Page 89 of Burning Embers
“If you did, then I’ll have to draw a dick on your own face when you’re sleeping,” she huffs.
“Are you already suggesting a sleepover, pretty girl? After only a few texts?” I wink at her to let her know I’m just joking, even as a thrill shoots through me at the thought of sleeping over with Izzy.
Of her soft curves pressed against my hard muscles…
Of her breathy moans as I kiss her into oblivion…
Of her sweet taste on my tongue…
The bell rings overhead, and for once, I’m grateful for the interruption. I’m afraid of what I might have done if it hadn’t rung when it did.
Like grab her, kiss her, and tell her I want her.
“See you in Chemistry,” I say with a flirty grin.
She waves and then steps around me, heading towards Ethan who’s still waiting for her, exhibiting a patience I’m not sure I’d possess if the situations were reversed. Still, despite my hatred for my twin, I feel marginally better when Izzy takes his hand and allows him to lead her into the classroom.
Despite his faults, I know he’ll protect Izzy.
I head to my first hour, content with the knowledge that she’s wearingmynumber on her cheek. Mine and Ashton’s.
I just hope he won’t freak the fuck out the second he sees it.
Twenty-Nine
IZZY
The day passes in a blur of red and black, pep rallies, and “go team, go.”
I swear I’m having so much school spirit shoved down my throat, I’m going to be shitting it out for months to come.
Only Ethan joins me at the lunch table today, since the football players and cheerleaders are required to sit together as a show of support. Even still, I can feel Emery’s eyes on me more often than not, and whenever I look up and catch his gaze, he winks.
My stomach flips over itself.
Ashton, on the other hand, ignores my existence the way he always does. It didn’t escape my attention that Emery painted his football number on one cheek and Ashton’s on the other, but I doubt the stoic man even notices. I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but whatever it is has him pretending I don’t exist.
I can’t quite decide if that’s a bad or a good thing.
By the time I need to arrive at the football game—an hour and a half before it begins—I’m a chaotic mess of nerves. And no, it’s not because of Ashton.
It’s because I’m terrified I’m going to mess everything up.
Ansel tried to teach me exactly what to do in class today, but most of his words went in one ear and immediately out the other.
“Use this setting at this time of day, blah blah blah.”
“Only take photos from this angle, blah blah blah.”
“Use the flash between this time and this time, but never this time, blah blah blah.”
My plan? Aim the camera and press the button. At least I’ll get an A for effort.
The man in question is waiting for me at the gate leading to the field when I arrive. His head is lowered as he fiddles with his own camera—a sophisticated monstrosity with more settings than I know what to do with. I have to clear my throat twice to garner his attention.
He glances up, confusion distorting his handsome face as if he doesn’t understand why someone is interrupting him, before his cheeks tint crimson.
“Isabella. It’s nice to see you on time,” he tells me curtly, reaching for the extra camera bag slung over his shoulder and handing it to me.