Chapter 10 #2
Chewing my bottom lip, I take him in through my peripheral, too proud to turn my full attention toward him.
Why is he here? The question rolls around in my head.
After being cornered by Austin in the hall, something about this feels wrong.
Did he send his friend in here to terrorize me? Is that why he’s here?
Gabriel doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, looking like he does.
Which is hot, by the way. I may have zero interest in guys as a whole, and even less in someone who associates with the likes of Austin Holt, but I’m not blind.
Gabriel Herrera is overwhelmingly attractive.
He has the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him.
Around six four with tan skin, dark brown hair, and light honey-colored eyes, it’s easy to see why the other girls in class are suddenly staring.
He keeps his face shaved. His hair loosely styled in a way that says, I care, but not so much that I’ll waste unnecessary time.
His jaw is chiseled, and the corners of his mouth curl on their own, giving him the smallest resting smile.
He’s like a Hispanic Thomas Doherty. It’s devastating in a way. Again, not because I’m interested. I just have eyes.
Today he wears ripped jeans and a long-sleeved, gray shirt.
The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms and the thick leather cuff he wears on his left wrist. It’s a simple design.
Dark brown leather with a wolf embossed on the side.
PacNorth’s mascot is a wolf. Probably a symbol of school pride or something.
I can feel the heat of his gaze. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s studying me as intently as I am him, only he’s being obvious about it which has me squirming in my seat.
“Like what you see?”
I roll my eyes and ignore the question.
Gabriel drops his legs to the floor and faces me.
I don’t acknowledge him. A few guys call his name, waving him over to the empty seats beside them.
He gives them a tight smile and a nod in greeting but doesn’t get up to join them.
He keeps his gaze trained on me, like he’s worried I might disappear if he looks away.
If only it was that easy. Gabriel ignores their repeated attempts to persuade him, and I just ignore him entirely, refusing to fall into whatever trap this is.
“Cat got your tongue?” His voice lowers, but then his mouth curves to one side. He’s testing me. Seeing how I react.
I give him nothing. I’m not interested in whatever game he wants to play.
He clucks his tongue and reaches his hand out across the gap between our desks. Instinctively, I flinch back. Gabriel freezes, his eyes sharpening on me.
His hand hovers only inches away, not pulling back, but also not moving forward. I chance a look in his direction, giving up on my attempts at being discreet.
His eyes are dark, but he’s not looking at my face, it’s like he’s staring off into space, his gaze focused on the surface of my desk.
I give myself three seconds to take in his expression. His thick brows are furrowed and his jaw is locked. My eyes drop to his arm that still hovers between us and he shifts into motion, swiping the pen from my desk.
“Mind if I borrow this?” His voice is casual, any confusion or tension wiped clean from his face as if the last few seconds never happened.
A delayed gasp passes my lips and I stare mutely at him as he rolls my pen between his thumb and forefinger. What just happened?
Gabriel leans back in his seat, getting comfortable again as my mind struggles to form the words to his question, and for some strange reason, I blurt out the first stupid thing that pops into my head.
“Why don’t you have hair on your arms?” I realize how rude that is as soon as I say it, but it’s too late to take them back so I push on. “And no. You can’t have my pen.”
I reach out to grab it, but he drops it into his other hand, keeping it out of reach.
I huff out a breath and hold my hand out in silent demand.
He quirks a brow, a small smile curling the edge of his lips. “What was that?”
“My pen. Give it back.”
He shakes his head. “Before that. You asked …”
He trails off and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I know what I asked but I didn’t mean to ask it. Not really. I’m not even sure why it jumped out at me, but now, it looks like he expects an answer.
I dip my chin down, indicating his forearm. “Your arms. You don’t have any hair.”
“I know.” The way he says it, like it’s the most normal thing, and I mean, it’s not, right? I know not all guys have chest hair. And some struggle to grow a beard. But last I checked, arm hair was pretty universal even for girls.
I exhale a small huff. “Whatever. Just give me back my pen.”
“I shave it, in case you were wondering.”
What? “Why?”
He shrugs, still not returning my pen. “I play soccer.” Like that answers anything.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I tell him.
“Swimmers and cyclists shave their bodies, but there are studies that prove it can increase performance. What reasons do soccer players have to shave theirs?” Too late, I realize he’s drawn me into a conversation I never intended to have, and he still hasn’t given me my pen back.
I like that pen. It’s my favorite pen. Not too thick and not too thin.
Its base is metal, not that cheap plastic crap, and it has this sort of mermaid ombre effect where the bottom is green and as you move up it transitions to blue, and then from blue to pink, and pink to purple until you reach the top.
And it has a stylus tip. I don’t use it, but I like that it’s there. Dammit. Why won’t he give me my pen?
“I don’t shave my entire body.”
“Lovely.” I keep my tone casual, not at all envisioning Gabriel’s naked body. My cheeks heat and I chew my bottom lip. Turning in my seat, I fold my arms over my chest, determined to ignore his existence, but he continues like I haven’t spoken at all as he idly plays with my pen.
“Mostly my arms and legs.”
“Mostly?” My mind catches on the word and I mutter a curse. He continues drawing me into talking to him. Urgh. Ignore him, Cecilia. Only now my mind wants to know what else he shaves. If he mostly shaves his arms and legs, that means he shaves somewhere else too, right?
My gaze flicks over him and he watches me, granting me his full, undivided attention.
Okay, so arms and legs he admits to. Face is a given. His neck is bare, though, naturally, I would assume. I don’t see any chest hair peeking out of his shirt, not that that is overtly telling. Why am I even thinking about this?
My eyes dip lower.
Gabriel chuckles, and too late I realize I just looked at his crotch and he totally caught me. Oh my god. My face flames with embarrassment.
“Not that,” he says with a smirk. “I trim. All dudes should. But I’m not bare as a baby down there.”
My face and neck burn and I glance around the room, looking anywhere but at him when he laughs out loud again.
“Sorry, that was rude,” I mutter.
“Nah, we’re good.”
I meet his gaze briefly and give him a small nod. “Thanks.”
“But—” he draws out the word. “It's only fair we even the score, don’t you think? I told you mine. You tell me yours?”
My eyes narrow. “If I do, will you finally return my pen?”
His eyes light up with mischief. “Sure. Answer my questions and—“ He holds out my pen and I move to grab it, but he pulls back at the last second. “Then you can have your pen.”
“Fine.”
His smile widens and he quirks a single brow before asking, “Arms?”
I shake my head. “No.” If I swam competitively I would, but I don’t see that happening in this lifetime so why bother?
“Legs?”
I nod. That one is a given.
“Underarms?”
I snort and follow it up with another nod. There’s nothing wrong with girls who don’t shave their pits. If that’s your stick or if you’re one of the Ra-Ra female empowerment types, good for you. But, I’ve formed no attachment to my underarm hair and prefer it to be gone.
“Pussy?” he asks, not bothering to keep his voice down.
I choke on a breath and glance around to see if anyone else heard before exhaling a breath of relief. Looks like the rest of the class is too distracted with their own conversations to pay any attention to ours. Thank god.
“Shhh,” I hiss, giving him a what the hell? glare. The least he could do is keep his voice down when he says something like that.
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Relax. No one here cares,” he says. When all I do is glare at him, he asks, “Want me to repeat the question?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t shave your pussy? Or no, I don’t need to repeat the question?”
My eyes flare in annoyance. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Our professor isn’t here yet and I’m pretty sure no one in the room is offended by the word pussy.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. He’s infuriating.
Gabriel coughs to clear his throat and I snap my gaze toward him with a glare. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“What?”
“That noise—“ He shakes his head. “Don’t make noises like that.”
My brows draw tight. “What?”
He coughs again, but whatever point he’s trying to make must not be important because after a curt, “just don’t,” he drops it and changes directions. “Are you going to answer me or do I get to keep this spiffy pen?” He twirls it between his thumb and index finger. “Bare, all natural, or groomed?”
I give him a withering glare, not that he seems affected by it, before I mutter a single word under my breath. “Bare.”
He leans toward me, hand cupping his ear. “What was that?”
I bite my lower lip as heat crawls up my neck. “Bare,” I repeat, this time a little louder.
“Huh? Still didn’t hear you.”
People are looking now and I want nothing more than to reach across the gap and punch him square in the jaw. But, I can tell he isn’t going to let up. “Bare,” I grind out for the third and final time as I try and fail to ignore the curious stares in our direction.