I'm now in the hallway, clutching my books to my chest. It's another day of playing the nerd again. Ever since that incident at the hospital, the boys have been giving me space. Or maybe they just don't care enough about KD yet. Either way, it won't be long before my plan starts taking effect. After all, I know their weaknesses.
Right now, I'm heading toward the library to pass some time. I know it's the one place most of them won't come to. And if they do, it's only to sneak into the meeting rooms—which, let's be honest, aren't really used for meetings. Gross, I know.
I settle into a spot in the middle of the library, surrounded by bookcases. Sitting near the entrance would be too noisy, and they could spot me easily. Not that they care about nerdy me, but I'd still rather take precautions. I also avoid the far end of the library. Everyone knows that's where people make out. It's basically common knowledge, and honestly, you can probably guess the kind of people who do that. The librarian doesn't even bother scolding them anymore.
As I work on an assignment, I hear voices from the next aisle over.
"So, what have you got on that girl?" Thoven's voice. I freeze. So, I was wrong. They do care about KD—enough to investigate her.
"We've got a lot," Vaughn replies. "But one thing really stood out. Every file says her name is just KD. No last name. No middle name. Just KD."
A cold laugh follows, and a chill runs down my spine. I hate that sound. It brings back memories I don't want to relive—cold laughs and dangerous glimmers in their eyes. I shake my head, trying to chase the images away.
"What's funny?" Thoven asks.
"I just find it interesting, that's all." Zeke. Of course.
My head starts spinning. I rest it on the table, trying to relax. Funny how I thought this would be just a little break.
I wake up to a soft orange glow spilling in from the window. Sunset. I must've fallen asleep. When I turn my head, I see Vaughn sitting next to me, watching me with an amused look. Reflexively, I glance around the room, wondering if he's staring at someone else. My awkwardness must've been obvious because he laughs—actually laughs.
Did I just hear Vaughn Montier laugh?
I stare at him, wide-eyed, as he laughs again, this time louder. I haven't heard that laugh in years. It's weirdly refreshing. When he finally calms down, he leans forward and gently adjusts my glasses. What in the actual hell is going on?
Is this his way of seducing a girl right in front of me?
He messes up my hair and smiles. "You know, you look cute."
What?
Confused and flustered, I grab my things and shove them into my bag. "I-I'm sorry, but I-I need to go," I stammer as I hurry to leave.
Before I can escape, a hand grabs my wrist.
"You don't need to be shy around me. I just want to know who you are."
Why those words make me angry, I don't know. But they do.
Did he seriously just try to hit on a girl who was passed out? Is he really that desperate?
"I'm sorry, but I'm not a tramp. And I don't plan on becoming one." I don't mean to sound venomous, but it slips out anyway. And when I meet his gaze, that fake smile vanishes.
I smirk inwardly. Typical. Just testosterone-fueled theatrics.
But then he says, "Do you really think I approached you just because I needed a release?"
Well, yeah. What other reason would someone like Vaughn have for talking to someone like me? He doesn't just talk to people. Not unless they're useful.
He must sense that I'm not about to respond, because the next thing I know, he's dragging me out of the library and into the parking lot.
"Get in."
I blink at him. He can't be serious.
"Get in," he repeats, more firmly.
I glance toward my car. "What about my car?"
He follows my gaze. "I'll have someone bring it to where we're going."
He's staring at me, so I look down to avoid his eyes. "Why can't I just follow you in my own car?"
He chuckles. "I'm not dumb. I know you'll just try to escape. Besides, I already told you—I want to know you. Now get in."
I know I can't win this argument, so I climb in. Fighting back would just waste energy I don't have.
Once inside, I clutch my bag tightly and keep my eyes down. I don't want to look at him. I don't even want to be in the same car.
With these guys, there's no such thing as clear intentions.
"Tell me everything about yourself," he says.
None at all.