Oh, crap. He’ll think I’m one of those.
I lifted my book slowly and showed him the cover ofWuthering Heights. A tragic story, just the way Bronte knew how to write.
His eyebrow arched slightly, making him look even more delicious.
Stop it, Elena. What is wrong with you? He’s just a guy, like any other guy. Okay, that wasn’t entirely the truth. He was a baroque with abs and ass, but still a guy.
I broke eye contact and went back to my story.
“You like tragic stories?”
Surprise washed over me that he knew the story. I looked at him again.
“You read?” I asked with a faint smile and a half-eaten apple still in my hand.
“Occasionally. If you tell anyone, I’ll have to set you on fire.”
Set me on fire?“My lips are sealed.”
Besides, who was I going to tell? My father? He would have a hernia with this one.
We carried on in silence.
Chairs scraped on the floor as trays smacked hard on the table’s surface. Girls slid into the chairs, and the boys plopped into theirs. All were laughing and speaking at the same time. None of them even uttered a request.
It got too crowded for me, and I picked up my portfolio tote that carried my newest project, my book, and got up.
“Nice meeting you, Elena,” Blake said, interrupting one girl that asked him a question.
I stopped and smiled at him awkwardly before I walked on further.
Shit, if these girls were going to see me as a threat now, Falmouth High would become my new nightmare for the next two-and-a-half months. And all thanks to Mr. Sexy-from-another-planet.
3
ELENA
Istared at the newly added art pieces against my bedroom wall, lying on my bed with my homework scattering around me. I couldn’t get Blake out of my mind.
Why he wanted to sit with me today in the cafeteria brought on an sea of questions. Did he really want a break?
I still felt horrible about forgetting my manners and only had a few words spared for him. It was a wonder that I’d eventually found them.
My heart flip-flopped every time his face popped into my thoughts, releasing a hot flush. Lashes that would make girls envious appeared on top of closed eyelids, not to mention his perfect aquiline nose and succulent lips that I wondered about at least a dozen times what they would feel like against mine. Everything about him was like a drug. You have to see him to feel the effect.
My dad would seriously have a hissy fit if I told him about Blake, and it was in times like these I wished I had a friend to talk about it.
Not that they would believe me.
I tried to carry on with my homework, but it was no use.
“Elena, dinner is ready,” Dad called from downstairs, and I took a much-needed breath.
Where did Blake live? Was it close by or somewhere in the other direction of the school? Not that I knew Falmouth at all.
I opened my door and skipped down the stairs. I shouldn’t be thinking about the guy as my father would ask me why the smile on my face and lying to him was useless. He always knew when I lied. I sucked at lying.
I reached the dining room area that was part of the kitchen and found my favorite on the table. It was a chicken dish called Coq-au-Vin. Father was no chef, but he loved preparing food and many delicacies, and this was one of his masterpieces. Dad always made his French specialty when he wanted me to stop being angry at him.
