Free Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) by Chanse Lowell Page B

fruit-of-the-loon? Was that code for saying she was squished fruit left out in the sun, but only on the inside? She must be a complicated mess.
    “You don’t have to touch anybody you don’t want to,” Mari whispered in his ear.
    But she was wrong. He needed to do this—too prove to Mari he was like everybody else. That a handshake would be fine and not unman him.
    “That’s a good way to apologize. Better than a hug,” he said, convincing himself this was the way to handle it. A handshake would give him some space between himself and the rotting-fruit girl.
    He extended his hand, and not only did Tara grab it too fast, but she pulled it up to her mouth and kissed the back of it.
    Ahhhh! Bad fruit germs!
    A shiver overtook him when her tongue touched his skin and numbers exploded like a supernova in his brain.
    He mouthed the thirteens times tables but kept quiet. His eyes scrunched shut, and his shoulders were up around his ears.
    When he opened his eyes, Tara wore a nasty smirk as she stared right at Mari.
    She dropped his hand as if an unspoken challenge was answered and then pranced away after another boy.
    A boy with dark hair, dark eyes, a crooked, Greek-looking nose and a bulky build welcomed her into the empty chair beside him.
    “There’s something wrong with her. She licked me,” Adam whispered into Mari’s ear before settling back down in his chair. “And I don’t taste like fresh fruit.” Why didn’t the rotting-fruit girl know that? Didn’t her parents teach her that?
    “She’s a disgusting slut. Ignore her.” Mari’s head fell forward, and her hair covered part of her profile.
    “Maybe she was hungry and thinking about lunch. The cafeteria confuses me sometimes when I think about what I want to eat.”
    Mari shrugged, and her lips pressed together as her head dropped, then her hair really covered her face.
    This was worse than not knowing what to talk about earlier. Now he couldn’t see her, and his goal might not be met today.
    With a shaking hand, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Her cheek was wet, but Mari promptly dried it with her fingers.
    “I’m really proud of you for handling that so well. She makes me want to murder furniture,” she admitted.
    “Sam says you smoke. I could show you how to light Tara’s table on fire using your lighter without her noticing, along with any of her peers sitting with her,” he offered, his teeth showing through his smile. Fruit didn’t burn well, but for rotting-fruit girl, he’d make an exception.
    Mari erupted in a fit of giggles after that point, but something was off. Her happiness seemed manufactured, like it was there to cover something else up.
    “I’m sure you could, but let’s just say it’s already burning hot today, and I don’t want to add to the heat.” Mari’s words and actions failed to fit together because at that point, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a light sweater.
    It was then he noticed she had been wearing a tank top, and her lovely arms were now covered up, along with some of her cleavage. Oh, why hadn’t he looked at her breasts more closely when he got the chance? They were so nice and happy around him.
    Tomorrow that was going to be the first place he looked at her before he even said hello in case she decided to put on a trench coat for possible inclement weather.
    Well, he couldn’t fault her for being prepared. Tomorrow he’d also be prepared in case a micro-burst happened to come their way. He’d be her hero when he could protect her from the elements. All girls wanted to make sure their hair was protected from rain, right?
    Yes, yes, he’d have a windbreaker for both of them, an oversized umbrella and a towel to dry off any splash-back from aggressive slanting sheets of rain.
    He pulled out a piece of paper, his pencil, and wrote it all down so he’d have a note for himself. This he would remember—it was important.
    Almost as important as her hand tucked up against his