The College Bad Boy's Target
Ryder murmured beside me, his lips barely moving.
“I am,” I whispered back through clenched teeth.
“Not to her. To me.”
I froze. Heat crawled up my neck, shame and anger twisting in my chest. I didn’t dare look at him.
The teacher’s voice droned on about themes and metaphors, her tone steady, patient. Around me, students scribbled notes, some whispering quietly when they thought she wasn’t watching. For them, this was just another class. For me, it was torture.
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