Levi saunters in just seconds before the bell rings with one of his douchebag friends. The room falls nearly silent when Callum enters, closing the door behind him. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive at his nearness. It’s as though even the hair on my arms is attracted to him, standing on end, pulling toward him.

“Who here read the case study last night?” Callum asks by way of greeting, his voice clipped and serious.

Of course I did, but I’ve had enough attention on me today. The last thing I’m going to do is add more by being the teacher’s pet.

“Mr. Morris?” Callum asks. “Do you even know what class this is?”

The emo kid up front, Casey Morris, shifts in his seat. “Eh, statistics?”

“I’m the one asking questions, Mr. Morris. Either it is or it isn’t.”

“Statistics, bruh. Yeah.”

Callum walks over to his desk, peering down at the blue-haired kid, power and authority radiating from him. “I’m not your bruh.”

The class sniggers.

“I didn’t read the case study,” Casey mutters in defeat. “Sorry, Mr. Park.”

“The only thing sorry is your grade.” Callum steps aside, no longer interested in humiliating Casey. His attention falls on me. “How about you, Miss Reyes?”

With his intense gaze blatantly boring into me, a flash of heat prickles over my skin. I, too, shift uncomfortably like Casey, but probably for entirely different reasons.

I like being the object of Callum’s burning stare.

“I read it,” I admit with a whisper.

“Of course she did,” Levi utters loud enough for me to hear. “Probably fingered herself all night to it, too.” He barks out a laugh before mocking me in a voice that’s supposed to sound like mine. “‘Statistics is so hot, Mr. Park. Make me come.’”

Chapter Seven

Callum

I want to put my hands around this kid’s neck and choke the life out of him. Watch his face turn purple and his eyes bug out as he gasps for air. He must sense the rage bubbling up inside me, despite my apathetic expression, because he drops his gaze to his desk.

Good.

He can shut his damn mouth and leave my girl alone.

My girl.

Stupid fucking man. She’s nothing to you. Nothing.

But that’s a lie. Last night, when I made the decision to text her, I made her mine. My friend. Or so I’d agreed to.

It’s not…enough, though.

Friends seems like the wrong word to label what we have.

“May I be excused?”

The object of my obsession’s voice draws me from my inner turmoil. I find Willa’s eyes shiny with unshed tears and her chin slightly wobbling. Everything in me begs me to go to her, pull her into my arms, and not let go.

“You may.”