“Quite the conundrum you’ve got yourself into, Duchess.”
Anastacia Jacobs glared at the owner of the drawling voice, trying not to grit her teeth. “Get out of my way, Princeling.”
Ryan Princeton didn’t move from where he was leaning nonchalantly against her locker, and leaving absolutely no room for her to maneuver around him. When exactly had he grown up? She wondered. Damn kid used to fit into the locker, and now his shoulders were about the same breadth.
“But Duchess, if I get out of the way then I wouldn’t be able to offer a charming rescue–as is my right and duty, as a Prince.” Instead of moving, he merely crossed his arms, so that the faded blue t-shirt he had on stretched and emphasized his hard chest and gave a faint hint to the equally flat stomach of a young man in his prime. Not that Stacia had noticed. She had made a very conscious point of not noticing anything about Ryan Princeton over the years.
He watched her chin lift slightly in challenge as she licked her lips. He wanted to bite her lush bottom one–he bet it tasted like the slick, deep red lip gloss she carefully applied every morning before class. Strawberry. No, cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon. She would never go for something as tame as strawberry when she could have something that enticed even as it warned–a flavor as spicy and exotic as the woman who wore it.
“First of all junior, I have never, nor will I ever, need a rescue from you. One Prince not so Charming in my life was more than enough, thank you. Second of all, as I just stated, if you would move your tight ass out of my way then I could get to my locker and out of both this hallway and this conversation!” She snapped, glancing over her left shoulder. Bryce was still coming, his gaze intent on her like a bull and a red cape.
“Why are you avoiding Colton anyway?” Ryan inquired curiously. “Looked like you were getting pretty cozy at the football game last Frida…oh.” He grimaced. “The rumors are true–you’re frigid, aren’t you?” He tsked as he gave her body a deliberately slow once over. “All that potential, wasted.”
Stacia’s jaw dropped. “I am NOT frigid! If anything, Bryce is the one who can’t–” She clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as Ryan threw his head back and laughed.
“Our sure-handed star quarterback can’t score off the field! Oh, that’s rich.”
“Shhh!” She hissed. “Ugh, why are you still even here?” She stood on her tip toes to peer over his shoulder-or around it, since he topped her by a good four inches. Bryce was still making his way down the hall, target locked- on her. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she mentally prayed for patience and desperately hoped she wasn’t jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
“Hey!” Ryan yelped in surprise as she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and pulled him into her body, backing them both into her locker. “Stacia, what— “
“Kiss me.” She ordered.
“You heard me. Right here, right now, Junior. This is your shot to back up all that big talk and shut me up once and for all— “