, he grabs my hand, lacing his long fingers through mine, and confidently leads me down the hall into the crowded classroom. The heat of his palm is a stark contrast to the cold locker I was just leaning against.

I trail behind him, my pulse roaring in my ears, acutely aware of the open mouths and wide stares we are drawing from the other students. When we reach our usual shared desk near the back, I let go of his hand and instinctively move to sit in my seat.

His large hands suddenly lock onto my waist.

With effortless strength, he pulls me backward. I gasp in shock as he guides me directly down onto his lap.

A wave of scandalized whispers erupts from the students around us. Someone in the front row actually gasps out loud. The heat of his hard thighs beneath me sends a jolt of pure panic straight to my brain. I can feel the solid muscle of his legs and the firm plane of his chest against my back. I desperately bury my burning, humiliated face in my hands, wanting the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

He chuckles softly. The deep sound vibrates against my spine. He leans his chin near my shoulder, speaking loud enough for the nearby busybodies to catch a snippet of our conversation.

"What? Have you never sat on someone’s lap before?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, mortified by the public display of possession in front of the entire class.

He pushes further, a teasing, wicked edge to his tone. "Not even a boyfriend’s lap?"

My cheeks burn like fire. I drop my hands and frantically shake my head no. The panic makes my mouth run faster than my brain.

"My brother was really protective of me," I blurt out.

The playful arrogance melts from Declan's features in a split second. The shift is immediate. His face distorts into a deep, serious frown.

"Was?" he repeats, catching the slip into past tense.

My stomach drops straight to the floor. The familiar, crushing weight of reality slams into me. Panic rises in my chest, threatening to choke me on my own grief. I flatly tell him, "I don't want to talk about it."

My opposite hand instinctively curls over the thick scar on my wrist, fingers pressing into the raised skin to hide my trauma from his observant gaze. I brace myself for the interrogation. I expect him to dig, to demand answers, to push until I break, just like Ryker always does.

Mercifully, Declan doesn't push. He doesn't pry into my pain or demand an explanation for the past tense. Instead, he chooses to keep his hand anchored warmly and securely on my waist. The steady, heavy weight of his palm is surprisingly grounding against the sudden storm of my anxiety.

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken questions and a lingering intensity. I need to break the tension before I suffocate in it.

"You currently have a girlfriend, Declan," I remind him, though my voice trembles over the syllables.

He smirks, the arrogant, devastating charm sliding right back into place. "Having a girlfriend has never stopped me before."

I let out a loud, shocked scoff at his sheer audacity. "Wow. That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

My reaction only makes him chuckle deeper. He leans in close, his breath warm against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "I am just teasing you, Jessa."

With that, his hands tighten on my waist. He effortlessly lifts me from his lap and places me securely into the cold, empty chair beside his.

As he removes his hands, my heart drops straight into my stomach. The sudden loss of his body heat leaves me shivering in the air-conditioned classroom.

A painful wave of doubt washes over me, drowning out the lingering tingles on my skin. I stare blankly at the front of the classroom, my mind spinning out of control. Was I reading too much into all of this? Into the predatory, possessive way he watched me while kissing Brielle yesterday? Into the heavy, suffocating way he almost kissed me in the hallway just moments ago?

Ugh. The emotional whiplash is unbearable. Is he actually interested in me, or am I just a pawn in some cruel, flirtatious game while he stays securely attached to his girlfriend? I rub my temples, exhausted by the relentless push and pull of his attention, wondering how I will survive the rest of the school day. I desperately need lunch to arrive so I can escape to the lawn and talk to Tasha.