“Thank you,” I say roughly, still angered by the comments I heard. She doesn’t acknowledge my words.
She flicks through the textbook until she finds where she’s up to and pushes it into the top corner of my desk so I can see it. I copy her lead.
We were supposed to pick up our textbooks at the library this morning but J’s bullshit made us late.
The teacher comes in eventually, coffee in hand with dark shades covering his eyes. He doesn't say anything, just does the roll before laying his head on the desk.
We’re silent for the majority of the lesson, writing notes before starting the related equations. Fucking algebra. I've never been good at algebra.
I lean closer and see her tense before forcing herself to relax. Interesting.
“What’s your name?” I murmur.
She looks across to me and I capture her gaze, studying her mismatched eyes. She gifts me with a faint half-smile that's quirky and fucking gorgeous at the same time.
“Laney.”
. . .
Rory ~
I quickly look down at my textbook and I see him mouth my name, getting a feel for it. I’m sure he heard my stumble.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had to introduce myself and that name is fucking stupid.
"It's Dominic. In case you were wondering, darlin’,” he says gruffly in my ear, curiosity brimming in his words.
My eyes flick up subconsciously. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, a pen dangling from his fingertips as he studies me.
"Where are you from?" Comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Dominic smirks, drawing my attention to his lips for a brief moment before my eyes go back to his dark chocolate eyes. Not black like I originally thought.
"If you were thinking I sound like a redneck, you'd be right," he drawls, sending sparks of heat north. He confirms my suspicion of his southern accent.
"I was thinking more along the lines of Morgan Wallen or Kip Moore." I tease. My face pales when I realise what I’m doing but he just chuckles.
"Not bad, Sweetheart." He dips his head in recognition of my American country music reference. "For future references, I prefer George Strait."
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. "You do not sound like George Strait."
Dominic snickers. "No, I prefer tolistento old-timerslikeGeorge Strait."
Not embarrassed, I lean back in my chair. "Doesn't everyone?"
He watches me like a lion stalking its prey. "No," he finally says, "they don't."
The bell goes, saving me from having to respond.
I pack up my stuff and head for the door.
Someone grabs my elbow and gently pulls me back, out of the stampede of people. My instant reaction is to panic then fight but the hand leaves.
I turn around, my heart racing wildly.
Dominic studies my reaction and takes a step back.
"What do you have next?" He asks in his rough southern accent. It takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking me.
