Page 78 of Jerk

“You look good, Chloe,” I say, trying to smooth the tension. She adjusts her beret, giving me that look I taught her to. Like no one else matters. Without another word, she moves towards Krystal, nudging my shoulder.

Rye isn’t the only one to make me feel powerless. His sister does too.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Ember says before her arms open wide. My body stills before she pulls me into a hug, and I don’t know what to do with my arms. It takes a second before I melt into it, my head falling on her shoulder. She’s always towered over me, her height fit for high-fashion runways. She pulls back, her hands on each of my arms as she finds my gaze. “Don’t feed the sheep.” I nod, a smile on my face that disappears as she walks away.

My eyes fall to the group that used to be mine. Marisol, Zurie and Chloe laugh at whatever Krystal says in a dress code way different from mine. It takes a lot to pull my eyes away, but Ember’s right. I have to stop making this about them.

I have to stop making this abouthim.

I especially have a lot to make up for in finding a new internship. Today, my task is to charm, maybe beg, Professor Williams into giving me a list of reputable fashion houses still accepting applications.

But when I turn to do just that, I break rule number two.

I see him before he sees me, that broad stature sauntering through the early morning crowd. It's almost biblical the way he parts groups of students wherever he walks. What makes it worse? He looksgood. Runway model good. Front of the magazine good. So good it’s easy to remember what it’s like to have his body all over mine.

As usual, he’s in all black like his sister. He cuffs his slacks right where his boots begin, designer shirt tucked into his designer belt. He moves towards the fountain, hands in his pockets, cigarette flipping between his fingers.

I should look away, but I don’t. The longer I stare, the easier it is to think about speaking to him. Touching him. Fucking him.

Like he knows I’m watching, he looks up, his eyes landing on mine.

Shit.

My eyes drop to my phone.

Lowering my head, I move with the crowd of students walking to the arts building, letting my hair cover my face. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe refusing to acknowledge his all-consuming presence will help me stick to my rules.

My phone vibrates in my hand, reminding me that class is in five minutes. I check my email to make sure my assignment is all there.

When I look up at the space where he was, he’s not there anymore, leaving a giant gap in the quad as big as the hole in my chest.

Rye in his car flashes in my head, his hands gripping that wheel. My hand on his face. His lips dangerously close to mine. I’ve never felt so naked with him, and not one piece of clothing was off.

Forget about it. Don’t be stupid.

He’ll only ruin me. He’ll only break me. And I’ve lost enough.

Moving towards the main hall of the arts building, it’s not until the door closes behind me that I feel it. A presence.

Looking at my feet, there’s a shadow twice the size of me next to it.

Don’t turn around.

Keeping my pink heels forward, I move down the hall, the shadow moving with me.

The scent of tobacco and leather covers me in a veil that makes my stomach spin but I’m not ignoring my rules anymore. Not now.

He’s too close.

As I move through the hall, the eyes that glance our way aid my suspicion. My pace quickens, but his doesn't. The chatter in the halls muffles, and all I hear are his slow, large strides. Confident. Deliberate.

The sound of a saxophone helps to drown out his menacing pace behind me. Looking ahead, the band moves through the hall, instruments strapped to them.

Perfect.

The sound of horns and the clashing of cymbals gets louder as I make my way right in the middle of the group. Chaotic music pounds on my eardrums, my fingers coming to my ears as I squeeze through the band.

Once I’m through, I make a sharp turn, taking the long way through the school galleries. And just when I think I can take a breath, that scent overtakes me again.