I hate her immediately.
After class, everyone stands around chatting, and even though Holt is across the room, I can feel him watching me.
I don’t think I ever truly knew the meaning of the word “antagonize” before I met him, but I sure as heck know it now. I’ve never had someone rub me the wrong way so intensely before. If I’m being completely honest, I kind of like the spark.
I glance over at him to make sure he’s looking before grabbing Connor’s arm and doing my best flirty-Zoe impersonation as I ask him to walk me to the next class.
Holt doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the week.
FOUR
MAKING THE FIRST MOVE
Present Day
New York City
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
The more time I spend with him, the more he invades my dreams. I don’t want to remember, but he pushes through.
He’s here, under my hands. His lips on my skin. It’s perfect and warm, and I tell myself he won’t run away this time.
I hold him to me, willing away the fear, willing him to lose himself in me. To stay. And even though he’s already written a tragedy, I want to change his mind.
Then he’s inside me, and it’s perfection.
I give him the part of myself I can’t imagine giving to anyone else. He tells me it’s precious. That he doesn’t deserve it.
Afterward, he holds me like he never wants to let go.
I believe he’ll stay this way. That it won’t change things.
Of course, it does.
He covers himself again, so disguised by layers that I don’t even see him anymore, just the hurt he leaves behind.
I blame him, but it’s my fault. Stupid, romantic, gullible me.
I saw what I wanted to see. Felt what I wanted to feel. He just played his part.
Sometimes he’s behind my eyes, weeping and exposed, and he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
But it was an act.
He’s an actor.
And he’s very, very good.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Second week of classes
I walk out of my History of Theater class, my brain churning with information on Roman amphitheaters, when I run smack-bang into the chest of someone tall and still.
Of course, my notes go flying.
“Frack!”
The tall someone chuckles, and my hackles rise.
I look up into Holt’s smirking face. My expression must scream of impending violence, because his smile drops faster than Zoe Stevens’s panties on a Saturday night.
When I bend to pick up my notes, he’s beside me. I want to slap his hands away, because since the getting-to-know-you exercise on our first day, he hasn’t spoken a word to me. I’m not cool with that.
“Just leave them,” I say as he gathers up my notes.
He holds out the notes, and I snatch them without looking up.
I bite back the instinct to say “thank you,” because after the way he’s treated me, he doesn’t deserve it.
“Thank you,” I mumble involuntarily.
Damn you, automated politeness!
“You’re welcome,” he says in his stupid smooth voice.
I push past him and stride down the stairs toward the Hub. Within a few seconds, he’s walking beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Big week, huh?” he says. “I thought Erika was going to kick Lucas out when he showed up stoned, but I think she realized he’s a better actor when he’s half-baked.”
I stop and turn to face him. “Holt, you do not get to ignore me for a week then start gabbing away like nothing happened.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“Oh, yes you have.”
“No, ignoring you would be to disregard your presence. I’ve noticed you. I’ve just chosen to not speak to you.”
“Is that better or worse than ignoring me completely?”
“Slightly better.”
I throw up my hands. “Well, thank God. I won’t take offense then.”
“Good for you.”
“I was being sarcastic, butt-munch.”
“Taylor, are you always this grumpy, or are you PMSing?”
“What?! I’m … What?! PMSing?! You are so … God! Shut up!”
I walk away, but he keeps pace, and my PMS is making me crazy-angry and weepy at the same time.
“Why are you following me?!”
“I’m not following you. I’m walking beside you.”
Holy Jesus, give me strength!
“What do you want?” I ask, feeling like a tiny yappy dog next to him.
He sighs and looks down at his ridiculous, giant feet. “Nothing. Are you going to Jack’s party tonight?”
“Why do you want to know?”
He rubs his eyes. “I have no fucking idea.”
“Are you going?”
“Probably not.”
“Then sure, I’ll be there.”
He looks at me for a few more seconds before frowning like he’s trying to calculate how many watermelons will fit in a Winnebago. Then, without saying another word, he turns and walks away.
“Oh, okay, so we’re done here?” I say to his back. “Well, thanks for making the effort. Your conversation skills are truly stimulating!”
Thank God it’s the weekend. I won’t have to see him for two whole days.
By the time I’ve stomped back to my apartment, any desire to go to the party has disintegrated. All I want to do is soak in the tub for a few hours, eat my own weight in Ben & Jerry’s, and go to bed.