“Seriously,” Ryan said, leaning against a pile of lockers while Riley shut her own, “what’s going on, babe? You’ve been quiet all day.”
What was going on was that Riley was already half-way through the day, and she still wasn’t placing Paris anywhere. Some guys had a similar voice as him, but none had his eye color or his skin color or his… build for that matter.
“Riley,” Ryan pressed, “are we not on speaking terms now?”
“We are,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Stop being so over dramatic.”
“Me?” he said, clearly offended. “I’m over dramatic?”
“Yep,” she responded shortly, “you’re calling me obsessive? Then why are you so keen on finding out if I’m upset when I’m not? You’ve never acted that way, so now I suspect you’re trying another way to get into my pants.”
“More like panties,” he commented.
She shot him a look.
Ryan rolled his eyes and walked off into the other direction without another word.
Riley exhaled a soft sigh.
Finally… a moment of peace. God, she hated him.
She didn’t like thinking that, but she really didn’t like Ryan. He was a jerk, a user, and a manipulator; not in a bad way, of course. He never assaulted her or hurt her in any way.
Even though he tried to get on her multiple times.
He was just… very, very possessive, and she hated it. Many girls would squeal over his possessiveness, but it took a while for Riley to get over the squeal and realize that it was all selfish.
Ryan never liked her, he just liked getting the attention from dating a writer.
And also the fact that he could have her help him with his essay; if by “help” you mean “write it for him.”
Ryan was a smart guy, per say. He was good at math and science and knew many pointless facts, but he was really lazy when it came to certain assignments; ones that Riley specialized in.
Yes, he was good at Math and Science, but she never asked him to do her homework for her or to give her the answers on the next unit test.
He did the opposite, though, and as hard as it was to realize the relationship was all based on his ego, she broke it off.
She sighed and pressed her forehead to her locker, deciding to take a deep breath before running off to her Health Education class.
But right as she exhaled, something caught her off guard.
“Paris!” someone yelled, making her eyes shoot open. “Ma’ man! Yo! What’s up?”
She started breathing shallowly, waiting for him to respond.
“Eh,” his familiar voice said, “nothing much. Got somewhere to be, though. Mind letting go?”
Riley remained in the same position as she heard the boy’s arm ruffle against Paris’ clothes when he let go.
“What class you got?” the boy said.
“Health Education,” Paris responded, making Riley still.
“Oh, I heard that class sucks.”
“It’s not bad.”
Hold up… Paris was in her next class…?
Who was he?
She turned then, daring enough to lock her eyes on him.
Her breath caught, eyes taking in his familiar sandy-blonde hair and white skin, but she could tell from his ocean blue eyes that it was him.
He was the boy in the mask.
How did she not recognize him before? She could’ve sworn that she never heard his name in this entire school… so…
Hold on…
She squinted her eyes at him.
He was that quiet boy in the class; the one her teacher always called “Lucan” because it was his last name. He very rarely spoke, and he never really seemed shy or anything; he seemed almost moody.
But as she watched him, she placed him in other classes.
He… was in her Biology class… English, too… and her Algebra class…
What the hell?
And he was somewhere else, too… Somewhere she went quite frequently.
And it slapped her in the face.
Oh, Jesus… He was the waiter at her favorite restaurant.
The one that was very short staffed.
Her breaths came shorter.
She always thought he was cute, but… never really knew him that well…
She always thought he was moody and angsty.
He wasn’t cute… he was hot… Jesus Christ, fucking steaming.
Her eyes trailed his body, figuring that since he was paying attention to his friends, she could eye-fuck him a little.
She had a bad mouth—a bad mind, honestly. She cussed mainly on joke-full occasions but rarely did she do it out of anger.
But really—how she was taking in all of him—this was the exact definition of eye-fucking.
Because she was invading everywhere.
“You know it’s rude to stare, Riley,” Paris said, and she shot up from her position, startled.
His blue eyes looked somewhat warm but also cold, and he smirked at her reddened cheeks, and she stared at the floor then, hoping to get out of this embarrassing situation.
How was that possible? What was he thinking?
Did he get this fluttery-hot feeling, too?
The bell rattled her ears, making her jump, and she realized the halls were empty apart from her and him.
She was late to class, too.
Paris nodded down the hall, still smirking. “Come, walk with me. We can go to class together.”
He started down the hall, and she stumbled over her own feet until she followed behind him.
“Paris?” she clarified.
“Yep.”
“As in… the Paris who came into my bedroom last night?”
He gave her a side glance, and smiled. “Yeah, I guess. Although, the way you put that sounds kind of creepy.”
“It was creepy,” she countered.
He shrugged. “I didn’t think so, you were calling me, Riley.”
She was silent then, noticing the way he walked.
He strolled coolly down the hall as if nothing weighed his body at all; his muscles were relaxed, and he seemed as if he was always at ease.
“Paris…?” she said as they passed the science hall.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” she said automatically.
He gave her a side glance. “Do I not look okay?”
“No, I mean, yes, but… With everything you know, with your secret life, it sounds kind of… nerve racking.”
He laughed, though silently, and gazed back at her in amusement. “‘Secret life?’ You make that sound like I’m a superhero or something.”
“You kind of are,” she answered. “You know… with your mask and everything. But what I don’t know… is who you’re trying to save.”
He stopped then, and she nearly stumbled when she slowed, as well. When she looked back at him, his eyes were dark, and he shook his head.
“Riley, Riley, Riley,” he said, exasperated, then looked at her, “seriously. Stop asking questions. You need to let this go, okay?”
“Why?” she questioned. “Why do I need to let this go?”
He gave her a sad look. “You’re endangering yourself.”
“But you don’t know the murderer, right?” she said. “You can give me answers, right?”
“No,” he said, “I can’t. Because if I do, you’ll know the answers, and you’ll be next.”
“How is that possible?” she questioned him. “How? You know the answers, don’t you? So why is that a problem? You clearly haven’t been targeted yet.”
He gave her a bored look. “Riley, I’m very stealthy, okay? I grew up in a dangerous family, and I know my way around things like this.”
“What do you mean?” she said, stomach coiling. “Dangerous? How dangerous?”
“You see?” Paris said. “Now you’re asking me about my past, and that’s none of your concern. I’m not the bad guy, Riley. And you need to stop looking for them.”
“But I need to find who killed—”
She suddenly found herself pressed harshly to the lockers with Paris in front of her, breath heating her cheeks.
“Riley,” Paris said, tone sharpening, “enough. I don’t care what you say, you’re obsessing, got it?”
“I am not obsessing,” she snapped. “Why does everyone say that?”
He shoved her harder to the wall, making her suck in a breath when his knee brushed a little spot in between her legs.
“Because you are,” he responded, forcing her glare at him despite this making the heat in her belly worse, “you are obsessing, Riley, and you are putting yourself in danger.” He paused when he noticed something in her eyes flicker. “Do you…” he said, studying her, “you know you’re putting yourself in danger, don’t you?” And he leaned further into her, his knee brushing farther as she winced. “You don’t care, though.”
She moved her eyes to the wall behind him, avoiding eye contact.
“Look,” Paris said, standing back up but she didn’t move from her position, “I know it’s hard to do this, Riley, but you need to let this go.”
What were they talking about again?
Oh, right. Murder.
“I can’t,” she said, slightly breathless.
“Why?” he countered. “Why can’t you?”
“Because…” she said, “if I don’t stop him… Then I’ll be all alone.”
Paris was silent then, watching her stiff stance.
“You’re not alone,” he said.
“I will be,” she retorted, “I need to find him. Or my mom’ll be gone, and Claire and everyone I care for, too.”
Paris watched her for a moment. “This has happened before…” he said, “hasn’t it?”
She sniffled, wiping her eyes that started stinging. “Yeah, but it was an accident.”
Her father.
“You don’t think it was,” he said, “do you?”
She looked to him. “I don’t feel like talking about this, Paris, alright?”
“What’s his name?” he questioned before she could walk off.
“Who?” she said.
“Your boyfriend,” Paris said as if she were dumb. “His name?”
Riley’s brows drew together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He paused. “Yeah, you do.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t. All alone, and I like it that way.”
“The dude,” Paris explained despite her countering her previous comment of loneliness, “the dude with the brown hair and brown eyes. Nerdy as hell.”
Riley rolled her irises in response. “I think you mean Ryan,” she stated. “And no, he’s not my boyfriend, I broke it off because he’s an ass.”
“Why is he always at your house then?” Paris questioned.
“One, you’re a stalker, you gotta stop doing that, and two, he comes in uninvited.”
“So, you’re calling me a stalker when your ex comes in by breaking and entering without your permission.”
“Yep.”
Paris sighed, shaking his head.
“I don’t know why you’re so interested in my love life,” she stated, “but stop it. It’s creepy.” She turned. “I don’t care if your repeat yourself ten thousand times, I’m not letting this go.”
And she walked off to her Health class.
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