Page 86 of Burning Embers
I just don’t have the strength to deal with Desiree and all of her shit today.
“I’m just here to remind you to remain calm,” Desiree replies nonchalantly.
The words are strange enough to snap my head in her direction.
Like all the rest of the cheerleaders, she wears her uniform that leaves very little to the imagination—a frilly skirt that stops in the middle of her thighs and a skin-tight top that reveals her stomach. Her brown curls have been styled into an immaculate ponytail, not a single hair out of place. Some might say that she looks beautiful or sexy.
She just looks plain to me.
I’veseenbeautiful, and trying to compare Desiree to Izzy is like putting a candle against the sun. Both of them shine in their own right, but only one illuminates every darkened corner.
Desiree places a hand on her waist and uses the other one to gesture flippantly. “I’m just saying, if you freak out or get jealous, you’re going to scare her away.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I stare at her incredulously. “Did the gates to hell drop on your head when you tried to escape this morning?”
She gives me an annoyed look that speaks volumes for her disdain towards me—honestly, I’m pretty sure she hates me nearly as much as I hate her—before heaving out an exaggerated breath.
“I’m not doing this to help you, you pea-brained moron. I’m doing this for her.”
“What cryptic bullshit is this?” I demand.
But Desiree simply stalks away without a backwards glance. I notice more than one person stare intently at her ass, but I’m not one of those people.
There’s only one ass I want to stare at.
Thoughts of Izzy have a warm glow rushing through me, enveloping me in heat.
I smooth a hand down my red and black jersey and check the clock. Yet again, I begin to fiddle with my lip ring. I always have to take my piercings out when I play ball, but I love them too much to remove them for good. They were one of the first steps I took in differentiating myself from Ethan, to remind the world that we’renotthe same person, despite popular belief.
Even thinking about Ethan turns the warmth inside me to ice.
That bastard thinks he’s being subtle, but I’ve caught him on the phone with Izzy more than once this week. Yes, they’re only playing video games—and their conversations are usually casual and lighthearted—but it doesn’t stop the jealousy from plowing me over.
I want to be the one to elicit such sweet giggles from her lips.
He doesn’t fucking deserve her.
I press my forehead against my locker in an attempt to get my breathing under control. The cold metal is a surprisingly soothing balm to my volatile emotions.
I scent her before I see her.
All at once, the stress of the last few hours, my anger concerning Ethan, my fear of the future… Everything disappears until all that exists is her. Heat cascades through me in a burning torrent, and I relish the sensation.
I force a smile on my lips—cocky and carefree—and push myself away from the locker. I just want to see her. Set eyes on her. Listen to her laugh.
Spinning around, I open my mouth to call her name…only to immediately freeze. My blood runs cold, turning into sludgy cubes of ice in my veins.
Because Izzy’s there, standing next to that fucker Jake, wearinghisnumber on her cheek, almost as if he’s claiming her.
Or she’s claiming him.
Jealousy fizzles in my bloodstream, acerbic and potent, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to run over there, wash away that damn number, and then surround her with my scent. This time, when I press my forehead against the locker, I’m doing it for a completely different reason.
My claws elongate, breaking through my fingers, and fur explodes on my arms.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Calm the fuck down, Emery!I mentally chastise myself.