11. Helen
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Perfect scores for almost six years so far. Seventeen years old, top of my year and best in all my classes. Finally, finally, I had a small cluster of friends alongside Brooke. Study groups, weekend meetups in London, small parties in dorm rooms, and my school life had drastically turned around.
Drake, abandoning his antagonistic pursuits the year prior, marginally helped. I was clever enough to realize part of it was lesser families urging their children to my side for future benefits. It hardly mattered on the surface. I was having fun and enjoying myself.
But getting detention with none other than the arrogant bastard who spent years tormenting me…
now that had the potential to destabilize my perfect, structured world.
For the first time in our friendship, I lied to Brooke.
Told her I had study plans on Saturday when in reality I’d be locked in a classroom with my rival for three hours.
Since I’d never lied to her before, and my odd hours with books were nothing new, she readily believed me.
It hurt to deceive her, and I trusted Brooke, but I didn’t need word of the incident to spread. Since a week had passed and no one mentioned it thus far, I knew Drake had kept his mouth shut as well.
What I couldn’t figure out was why he’d approached me in the library in the first place when there was a perfectly good party for him to bother anyone else. He thrived at the center of attention, yet he’d snuck off to sulk in the dark. It didn’t fit with his image.
I greeted Ms. Hart, the chemistry teacher, bright and early outside her classroom Saturday morning. She gave me a sad smile, empathetic to my situation but needing to remain neutral, regardless. “Good morning Ms. Montgomery.”
“Good morning.”
“Have you seen Mr. Graham yet?”
“No, miss.” Better for me if he didn’t show up at all.
“Very well.” She nodded, sighing as we moved into the classroom. “I’d like you to clean the classroom for the next three hours. All the beakers and vials, if you please.”
“Yes, miss.” I smoothed my hand down my jumper before rolling up the sleeves. Halfway through preparing the items to be cleaned, the classroom door clicked open. The hairs on my neck prickled as if my entire being was aware of his presence.
“Mr. Graham, you’re late!” Ms. Hart scolded, voice shrill and sharp.
“Didn’t want to be here,” he drawled back, sounding half hungover.
Ms. Hart sniffed and rose from her desk in the opposite corner. Her dark eyes narrowed into slits at Drake and her lips pursed. He might have been the second-best student in her class because of his grades, but his attitude certainly knocked him to the bottom of the board, in her opinion.
“You’ll be cleaning with Ms. Montgomery today,” she stated. He grunted in response. The teacher nodded and strolled to the door. “I trust you both to keep your hands to yourself from now on. I have business to attend to. Be done by eleven o’clock.”
Clinking of beakers and the rush of water from the back sink soothed the strained lack of conversation.
His presence prickled at my skin and weighed heavily in my stomach.
Remembering the heat and hardness of him as he’d crowded me in the dark library didn’t ease my shattered nerves.
Not even the mindless busy work of washing and drying chemistry tools lifted that plague from my mind.
Worse than his presence–his stare. I knew he was staring.
He was watching me. Sneaking glances as he worked in resentful silence.
He tracked me in his periphery everywhere I went in a classroom that felt stifling and cramped as time stretched on.
His gaze morphed into a burning pressure on the back of my neck, heating my cheeks until pink blossomed up my neck and across my cheeks.
It was only because of his blatant, aggressive staring that my heart skipped, and my lower stomach fluttered.
It was only because he watched me like a hawk tracking a field mouse that my blush deepened.
It was only recalling his body pressed to mine in the library that made me wonder what those rugby-sculpted muscles looked like outside of his black t-shirt and dark jeans.
Drake Graham was a bully and a complete asshole.
It was utterly unfair that he was attractive—objectively speaking.
I wasn’t attracted to him, of course. Not only were we school rivals, but our families were enemies.
In a few years’ time we might find ourselves trying to kill one another, so thinking he looked hot in his rugby gear, or that his ass looked tight in those jeans didn’t do me any favors.
Neither of us talked about the incident in the library.
In fact, we didn’t talk at all. Drake worked on cleaning anything I didn’t reach first, keeping a respectable distance.
The sterile scent of cleaning products masked the hint of cologne clinging to his clothes, and I thanked the distance, the unspoken divider, between us.
The end of the third and final hour neared without incident. Every muscle, tensed for battle in my body, slowly unfurled and relaxed as freedom danced within reach. Every inch of the classroom sparkled with a spotless sheen, and I idly rubbed my wrists to relieve the twinge from all the scrubbing.
I sat at a desk at the back of the room closest to the door, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
My eyes tracked the rapid tick of the clock, hands inching toward the finish line.
Only a few minutes until the end of a silent, miserable detention with the biggest bastard in the school.
Then I could go to the library and finish my homework with enough time to meet Brooke for movie night.
“Monty.” His voice scraped against the back of his throat, as if it strangled him to address me.
My head snapped in his direction, where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. An errant black strand of hair fell over his forehead, making him appear dark and brooding as he peered at me with those dangerous chestnut eyes.
His eyes had darkened from glaring at me for hours, I presumed.
“Don’t talk to me. We’re almost out of here.” My breath faltered when he kicked off the wall, prowling closer. “Don’t,” I warned.
Drake’s expression lacked his usual arrogant sneer. Whatever twisted his features now, I might have mistaken for misery or a sort of frustrated longing. He stopped near the table, close enough that his shadow fell over me and an awareness of his close proximity rippled in my lower stomach.
He reached out, and I flinched back on instinct.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he dropped his hand, knuckles going pale at his side.
Drake gritted his teeth before leaning over the edge of the table.
My ribs squeezed my lungs as the warmth of his breath tickled my cheek.
I stared at the hand he splayed on the desk, eying the veins in his forearms and the surprisingly masculine state of his hand.
I held my breath, refusing to meet his gaze. He was too close. If I turned my head up, our noses might touch. The mental imagery of that possibility made something pulse between my thighs. His body heat and musky cologne infiltrating my senses didn’t help.
“Where’d the kitten’s claws go?” His voice had grown deeper over the years. The voice that spewed hateful words, I reminded myself.
My fists curled in my lap, chest heaving.
“Does harassing me give you some kind of sick high? What do you want from me?” I jerked my chin up to meet his gaze, risking the distance.
His ragged exhale skimmed my lips, and his endless brown pupils blew wide, glinting with a dangerous look that secretly thrilled me.
“You’d be my drug of choice, Monty.” His words kissed my lips, and for a moment I swore he might too. Only a hair’s breadth apart and my traitorous body reacted to the nearness of a male, aching with wanton abandon.
He was a Graham, and I was a Montgomery.
Snapping back into reality, I wrenched myself around in my seat to get as far from him as possible. “Va te faire foutre!”
That didn’t deter Drake. He leaned closer to speak in my ear, and the heat of him scalded my insides. “Go fuck myself? Hm, maybe if you watch?—”
Shock wrapped around my neck and yanked me back from the table. I stumbled away, nearly crashing into a station along the back wall. Heart hammering, eyes wide, I gasped for air outside of his intoxicating aura.
Those damned brown eyes dripped over my body, feasting as if I wore nothing, not a sweater and jeans. Then his tongue darted out to swipe over his bottom lip, and it forced me to notice how soft they appeared.
“Come to the party in my building tonight.” The offer dropped heavily between us. It held a promise for something, but the past few years reminded me he was an asshole.
“Why? So, you can bully me again? Torment me in front of your friends and then laugh at me?” I grew shrill, practically shrieking at him.
His expression fell a fraction before he picked it up and settled his arrogant mask into place. As if the mean streak was a performance and he was playing a part. Falling in line for what was expected of him—of us.
“Have I done that lately?” he gritted out.
“No,” I breathed, breaking eye contact.
“Come to the party. Or don’t. I’ll—” Drake cut himself off with a groan, and the slam of the classroom door made my bones jump under my skin. I sucked in a breath, realizing our three hours of detention had ended several minutes before.
Of course I wouldn’t be going to the party.
Drake had bullied me for years, and he’d earned no redemption in offering an invitation now.
A few moments of odd tension and his recent absence of cruel intentions didn’t change our overall dynamic.
He resented me for having better grades, and we were destined to hate one another because of our families.