Chapter 12 #2
“What are you even doing in here? Do you make a habit of following women into restrooms?”
He shrugged, pushing the door closed behind him with the back of his hand. “Just the ones who run away after almost kissing me.”
Shit.
“You’re delusional.” I grabbed another hand towel just to have something between my hands and him. “You can’t be in here.”
“Relax, I’m not here to cause a scene.”
“You mean another scene?” I snapped at him.
His smile was just for show, but his eyes were piercing. “We need to talk, Sav, and you keep running.”
I turned away from him, folding the towel slowly as I walked to the linen basket, stooping to pick up the one I had thrown earlier. “Talk about what?”
He took one step closer, enough for the scent of his cologne to drift through the sterile soap smell. “About how you’re not really tutoring me, but have no problem mocking my lack of intelligence—”
“I didn’t!” I protested quickly. Too quickly. I saw his frown. “She was implying we were together, and she’s one of the biggest gossips in the university and I — we — don’t need that kind of attention.”
“So you told the — and I quote — ‘biggest gossip in the university’ that I was stupid?”
“No!” I flushed because I knew my dad had implied it, and not in a kind way.
“When asked how I knew you, I merely confirmed that you needed help with a class, and when I told her which class, she yawned and said no wonder.” I smoothed my hands down my thighs.
“I never implied you were stupid or anything like that.”
“And the professor?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Huh?” he mocked me. “Your art professor, and don’t insult both of us, Sav, by denying that he isn’t.”
I drew myself up to my full height, all five feet five inches of me. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”
“But you do have to explain what’s in that art shed to someone.”
“Dante . . .”
“I mean, I assume your father doesn’t know about how you’re hiding something in that shed of yours.
” He flashed me that kilowatt smile, too sharp, too pointed.
“About how you’d rather stab me with a glass shard than admit I’m right.
” He looked me over slowly. “Is it just your art project you hide from your father, or the professor too?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, fury blending with panic. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“And he does?” he spat.
What was that look? Was he jealous? No. Impossible. But that glower wasn’t fading. “You sound ridiculous,” I said briskly, watching his eyes narrow further. “As I said, it’s none of your business.”
“That’s the thing.” His voice lowered, a whisper sinking in deep. “I think it is. And I don’t like it. Drawing attention to yourself with the professor, not the smartest play, Cole. Which makes this dangerous — for both of us.”
I swallowed hard because he wasn’t wrong.
Too many people paid attention to me for the wrong reasons, which had been demonstrated tonight, more than once.
But Dante was being reckless to push me here, reckless to stand this close, and even more reckless with the way his gaze lingered on my mouth before flicking back up to my eyes.
“Go back to the party, Ten,” I whispered. “And stay out of my business.”
He smiled again, slow and unhurried. “Can’t do that, Sav. You’re already in mine.”
I moved to brush past him, but Dante shifted just enough to block me. Not touching, not crowding, but close enough that the air between us felt heavy.
“Move.” My voice was steady. Barely.
“Say please.”
I glared. “Now you’re just being a dick.”
“Maybe.” His grin briefly crossed his face, but his eyes stayed hard. “But you’re still here. Which means you might just be protesting too much about how much you dislike my attention on you, Savvy.”
I hated that my pulse kicked. “What are you talking about?”
“You like me.” His tone was even and matter-of-fact, like we were discussing the weather. “And you’ve been looking at me differently ever since you realized it. Don’t bother denying it.”
I crossed my arms, trying to build armor where none existed.
“Or maybe I’m wondering why you’re so desperate to keep me close?
What exactly did I overhear the other night that would make the great Dante Spence, Mr. Cool as Ice jumpy?
” I watched him try not to react. Try not to squirm.
“You think flirting with me will distract me?
Whether you mean it or not, I don't care. It won't work.” I scoffed. “You must think I’m stupid to fall for that kind of bullshit.”
“Never stupid.” He tilted his head and studied me with that unnerving calmness. “Curious. Determined. Stubborn as hell. Dangerous if you want to poke into things that don’t concern you.”
My throat tightened, but I forced a smirk. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.”
His eyes flickered, amusement cut with something darker. “Maybe we’re both flirting with danger.”
Silence lingered, thick with everything left unsaid. I could hear the faint drip of a faucet, the hum of a vent, and I felt his gaze like a hand on my skin.
Then he said softly, almost gently, “Careful, Sav. You keep this up, one of us is going to get burned.”
I should’ve walked out then. Should’ve pushed past him and slammed the door. Instead, I stood rooted to the tile, pulse pounding, and for one dangerous, suspended second, I wasn’t sure which of us he meant.
Because Dante Spence made me feel uncontrolled.
I hated feeling the tug in my gut, the spark in my chest, when I knew I shouldn’t. He was a walking headline, a mess in motion, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d be pulled into whatever storm followed him.
So I did the only thing I could — I moved a step closer. “What do you want?”
He leaned just a fraction nearer, a finger trailed lightly along my jawline, his thumb brushed over my bottom lip, and the answer was in his eyes before he spoke. “Maybe I want you.”
Suddenly, this wasn’t just a standoff, but a tense moment filled with an energy that was ready to explode between us.
I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and I shoved past him before he could see how my breath hitched and my hands trembled as I fought the urge to reach for him. My heels echoed on the tile as I swung the door open, and the cool hallway air rushed in.
I had to get out of there because if I didn’t, I was about to do something crazy, like kiss the quarterback in a restroom.
I rejoined the event, glad my father had his back to me and wouldn’t know how long I was gone. It felt like hours, but I knew it was only minutes. My breathing was quick, my palms were sweaty, and I was so tense I felt like I was having a heart attack.
I went and joined my father, knowing it was the safest place to be right now, and grabbed a glass of apple juice from a passing waiter.
I took a sip, realized it was champagne, and kept my mouth shut.
But I did place it on a table because the last thing I needed tonight was the headline that the dean allowed his underage daughter to drink, even if I wanted to down it and seek another.
Dad turned his head as I moved beside him, his hand resting possessively on the back of some donor’s chair, his smile smug and sure. He gave me a sharp nod, the silent approval that I was back in line.
The buzz of conversation, the clink of glasses, the overly bright chandeliers — it all felt overwhelming, yet oddly familiar. I knew how to navigate this room. Shake hands, tilt my head, laugh just enough. Pretend.
I pasted on a brighter smile and slipped into the flow, all the while aware that someone would have noticed Dante following me into the hallway . . . and that eventually, he’d come back in here too.
I already knew my mask might not be enough, and when he strolled back into the room as if he’d never been gone, that smile turned up just enough to charm everyone within fifty feet. I resented the effortless ease with which he moved through life.
Dad turned to me, a lull in the conversation, drawing my attention back to him. “Have you had anything to eat?” he asked quietly.
I blinked, surprised at the question. “A couple of canapés.”
He nodded, as if he had the same. “You can go home,” he said casually, almost sounding like a concerned parent. “Get some pizza or whatever counts as food these days on a Saturday night.”
I gave my dad a genuine smile. “It’s still pizza, Dad,” I teased. “You’re not that old.”
“Well, we have the brunch tomorrow, and I know you’re losing study time, so I don’t want you to forget to take care of yourself. If your mother were here, she wouldn’t approve.”
“You were doing so good,” I muttered. “Then you ruined it when you mentioned her.” He gave me that almost parental look of disapproval, the one I was used to when it came to her.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat at the slight change in the way he was acting.
It was almost nice. “It’s really okay for me to leave? ”
“Yes, it’s probably best.” His eyes shifted past me to scan the room. “I think there are too many distractions for you here tonight.”
Ah . . . there was the dad I’d come to know.
The practiced laugh caught in my throat. The threat of tears stung behind my eyes, and for one terrifying second, I thought everyone around me could see it — the way the air tightened, the way I forced myself not to scream. “I can promise you, Dad, I’m not distracted.”
His eyes softened a little. His hand squeezed my upper arm. “Good. Go,” he said, leaning forward. “Before I change my mind.”
I nodded and, a few minutes later, made my excuses and headed for the exit. I looked back once, unable not to, my eyes drawn like magnets to find QB10 and see if he was still surrounded by ‘fans.’
But he wasn’t looking at them. His gaze cut across the room like a spotlight and settled on me.
He didn’t smile this time. The weight of his stare was enough to undo me all over again.
I swallowed hard, heat rising up my neck as I kept his gaze.
I turned and walked away, suddenly aware that anyone seeing us look at each other across the room would assume the wrong thing, but it didn’t stop the fact that each step felt like it was pulling me farther from him and something I couldn’t control.
I told myself I was finished for the night, but the truth held tight around my ribs — walking out didn’t mean I’d gotten away.
Not when Dante could stop me with just a look.