Page 76 of After the Snap

Heat rushes into my cheeks as his breath brushes my skin, and I press my lips together to keep from giving him the satisfaction of knowing how easily he got to me. Jubal pulls back just far enough to look at me, the curve of his mouth telling me he knows he did something, even if I’m praying he doesn’t know exactly how much. Before I can decide whether I want to make him pay for it or drag him back toward me, he straightens and checks the time on his phone.

“I have to get upstairs. Film.”

I hate how quickly I feel his leaving when he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Then you should probably go before someone comes looking for you.”

Jubal steps away, but his hand settles against my waist as he bends toward me again. My body recognizes the movement quickly enough that I turn my face up, expecting the distance between his mouth and mine to disappear. Instead, his lips press softly against my forehead.

His eyes stay on mine as he straightens, and I have to curl my fingers around my phone to keep from reaching for his shirt and pulling him back down.

“Later, Pea.”

I don’t want him to leave, but for once, wanting more of him doesn’t scare me enough to pretend otherwise.

“Later.”

He turns toward the door, and this time I let him go. I watch until he disappears into the hallway before looking down at Old Man above the message he sent me. I bite back a smile, set my phone beside my laptop, and pull the practice set toward me again. I still have six explanations left to review, but having his number makes it ridiculously tempting to text him before he’s even made it upstairs. I force my attention back to the practice set and make it through two questions before reaching the one I missed because I changed my answer with eleven seconds left on the clock.

I read through the explanation for the question and confirm my first choice was right, which means there’s nothing new to add to tomorrow’s study block except a reminder to stop second-guessing myself when I’ve already found support in the passage. I type TRUST YOUR FIRST ANSWER into the notes column before deleting it. Yelling at myself in capital letters won’t make me trust myself any more the next time the clock starts running.

I stare at the empty notes column for another few seconds before my attention shifts to the phone beside my laptop. I could send Jubal the picture of the speaker name since that’s technically why we exchanged numbers, but that isn’t what I want to tell him anymore.

My fingers close around the phone before I’ve decided whether I’m actually going to do it. Seeing Old Man at the top of the screen makes me smile all over again, and when I open our messages, I glance at the practice question still sitting on my laptop and start typing.

Turns out, I need someone to remind me not to change a correct answer with eleven seconds left.

Jubal is somewhere upstairs watching game film, and I’m about to interrupt him because he’s the person I want to tell. My thumb hovers over the message for another second before I hit send. For a few seconds, nothing happens, which is exactly what I should expect after texting someone who told me five minutes ago that he had somewhere to be. I set the phone beside my laptop and make it halfway through the next explanation before it vibrates against the table.

Old Man

Did you know the answer before you changed it?

I thought I did.

The dots appear almost immediately.

Old Man

That wasn’t my question, Pea.

I narrow my eyes at the screen even though he can’t see me doing it.

Yes.

His reply takes long enough that I manage to read the first two sentences of the explanation in front of me before the phone vibrates again.

Old Man

Then you already know what I’m going to say.

A laugh catches in my throat because I do know, as I look at the empty notes column where TRUST YOUR FIRST ANSWER had been sitting less than a minute ago.

I liked you better when you were downstairs. It was a simpler time.

Old Man

You mean three minutes ago when you were hiding my contact name from me?