Page 159 of Ignition

Or that time a guy tried chatting me up in line for coffee and Josh sauntered over, draped a heavy arm around my waist, and tugged me into him, eyes hooking with mine like I was the only thing in the room.

The feminist in me should have rebelled, but I’d nearly melted into a puddle.

Even so, he didn’t want more, though I couldn’t put my finger on why. My mind supplied poisonous, dark thoughts I shoved away just as fast: that the chase had been it for him, that I wasn’t his type after all, that he’d stopped wanting me, now that we’d—

And god, I wanted to scream every time he pulled back, to yank him by the collar and demand an answer—but I’d die before I let him see how much it affected me.

With a heavy sigh, I shuffled to my chair, switched on the bronze lamp, and sipped some cold coffee.

My planner flicked open, and I took advantage of the nearly deserted place to jot out my study sessions, my tennis slots, girl time with Pri—blocking out each of them in different colours. The only difference to previous terms was the pale blue squares I’d labelled “date time,” which still made me blush.

The fallout I’d been bracing for since Valentine’s two weeks ago never came. All I got were glares—sharp enough they could slice glass—and passive-aggressive or snide comments whispered in passing.

Nothing new.

The silence was somehow more unsettling.

To make matters worse, Liam clung to the walls of every hallway, a flicker of movement, like he wasn’t supposed to linger on the rare occasions our eyes met. Even so, the scars around my heart throbbed and squeezed each time, as if it had been only yesterday.

I wondered if I’d ever look at him the same way again.

A shudder rolled through me, from my crown to my toes, turning my skin all icy.

Shaking my head, I took another sip, and refocused on my planning, on the hour or so I had to kill before Professor Thorne’s class at noon.

Highlighter hissed steadily over the page, the sound broken by sparse murmurs and the scratch of pen on paper.

When I straightened up, grabbed my things, and headed out—rolling out the kinks from my neck and shoulders—conspiratorial whispers by the door slowed my steps before I even registered what they were talking about.

“Are you sure?” Chloe said to someone I couldn’t see.

I shoved the vicious question of what she was even doing in the library out of my mind and pretended to check my pencil case for something, ears on a swivel.

I didn’t know why I was eavesdropping, except their hushed voices brimmed with excitement, and I thought I’d heard Professor Thorne’s name somewhere.

“Yeah,” the other girl whispered back, “it’s as good as confirmed.

“We’re getting real practice.”

The voice sounded like it belonged to Tiffany, and my stomach did a nauseated flip.

She let the pause stretch, as if for effect, before adding, “A case.”

I blinked slow and nearly dropped my pencil.

Fourth-year law students and above were required to do hours of practice, but so far, those had only comprised of summarising dusty old cases and reading court reports.

Working on a real case…

I strained my ears for more, but they’d moved out of my range, and I couldn’t quite follow without giving myself away.

Feeling like I was simultaneously floating and walking underwater, I turned on my heels and headed to the main building.

The cool sting of winter air barely registered over my bare legs, and I blinked against the glare of the sun reflected in the fountain before stalking inside.

Raucous laughter brushed the shells of my ears as my hand rummaged in my pocket for my phone en route to my locker.

I opened it absentmindedly, shoved my things in, then fired off a text to Pri: