Crave (Crave, #1)

by Tracy Wolff

All of which leads to the carbonated drink going straight d...

My abused lungs revolt as I cover my mouth and cough hard, eyes watering and humilia...

I need to get away from Flint’s overzealous help, from Jaxon’s threatening, all-encompassing gaze.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even look at me as he passes, but just like at the top of the stairs yesterday, our shoulders brush as he walks by. My choking fit disappears as quickly as it started. Fresh air floods my lungs. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would think he had something to do with it. Not just the choking but the stopping of it, as well. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. The whole idea is absurd.

Once there, he slouches down into the chair, legs spread out in front of him as he says something to the five guys—all dark, all gorgeous, all stunning—sitting in the other chairs.

But he ignores them all, deliberately studying the strawberry he is pinching between his thumb and index finger. Eventually he lifts his gaze and looks straight at me. Then he raises the strawberry to his lips—and bites it clean in half.

It’s a warning if I’ve ever seen one—and a violent one at that—as a drop of red juice hangs for a second on his bottom lip.

I know I should stay, know I should face him down. But as his tongue darts out and licks up the strawberry juice in a very obvious screw you to Flint and me and everyone else in the room, I do the only thing I can....

that little show was meant to underscore just how insignificant I really am to every single person in that room.

“Did he…” Macy gasps out after he shuts the door behind him. “It’s not a big deal,” I assure her. “Flint just…” Apparently the word is still failing her, because she taps her cheek in the same spot where Flint kissed mine. “It’s not a big deal,” I say again. “It’s not like he planted one on me or anything. He was just being friendly.” “He’s never been friendly like that to me. Or anyone else I’ve seen.” “Yeah, well, you’ve got a boyfriend. He’s probably afraid Cam will kick his ass.”

A quick look in the mirror tells me I look as ridiculous as I feel. But I figure I’ll look even more ridiculous if I freeze to death on my second full day in Alaska, so I ignore the feeling.

Then I head out.

I ignore pretty much everyone I come across—which is almost nobody, since most of the school is in class right now. I should probably feel guilty that I’m not, but to be honest, I just feel relieved.

There aren’t a lot of different plants here right now, but there are a bunch of evergreens lining the various walkways and clustered at different points around campus.

green against the backdrop of white snow that covers nearly everything out here.

I watch with satisfaction as it hits the trunk and explodes, before heading toward the path just beyond it.

It gives me pause.

I veer toward the sun-dappled path on the right instead.

Admittedly, my only knowledge of rich boarding schools comes from my mom’s old DVD of Dead Poets Society she made me watch with her once a year.

super strict, super harsh, and super stuck-up.

I take a couple of steps toward the gazebo, thinking I might sit down and rest for a minute, before I realize that it’s already occupied by Lia—and Jaxon.

The way his and Lia’s bodies are angled toward each other but aren’t actually touching. The rigidness of their shoulders. How they’re both completely wrapped up in whatever the other one is saying.

I’m not sure why it matters so much to me, except there’s an intimacy to their fighting that makes my stomach hurt.

Which is probably why I keep watching him and Lia, against my better judgment.

the same panic that hit me yesterday at the party slams through me again.

But then Lia reaches out, grabbing him, holding him back, pulling him toward her. The dangerous look fades from her eyes (though not from his) until it’s almost like it was never there, and she waves at me enthusiastically.

The last seems like major overkill, considering the fury I sense between them, but I tend to either clam up or babble when I’m nervous, so all in all, it’s not a terrible performance.

The prickle at the back of my neck says he is, but I ignore it.

Just like I ignore the weird feeling inside me that has shown up every time I’ve seen him.

Still, the urge to turn around stays with me—right up until Jaxon appears by my side, eyes gleaming with interest and sexy-af hair blowing in the wind.

He flashes me a crooked little smile that does unspeakable things to my heart—the

“I don’t need to make excuses to you.” And yet I am—making excuses and trying to run away from him and what I just saw.

Trying to run away from all the things he makes me feel

but because everything inside me is responding to everything inside him. Even the danger. Especially the danger, though I’ve never been that girl before, the one who takes risks just to see how they feel.

And something else is niggling at me, too, something I can’t quite figure out. At least not until I reach the warmth and safety of the castle—and my room. It’s as I’m peeling off all the layers I’m wearing that it finally hits me. Neither Lia nor Jaxon was wearing a jacket.