Page 63 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

“Better.”

“If you say so.”

The professor clears his throat.

I glance around. All eyes are on us, the last remaining standing students. I drop into my seat quick as a flash, while Penn takes his time. He nods at the professor, who starts the lecture as soon as his ass is down.

Penn drums his fingers on my back.

I sigh and flip my hair back. Because apparently he has some fixation with it. But then his finger coasts across the back of my neck, and a chill shoots straight down my spine. He’s touching the necklace chain, I think. It’s been hidden all day, tucked under my shirt even.

He leans forward, over his desk, when the professor turns to write something on the board. “I could’ve taken the sweatshirt and ripped it to shreds. The necklace keeps you just as safe, princess.”

I grit my teeth. He seems to have no qualms about drawing attention to himself or talking during class. He also manages to pay attention, because he speaks up and answers questions frequently.

What would Oliver think about the necklace? The sweatshirt is one thing. Stolen or gifted, it doesn’t matter. But this pendant?

I tug at the chain and struggle not to frown. I don’t like being pulled in two different directions—between Carter and Penn—but it’s even worse when I consider Oliver.

Although I shouldn’t, I can’t help it. He slips into my mind when I least expect it, and sometimes he stays there.

And, of course, L.

He’s quickly becoming a crutch… and a crush.

Horrible, terrible, stupid.

Me, that is. And my emotions.

Me

You never said if you preferred savory or sweet.

I wait, staring at the screen, but the reply doesn’t come. Not until toward the end of class.

L.

I have an incurable sweet tooth.

You should see a dentist about that.

They offered to pull it, but I told them my sweet tooth is satiated whenever I talk to you.

I scoff, drawing a few side-eyes.

Oops.

Penn tugs on my hair.

I glance back and scowl at him, but he just stares at me. His green eyes are the color of sea glass in this lighting, with little flecks of gold toward the center.

The people around us move, beginning to shuffle their things together and pack up their bags.

“What?” I finally ask him.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Dinner?”

“I’m meeting friends.”