Page 59

My brain created a compartment, and I temporarily shoved my interaction with Mr. Belshaw in it in order to sort through my feelings about seeing Ivan. Emotions I’d been trying to hold at bay cascaded through me as I ran outside—anxiety, dread, excitement, fear...hope. It was all there bearing down on me as I walked out the door.
I pushed open the door and when I saw him, my heart leapt into my throat.
Ivan was here.
He looked as stoic as a sentry. He wore his familiar uniform—jeans, t-shirt and a leather jacket—and leaned against a stone wall across from the auditorium. Even with his arms folded defensively across his chest and a frown pinching his flawless, refined features, I couldn’t imagine a time when his appearance wouldn’t take my breath away.
I slowly approached him, my stomach feeling like champagne exploding out of a bottle. He looked straight at me, but nothing in his expression changed. No warmth, no humor, no invitation. No softness whatsoever.
My knees weakened at this unspoken rejection and my heart ached as if I’d taken a kick to the chest.
“Hey,” I said, stopping right in front of him, internally begging him to give me something.
“Hey,” he replied, popping off the wall. His green eyes were opaque as they scanned me, making me suddenly conscious of my simple outfit of skinny jeans and white, oversized button down tied at the waist. “Let’s go.”
I took a deep breath. This was going to suck.
“Wait. Here,” he said gruffly, pulling a granola bar out of his jacket pocket and extending it to me.
I stared at, almost paralyzed in shock, a warm feeling invading my chest. I reached for it, looking for something, some sign of his affection, but his features were devoid of emotion. The small, thoughtful act set my thoughts whirling like a swarm of bees.
It was a considerate gesture, but what did it mean? Every part of my being wanted to read into it, wanting to believe so badly that this stupid granola bar was a symbol for Ivan’s feelings.
“Thanks,” I murmured, a small grin forming as I ripped it open and quickly ate. I wasn’t particularly hungry, anxiety having twisted my stomach into a knot, but I ate it anyway out of appreciation for his thoughtfulness. I stared at him expectantly, but he only grunted in response. I swallowed my disappointment with the last remnants of the granola bar, stuffing the wrapper in my backpack.
He turned and started walking toward my dorm, giving me no choice but to silently follow, my mind scrambling for a way to connect with him. As we walked, the tension between us was like being smothered in a heavy blanket, suffocating and oppressive.
“So, my teacher came up and started asking me if I was okay today. Saying that I seemed upset.”
“Why the fuck does he keep such a close eye on you?” he asked harshly.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. It was really awkward. He said he could tell I was having a hard time.” I shot him a quick glance and appreciated the intensity of his glowering.
I didn’t know if I was possessed by a literal demon because the next words just came flying out of my mouth. “He kind of…touched me.”
While I had been disturbed about Mr. Belshaw stroking my face, I cringed with full awareness that a pathetic, desperate part of me thought sharing this might get a reaction out of Ivan. “Just once, on the cheek,” I said, feeling guilty and manipulative.
Ivan’s head whipped around, a scowl etched on his annoying, beautiful face. He stopped me with a hand on my arm. “What the fuck? Why did he touch you at all?”
Mission accomplished. Ivan was definitely reacting. “Well, when he came up to me, he asked what was wrong with me and I didn’t really want to tell him, so I said I might be coming down with something and touched my hand to my forehead, like I had a fever. He touched the side of my face and said I felt warm. Then he sort of stroked my cheek.”
Ivan’s jaw clenched and his hand tightened on my arm. “What the hell is wrong with him? Has he ever done this shit before?” He paused and stared back at the auditorium, his beautiful features twisting into a menacing scowl. “I think I need to have a fucking chat with him.” His body tensed as if he was planning to march back and do exactly that.
I shook my head and grabbed his arm. “No, he’s never done that. I might be overreacting, though. I did tell him I felt sick,” I said, feeling guilty that Mr. Belshaw’s actions may have been innocent, and he might now have to deal with an enraged Ivan.
Ivan snorted. “No guy just randomly touches a girl like you, Emmy. He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” he asked, his right hand clenched into a fist and his jaw tightened.
I felt a small zing of pleasure at him referring to himself as my boyfriend. “Yes, I told him.”
Ivan shook his head. “I don’t like it. What kind of asshole goes around hanging all over girls he’s supposed to be fucking teaching? Where the hell are the boundaries? I need to talk to Drago about this fucker. He’s jumped to the top of our suspect list,” he ranted, then grabbed my hand and continued walking.
We were now holding hands. I would have enjoyed it if Ivan wasn’t practically dragging me behind him. “Slow down,” I finally implored.
“Sorry,” he grunted, slowing down a bit but still holding onto my hand. Did he even realize we were still holding hands? The affectionate gesture was completely at odds with his forbidding expression, but I wasn’t going to point that out. Or complain.
“Did Delaney dump Drew?” Ivan asked, his thoughts obviously rolling through all the guys around me to see if Drago needed to extend his investigation.
“No, she’s decided to give him another shot. He said he was with a sick friend, that he had to bring him to the hospital and couldn’t call or text her.”