THE BOY I WAS SENT TO DESTROY

9.

Chapter 9: Heat

Zara POV

The library stayed open late on Thursdays. Most kids cleared out by five but Zane and I still sat at the back table under the one lamp that never got turned off. I had my notebook open to the next set of problems and my phone face down beside it. The evidence from his dad’s study burned in my gallery but I had not looked at the pictures since I got home that night. Too risky. I needed to stay focused on the session and keep building whatever this thing was between us.

Zane dropped into the chair across from me ten minutes late. His tie was gone and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He did not say hi. He just opened his textbook and stared at the page like it owed him money.

“You missed the warm up yesterday,” I said. “We are starting with systems of equations.”

He picked up his pen. “Whatever.”

We worked in silence for the first fifteen minutes. I corrected his steps when he missed them and he fixed them without arguing much. But something felt different tonight. His knee kept bumping mine under the table. At first I thought it was an accident. Then it happened again and stayed there. Warm. Solid. Neither of us pulled away.

I kept my eyes on the paper. “You are doing the substitution wrong again.”

“Show me.” His voice came out lower than usual.

I leaned over and pointed at his work. My arm brushed his. He did not move. I explained the step and sat back but his leg stayed pressed against my thigh. The heat from his skin came through both our uniforms. My pulse kicked up. I told myself it was nothing. Strategy. Get him comfortable. Get him talking. Get inside his house again.

“You are staring,” I said without looking up.

“You are the one who keeps letting me touch you.”

I lifted my head. His eyes locked on mine. Not the cold bully look from the corridor. This was darker. Hungrier. “I am not letting you do anything.”

“Bullshit.” He shifted his leg so it slid higher on my thigh. The move was small but it sent a spark straight up my body. I felt it between my legs before I could stop it. My breath caught. I hated how fast my skin reacted to him now.

“Focus on the problem,” I said.

He smiled but it was not nice. “You first.”

We kept going. Every time I corrected him he found a reason to lean closer. His hand rested on the table near mine. His fingers tapped once against my wrist like he was testing something. I did not pull back. The plan in my head said this was good. He was letting me in. But my body had stopped listening to the plan days ago. It remembered the way he cornered me after the Marcus text. It remembered the heat in his voice when he said he would make us both regret it.

The library got quieter. The last few students left. The librarian walked past once and told us we had thirty minutes before closing. Zane nodded at her but his leg never left my thigh. I crossed my other leg to try and break the contact. It only pressed us tighter together.

“You ever think about why you really came here?” he asked suddenly.

I kept my voice even. “For the education. Same as you.”

“Liar.” He underlined a number hard enough to tear the paper. “No one puts up with the s**t I throw and keeps showing up unless they want something.”

I met his eyes. “Maybe I want you to pass so I do not have to keep wasting my afternoons.”

He laughed once. Short and rough. “Keep telling yourself that.”

His hand moved under the table. Not grabbing. Just resting on my knee. His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh in a slow arc. My stomach flipped. Heat pooled low and fast. I pressed my lips together so I would not make a sound. This was not part of the plan. This was dangerous. But I did not push his hand off.

“You are shaking,” he said quietly.

“I am not.”

His thumb moved again. Higher. “Yeah you are.”

I grabbed his wrist but I did not pull it away. I just held it there against my leg. His pulse beat fast under my fingers. Same as mine. The air between us felt thick enough to choke on. I could see the way his chest rose and fell quicker now. His stare dropped to my mouth for a second then came back up.

“You hate me,” he said. It was not a question.

“I do.”

His fingers flexed on my thigh. “Then why are you wet right now?”

My face burned. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to climb across the table and kiss him just to shut him up. Both thoughts scared me because neither one was fake. The mission was still there in the back of my head. Get close. Get evidence. Get my dad out. But right now all I could feel was the pressure of his hand and the way my body arched toward it without meaning to.

The librarian called out that it was closing time. Her voice sounded far away.

Zane stood up first. I followed. My legs felt unsteady. We packed our bags in silence but he stayed on my side of the table. When I turned to leave he stepped in front of me. The shelves blocked us from the front desk. No one could see.

He backed me against the end of the stack. One hand braced beside my head. The other slid back under my skirt and rested high on my thigh again. His body blocked the light. I could smell his soap and the faint sweat from practice earlier. My heart hammered so hard I was sure he could hear it.

His mouth came close to my ear. His breath brushed my skin.

“You’re shaking, Collins. Tell me it’s because you hate me and I’ll call you a liar.”