1642734778_punk-57-pdf

onto his neck. I can’t tell what it is, but I lean down and kiss it, trailing my
lips slowly up his neck, to his ear.
“Sorry to eat and run,” I whisper, “but my friends are waiting for me.”
I don’t want to leave, but I have to.
I move to get up, but he yanks me back down. “That’s not how this
works, princess.”
His eyes challenge me, and I feel his fingers squeeze around my thighs.
My heart beats faster. “Someone could come in,” I warn.
“And what? Find out I’m your dirty little secret?”
“Mas—” But he leans up and snatches my lips, cutting me off. He
kisses me deep, and all of a sudden I just want to wrap my arms around him
again.
“Don’t call me that when we’re like this,” he whispers against my lips.
Don’t call him Masen? “Why?” I ask.
“Just don’t.” He shrugs me off and stands up, forcing me to climb off
his lap. “Now do me a favor and go in the lunchroom and sit in Trey’s lap,
would you? I wanna look while your fucking prom date has no clue that I
just had that ass grinding my cock a minute ago.”
He gives me a cruel smile, and I inhale a deep breath, raising my chin
and trying to look unfazed.
But my heart pounds like a jackhammer. What an asshole.
Before I can reply with a witty, sarcastic, or utterly childish remark, he
walks past me and out the door while the sound of the students in the
lunchroom floods in.
An ache digs into the back of my throat, but I refuse to cry. Turning, I
look out the window and see my reflection in the glass. I blink away the
tears and check my face to make sure my mascara and lips aren’t smeared.
Checking that my hair is smooth and perfect again.