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“Ooooh, scary. What’re you gonna do?” Actually, if it weren’t so sexy, it probably would be scary, but I’m not about to admit that.
He smirks and leans in close to whisper in my ear, and my breath catches. But his words aren’t what I expect. “So, what kind of bullshit do they say about Chemistry where you come from?”
“Oh my god, did you just...” I grin at the reference to one of my favourite movies, lighting up.
“Yup.” He smiles, proud that I got his joke.
“I think I love you. Marry me?” I blurt out without a filter, and immediately my cheeks turn pink. I’m such a geek - something I’m not customarily embarrassed by - but I usually wait a little while before letting my nerd flag fly.
“Not until you know my name at least, little bird.” He winks with a smirk, and I swear I actually melt. Damn it. “And I don’t plan on telling you that until our date on Saturday.” That’s the second time he’s alluded to taking me out now, but he hasn’t actually asked, so I play it off as teasing and try not to be disappointed. It doesn’t work.
After that, we don’t talk much unless it’s about classwork because I really need to focus. Easier said than done though, with the mountain by my side. His thigh keeps brushing against mine, and I’m not sure it’s accidental; he seems to be a bit of a flirt - not that I mind one bit - but I really do need to concentrate. The classes here are going to be challenging if this one’s anything to go by and I’m already feeling the strain of being six or so weeks behind. I sigh, realising that too much of my time is going to be taken up by studying, rather than on getting revenge like I wanted. I try to focus on the positives: at least it’ll give me time to get to know my enemies a little better first. I plan to get through my first week here and then throw myself into planning the specifics during the half-term break. I figure that’s when the school will be much quieter with the students gone. It’ll be easier to snoop around that way.
As I’m packing up at the end of class and preparing to make my way to English, the granite mountain lightly catches my elbow and offers to walk me to my next lesson. I smile and accept because, in truth, I have no idea where I’m going. He links my arm in his, leading the way, and takes my schedule to scan it over as he effortlessly navigates the corridors and crowds in such a way that he doesn’t have to let me go. “We have Chem and Bio together. Wow, someone’s on track to be a smart little doctor... Shame, I have to leave you now. You have English, and I’m off to training. I’m looking forward to seeing you in Gym though,” he adds with a cheeky wink. I know he’s thinking about the prerequisite swim class and I have to hide my grin, knowing that he won’t be seeing me in a swimsuit anytime soon. I say nothing, though. “This is your stop.”
We stop in front of another nondescript door, and I stare into the room looking for a friendly face from dinner the night before. I think I recognise one of the girls from Michael’s table - Kelsie with the eyebrow piercing - but she’s not looking my way. I hesitate when my guide tenses beside me and a growl begins low in his chest. I look back to the corridor to see what has him wound so tight all of a sudden, but of course, he’s so big that he’s completely blocking my view.
“Bloomberg,” he spits.
“Lennox,” Michael responds barging past him, knocking the behemoth into me and sending me flying. Once again, I’m saved as the granite mountain grabs me and pulls me to him, growling at Michael to watch where he’s going.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Michael instantly looks contrite and rushes to see if I’m okay, pulling me none too subtly from those tattooed arms. He drapes his arm around my shoulder, and I have to resist the urge to stamp on his foot. I’m not a tool for their pissing contest. But I do wonder what their beef is.
Instead of stamping though, I let him lead me to the desks in the back row, turning to give a little wave to my rescuer. I catch him glowering at Michael and vow to find out the story there. He sees me looking, and his scowl instantly becomes a grin, his whole face transformed. If I thought he was gorgeous before when he was brooding, it’s nothing compared to his breathtaking beauty when he smiles like that. Damn it, my heart’s all messed up again. Yep, I definitely need to focus.
Luckily, English is just what I need to take my mind off hunky tall hot guy. It’s my favourite subject and offers respite from the gruelling pre-med courses I’m in. A career in publishing would actually be my dream job, but the McLintocks come from a long line of obedient doctors. Lizzie had desperately wanted to be a vet, and although I encouraged her to follow her dream, she never would. I guess I should be taking my own advice, but after losing Lizzie, I feel like I at least owe it to my parents to be the good remaining daughter. They don’t need any more heartbreak.
I sit by Michael, but we don’t talk because I’m instantly transfixed by the lesson. English has always been my escape, and I find the teacher compelling as she talks about one of my favourite novels in a completely new light. I feel a frisson of excitement shoot through me as I realise that, in this subject at least, things might not be too bad for me. I have the course reading list already and have read or studied all but one text on there. Which is good, because although I’d rather be reading, at least I can spend my time researching or catching up on my other subjects.
***
After a light but gorgeous lunch of tacos, I struggle my way through Math, not understanding a word past copying down the date and title. There’s no one in this class that I know yet, and the desks are all set up individually, so I keep my head down and furiously scribble notes. I figure if I write absolutely everything down, someone might be able to translate it for me later. Next step on the agenda: Make friends. Smart friends. Preferably Math geek friends.
During gym class, I manage to find my way through the sports facilities - bypassing the Olympic sized pool thank god - until I come to the martial arts hub. The space is seriously impressive: a long rectangular room with a sprung floor and a variety of sparring areas set up with crash mats. I can’t wait to start my training after half term. Around the edges of the room, there’s a variety of equipment set up for at least seven martial arts that I can see. I know that the school also has a shooting range on its premises, but I didn’t pass it on my way in so it must be located elsewhere. Shame. I would love to get some target practise in. Instead, I head to the far end of the room where a short distance target range is set up. Just what I’m after.
Opposite the targets is a wall-mounted glass display case showcasing a range of knives and throwing weapons as well as archery equipment. I use the combination the headmistress gave me in my welcome pack to open the cabinet and after perusing the options for a moment, settle on three short handled Expendables. They’re a tricky knife to get used to - sporting an unusual finger ring at the handle’s end - but they’ve always been my weapon of choice. Despite being twelve inches long, they’re surprisingly agile once you’ve mastered the conclave nylon wrapped handle. I love the weight of them.
I slip off my heels and blazer, having not bothered to change for gym, and take my place lined up to the target. I don’t have the most extended throwing range, but I have enough dexterity and upper body strength to sink the blade every time in a stationary target. I was taught to use the knife as an extension of my limbs - particularly in close combat - but today, I have to focus on my throwing.
I line up my shot and take a deep breath, sighting the target across the room. I bring the knife up to the side of my face, so close the cold blade whispers against my cheek, and as I exhale, I let the blade fly. It sails through the air, too fast for me to track, and drills itself deeply into the centre of the yellow circle. It’s bang on. I shift my weight slightly to the right to sink the second knife beside the first, and the third lands firmly beside the second.
I collect the three knives and begin again, repeating until I lose count. Repeating until the rhythmic thud of the blade embedding itself into the target board is the only sound that fills the room. I speed up - throwing faster, from different angles, different heights and distances - until the knives in my hands feel like they’re a part of me.
I’m so absorbed in my task that I don’t hear the door opening until someone clears their throat. I’m just about to let my blade fly when I spin, startled, and let go of the knife. I watch in horror as the lethal blade sails through the air - to me it feels like slow motion, but in reality, it all happens in the blink of an eye - and sinks itself into the wooden door frame right next to my visitor’s head. Shit.
The first thing that I notice is that it was a really good shot. The second thing I notice is that I’ve pinned a lock of his long blonde hair to the doorframe. Oops.
“You trapped my fucking hair!” he shrieks. And I do mean shrieks: his voice is high pitched and panicked.
“Yeah, but only a little.” I try not to laugh.
“You could’ve killed me,” he protests.
I walk over to him, leaning in close. He’s taller than me - but then again everyone is – so he’s maybe a little over average height? I’d guess just under six foot, with chin-length wavy blonde hair. He’s athletic and toned with sun-kissed skin and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He smells like sunshine and summer, and it makes me want to lick my lips. Hell, it makes me want to lick his. I lean in even closer, so close that my chest brushes against his as I rise up onto my tiptoes, to whisper in his ear, “If I wanted to hit you, I would have.” I pull the knife from the door jam and step back, smiling sweetly and shrugging my shoulders like I don’t have a care in the world. I watch his pretty blonde lock float in strands to the spring floor. I may act unmoved, but inside I’m reeling - that was too close. I feel kinda bad, but I’m not about to let him know that. I stalk back to my target and resume practising, expecting him to leave.
Only he doesn’t. He follows me and watches me intently as I continue to sink my knives into the target successively. I don’t know if he’s trying to put me off, but it doesn’t work. I’m used to training under high pressure, so a pair of sparkling Caribbean blue eyes aren’t about to put me off my game.
“Hey, who are you?” I sense him approaching me, but I don’t turn. Once the final knife is in the target, I walk the short distance to collect them. On my return to my starting spot, I notice he’s walked right over to me, hand outstretched. Geez, what is it with these guys and handshakes? I eye his strong, tanned hand suspiciously. He has nice hands. Long fingers. Neat nails. I like that.
