The next morning, Chelsea tried to convince herself that she had hallucinated the intensity of the encounter on the roof.
She dressed carefully. The uniform skirt, the blazer, the knee socks. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She needed to look harmless.
She walked toward the school entrance, scanning for the security booth. Usually, Old Man Miller sat there, asleep.
But today, the booth was empty.
Instead, a figure was leaning against the gate.
Hale.
He was wearing the uniform again, but he had tailored it. The shirt fit his broad chest perfectly, the sleeves strained against his biceps. He wore aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes, but Chelsea felt his gaze lock onto her the moment she stepped off the bus.
He was holding a clipboard, looking like the gatekeeper of hell.
Chelsea put her head down, trying to blend into a group of freshmen.
"Molina," his voice cut through the chatter.
She froze. Students parted around her like water around a stone.
She looked up. He beckoned her over with a single finger.
She walked over, hugging her books to her chest. "Is there a problem, Officer?"
He lowered his sunglasses, looking over the rim. "Your collar is crooked."
"What?"
Before Chelsea could react, he reached out. His fingers brushed the skin of her neck-warm, rough, electric. He adjusted the collar of her blouse, smoothing it down.
The intimacy of the gesture was shocking. It was something a lover would do, not a security guard.
Chelsea's breath hitched.
"There," he said, his voice low. "Much better."
"Get your hands off her!"
Bennet's voice.
Chelsea turned. Bennet and Brittany were standing there. Bennet looked furious, his face red. Brittany looked confused, looking back and forth between the guard and Chelsea.
"Who do you think you are touching a student like that?" Bennet demanded, stepping forward, puffing out his chest.
The guard slowly turned his head. He didn't take off the sunglasses. He just stared at Bennet.
The silence stretched. It became heavy, suffocating. He didn't say a word. He just radiated an aura of absolute, terrifying authority.
Bennet faltered. He stopped walking. His bravado evaporated. He looked like a poodle barking at a wolf.
"Is there an issue... son?" the guard asked. The word "son" was an insult, a reminder of the hierarchy.
Bennet swallowed hard. "I... she's my... friend."
"She didn't look like she needed your help," he said. He turned back to Chelsea. "Did you?"
Chelsea looked at Bennet, then at the guard.
"No," she said clearly. "I didn't."
He smirked. "Run along, children. Bell's ringing."
Bennet grabbed Brittany's hand and practically dragged her away, casting fearful glances over his shoulder.
Chelsea looked at the guard. "You enjoy scaring them."
"I enjoy order," he said, putting his sunglasses back up. "And I don't like pests."
He leaned in close to her ear. "Stop hiding, Chelsea. It doesn't suit you."
He tapped the clipboard against her shoulder and walked away, beginning his patrol.
Chelsea stood there, her skin burning where he had touched her.
