After discovering that her boyfriend of three years is cheating on her with his girl best friend, Yasemin Hogan knows she can do way better than a little material revenge. Julian broke her heart, she will break his.
By fake dating his enemy.
Elija...
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**HI! So happy to be back with a new chapter after such a long time. It's a long chapter, I thought it was the least I can do to thank you for your support and your messages. I hope you're still interested in the story after so long. I'll post the following chapter (the middle/end of Oliver's party) at the end of the week, I hope. This is Elijah and Yasemin outfits above. Happy read!**
Elijah picked up Punk 57 which had fallen against the floor with us, and his gaze locked into mine one more time. Feverish with desire, confused, dangerous. I resisted the urge to look away, I couldn't risk it, not after the last words his infuriating, irresistible mouth had just uttered. To look away was to surrender to the shame of my own physical reactions in his presence, it was to get emotional at the sound of his words; it was bowing my head, submitting to the power he had over me. It was letting him win.
Never.
With bright eyes, he forfeited. He tilted his head, opened his backpack and shoved the book inside. Our eyes met again as he placed his right index finger against his mouth, his other fingers folded. Hush. Secret. I raised a skeptical eyebrow, my lips pressed together in a mocking grimace.
"Why are you stealing my fake literature?"
A cruel smile stretched his lips as his voice dropped several octaves, escaping the depths of his throat in a whisper.
"I'm just curious to find out what you like about it."
The tone that flowed from his vocal cords smeared something hot on every word, and that something consumed me whole. It was sensual - inquisitive, suggestive. Yeah. The words were wrapped in sexual intent. He had said, I'm curious to find out what you like about it, but I heard, I'm curious to know how you like it.
That's all it took for the reader in me to scream her lungs out. But I maintained my grimace as best I could, silent, so Elijah winked at me, then walked away in the direction of our classroom.
I watched him go with a confident gait for a few moments, the muscles in his back stretching then tightening with his steps, the width of his swimmer's shoulders contrasting with his slimmer waist, the muscular bulge of his backside. His whole body was caught in the arms of my gaze, a forbidden embrace but from which I could not detach myself. There, now, just like that, my body plunged back into the completely desperate and haggard state that he caused minutes before when we were on the floor. He was just walking, but I was staring at him like one of his groupies. Panic tightened my throat and I bit my lips to suppress a flinch.
The wound of lust was not healing. It was just getting deeper and more painful.
Would the loathsome tension between us ever go away?
I was screwed.
Following this incident, for the next two days, I avoided Elijah's gaze and his presence near me as much as possible, going so far as to miss lunch in the cafeteria and send an email to Mrs. Abbott asking her to postpone our joint presentation for next week, which she accepted. I was even able to avoid going back and forth to school in his car, claiming that I couldn't wait for him to finish swim practice so he could drive me home. In class, he tried to tease me every chance he got, but I didn't respond to his provocations. I couldn't allow academic confrontations where our hatred for each other turned into an almost sexual desire for domination.
