I was so sure that Callan and I were meant to be that I’d stopped talking to Rachel Lang when she made a snooty comment about his family’s lack of money and how my parents probably wouldn’t approve.
She knew nothing about my parents.
Yes, they both came from privileged backgrounds, but not all of our family did, and Mum and Dad were the least pretentious people ever. They wouldn’t give a rat’s arse about Callan’s lack of money. They’d applaud his drive to succeed at such a young age.
Mum knew something was up. Aunt Ellie had joked at the weekend that I was acting like a girl in love and now Mum wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.
As Callan walked into history class, my belly erupted into a riot of butterflies. I wondered if that would ever stop. It had been nearly three months since we met, two weeks since we’d started kissing, and those butterflies weren’t going anywhere.
He gave me a boyish smile, his eyes lighting up. As he took the seat next to me, he dropped his bag under the table. Then as he bent to pull his iPad out with one hand, he used the other to trail his fingertips up my calf.
I jumped a little in surprise and shot him a look.
Callan grinned unrepentantly as he straightened.
While Mr. Fisher spoke, I felt a touch against the back of my hand and glanced down to see Callan had rested his hand right next to mine and was subtly brushing his fingers against my skin. I suppressed a shiver and bit my lip to contain my smile.
It took all my concentration to focus on Mr. Fisher.
When he finally stopped talking so we could work on our dissertations, I turned to find Callan staring at me.
He was so unfairly hot.
“Are you deliberately trying to distract me?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“No talking,” Mr. Fisher called from the front of the room.
Damn it.
After class, Callan threaded his fingers through mine, and I followed him instead of heading toward the cafeteria for my prefect duties. I’d, of course, signed up to be a prefect this year, which meant my breaks were taken over by standing guard in corridors so the younger students didn’t get rowdy on their way through the school.
I’d never shirked my responsibilities before. But Callan was worth it, and despite our current strangeness, Amanda would cover for me.
He pulled me into an empty art room and into the photo developing lab. Plunged into darkness as Callan pressed me against the door, I could feel, smell, and hear nothing but him. Then his mouth was on mine. Gentle and exploring. I sighed, tingles of heat shooting through me as he kissed my neck.
He raised his head only to whisper in my ear, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I wanted to question why he wouldn’t ask me out already when he seemed just as obsessed with me as I was with him.
But then he was kissing me again and I was lost.
When the bell rang for our next class, I was pretty sure I left the dark room with lips swollen enough to give me away. I didn’t care.
Callan clasped my hand in his as we walked out into the corridor to join the other kids heading toward class. “I talked my dad into coming tonight.”
I squeezed his hand at this revelation. Parents’ evening was that night, and Callan needed his father to show up for it because of his scholarship. I’d convinced him to annoy the hell out of his waste-of-space dad until he agreed.
“I had to bribe him.”
Anger flushed through me. “With what?”
“When … when my stepdad died, he left me stuff. Including an expensive watch.”
That anger ignited to rage. “No.” I stopped in the middle of the corridor, uncaring of the kids who had to maneuver around us.
Callan wouldn’t meet my eyes. “My dad—my real dad, not the sperm donor—he’d understand.”
