Page 33 of Roses & Ruin

“You are unbelievable,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “Why are you even here?”

Hayden drops the book, mouth open to reply. I lose my breath for a second, like I always do, at the striking reveal of that beautiful face.

Thankfully, it takes him a second to load his retort. He’s gone still, and his rich, dark eyes simmer with something unreadable as they flicker over my face, my books, my sweater, my boots. After a moment, he snaps his mouth shut and yanks his legs off the table. He leans forward, eyes narrowing.

“This may come as a shock to you,” Hayden drawls beneath his breath, “but you’re not the only student at Payen.” He shakes his physics book at me. “I’ve got an exam coming up, and you’re being disruptive. So—” Hayden presses a finger to his lips and shushes.

I rear back in my chair, appalled. Hayden spares me the tiniest hint of a smirk before disappearing behind his physics book. Chewing my lip, I stare at where his thumb rests on the cover, smothering half of Europe on the holographic print of planet earth.

“I want to talk to you,” I say stubbornly.

“I need to memorize the equations to calculate escape velocity,” he says, turning a page, equally stubborn. I lay my books in my lap, frowning down at my weathered copy of Frankenstein. I swallow hard.

“Is it really so easy for you to ignore me?” I say it softer than I mean to. Hayden’s finger stops tapping. He takes a moment to reply. When he does, he keeps his face behind his textbook.

“Easier than memorizing the equations to calculate escape velocity.” His voice is quiet and neutral. But it still makes all my righteous indignation flutter to the ground like a house of cards in a hurricane.

“I know it’s the silent floor, but that doesn’t mean you have to be so rude.”

Hayden drops the book, eyes narrowed. He opens his mouth to protest.

“No,” I spit, cutting him off. “Maybe…maybe next time I see you on campus, I’ll go the other way. Do me a favor and do the same.” I whirl around and march away, squeezing my books like a lifeline.

A strong grip catches my wrist and jerks me back. I stumble against a wall—no, a chest. Hayden’s chest. His muscles feel carved from granite. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. His midnight eyes are smoldering, tracking quickly over my face, jaws clenched.

“Let go,” I breathe half-heartedly. I tug my wrist, mostly to feel how strong he is, how his impossible grip never budges.

“We can’t talk here,” he says in a hushed voice, something like urgency threading his words. “But I know where we can. Come on.”

Chapter 12

Our walk from the library is cold, misty, and silent. He’s popped the collar of his leather jacket and hunched forward, hands deep in his pockets, his face managing to be both lovely and surly at once.

I have no idea what to say. I’m still processing that this is happening. I had been sure he’d call my bluff. It lights a candle of hope in my chest that he didn’t let me leave. That being said, I want him to be the first to talk this time. I wonder how long I can hold out.

He’s leading me down a stone walkway lined with giant oaks and maples showering us with a confetti of brown, red, and orange leaves. I’ve never been this far into the west quad. A part of me wonders if we’re even still on Payen’s campus.

I want to ask him where we’re going. I should ask him where we’re going. I look up at Hayden’s profile, those sharp cheekbones, the artful cut of his jaw, those fierce violet eyes.

“Of course.” Hayden’s voice is all amused irony. My eyes shoot up, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the book at the top of my stack. “Frankenstein. Surprise, surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

Hayden’s gaze finds mine. He gives me a slow, enigmatic smirk. He shrugs one shoulder and looks away.

“Melancholy girls and their Mary Shelley,” he teases.

“I am not melancholy,” I spit as I simultaneously think, I am totally melancholy. “There’s nothing wrong with being melancholy,” I amend.

“Never said there was.”

“You can’t make all these reductive assumptions about me—or anyone, for that matter—just because you happen to notice a book I’m carrying.” I don’t like how much it stings, the idea that I’m just like everyone else in Hayden’s eyes.

“I would never,” Hayden says, the violet in his gaze dancing. He shoots me a tiny, crooked smile, and my cheeks grow warm.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We’re almost there. You’ll like it.”