Chapter 1 Harper #3
Definitely not a Bender. Not by a mile. Which meant he was a Richie. The opposite end of the social spectrum from me, which meant the social gulf between us was a mile wide.
No, Britain/Rhode Island-wide.
That didn’t stop me from gawking at him like an idiot.
He eyed me, amused. “Like some help?”
“What?” I blinked. “Oh. The damn thing ate my money.”
“You must be new or else you’d know to steer clear of Bandit. He’s a thief.”
“You name the vending machines?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were natural to name inanimate objects. “I’ve been here three years. This school has six vending machines, and I know all of their quirks and foibles.”
Foibles. Good word.
“Bandit, as you’ve learned the hard way, loves to chew up your money.”
The guy leaned in, drawing me into his aura of cologne, soap, and designer clothes—all of him expensive and clean but not overdone. Not like the clouds of Axe body spray the guys back home wore. His scent was…
Sexy. It’s sexy and I must be losing my mind.
“But I’ll let you in on a secret,” he continued with a grin. “Bandit’s a bit of a masochist. He likes when you rough him up a little.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’ll show you. What were you after?”
“F-3.”
He squinted, searching the rows of snacks.
I pointed. “That one.”
“Ah, yes. Come now, Bandit, do not steal this lovely girl’s quid. You want a bit of a beating, do you? Perhaps a good spanking?”
And now I was blushing. I never blushed.
He made a fist and pounded the glass over F-3, whacked the side, then grabbed the whole machine and gave it a good rattle. My protein bar was jostled loose, as well as another stuck bar from a different coil.
“There we go. Bandit always gives up the goods. You just have to know what he likes.” He shot me a wink as he retrieved the bars. “There you are.”
“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.”
He grinned, and my God, he had to have the most beautiful, blinding smile I’d ever seen in my life.
And that is the second time you thought something ridiculously hyperbolic about this guy in the space of three minutes.
He raised his brows expectedly.
“Oh, sorry,” I stammered. “Did you want one?”
He chuckled. “No, but perhaps your name. I’m Orion Mercer.”
“Harper Bennett.”
He held out his hand. “A pleasure.”
I juggled the two protein bars into my left hand, so I could shake his. Holy hell, this guy was scrambling my circuits as if he were shooting electric shocks directly into my brain.
“Harper,” Orion mused. “That’s not one I’ve heard before. Unique.”
“Says the guy named Orion,” I said, struggling to maintain some semblance of my own personality.
“My parents went on a tear with O names. Odin, Octavian…” He laid a hand on his broad chest. “Orion. Good thing they quit at three boys, or later siblings might’ve been Olaf. Octagon. Ozone…”
I laughed, and it sounded dangerously close to a giggle.
Girl, run.
“Well, anyway, thanks again,” I said. “I better go. I have class,” I added, like a dolt. As if he didn’t.
“Of course. Nice to meet you, Harper Bennett.”
“You too.”
The bell rang. Not a normal school bell clang but the elegant tone of an elevator taking you to the penthouse. I stepped out of Orion Mercer’s atmosphere, away from his expensive cologne and whatever made him, him, and strode down the hall feeling…disappointed?
Oh my God, you have got to get a grip.
Orion was exceptionally handsome and witty. Tall and built and, yes, the whole package, but it was no reason to lose my mind. I didn’t lose my mind with guys. Ever.
You’re a red-blooded human. You’re allowed one moment of embarrassing girly girlness.
Even so, Orion was a Richie in this ecosystem, and I was a Bender.
I couldn’t even get out of the parking lot without being informed of my social status.
The thought was sobering and kind of sad too.
My last school in Pittsburgh might’ve been loud and crowded, but everyone looked out for each other.
Orion had probably only helped me out of pity—the poor Bender who couldn’t afford to lose her snack money. The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
He’s beautiful but arrogant. No care in the world while you’re carrying a hundred in your backpack. Focus. He’s not for you.
English class came next, where the same beautiful girl from AP Calculus, Emery Wallace, sat beside me. Again.
Beautiful Richies in my face to exploit my inadequacies.
I brushed off the pitying thoughts. English had always been a favorite subject, and this teacher—Ms. Alvarez—was a winner, but I couldn’t wait to get to third-period chemistry.
There, the classroom didn’t have desks but twelve heavy two-person lab tables. I took one front and center, relishing the periodic tables on the walls, the shelves of beakers, test tubes, and Bunsen burners. Here was my future. My dream. It was where my career lay, and nothing could distract me.
Of course, the universe heard me and laughed its ass off.
I was pulling materials out of my bag when I smelled the cologne and heard the smooth British accent: “Harper Bennett. We meet again.”
I looked up. Orion Mercer and his megawatt smile beamed down at me.
Shit.