Bet in the Dark (45 page)

             
“Are you seriously going to blame me?” he asked in disbelief, drawing my attention away from the hollow of his throat.

             
“You spilled coffee on me,” I pointed out, pulling my shirt away from my skin mostly because it was so uncomfortable but also and a bit calculatingly because I knew it would expose my stomach and I was dying to see his reaction to a little skin.

             
“You came flying out of the office like a bat out of hell and ran into me,” he laughed unbelievably. And not once did his eyes fall to my exposed skin.

             
“Listen, I don’t have time for this, I’m already late for class,” I ignored his potentially valid point and waited for the part where he would shake off his disbelief and ask for my number.

             
“You’re seriously unbelievable,” he continued to sound irritated with me and honestly it was a little disconcerting.

             
“Me?” I gasped. “You’re unbelievable!”

             
Only I really meant that. Something was wrong. Like maybe I was broken.

             
Maybe I was broken….?

             
I had to test this theory, which meant swallowing all of my pride. My entire life thus far had conditioned me to think that nothing was ever my fault and there was always someone else to blame. Usually a man. An apology would take some effort on my part.

             
“You are one snide little-“

             
“Wait a second, before you start calling names,” I interrupted him, holding my hand up before he could get any naughty words out of that beautiful mouth of his. “You caught me way off guard. I may have been a little defensive,” I relented, not feeling a single word I was saying, but knowing if I wanted to get to the bottom of this I would have to play his game.

             
“You are apologizing for being defensive?” he clarified, not looking at all pacified.

             
What the hell?

             
“Yes, um, that and for running into you,” I mumbled in a rush.

             
“What was that?” he stepped forward, tightening the arms that were folded across his chest. I knew he heard me…. cocky bastard.

             
“I apologize for running into you, I was in a hurry,” I offered magnanimously.

             
“Obviously,” he narrowed his eyes on me again and rocked back on his heels. “It’s fine, I mean, you took most of the hit anyway.” He nodded to my stained shirt and that’s when I realized he was completely dry except for the hem of his t-shirt.

             
I hesitated for a long moment, feeling irrationally vulnerable under his scrutiny. Which wasn’t fair, because I was usually the one getting to do the scrutinizing. He looked me over for all of three more seconds before seeming to come to an indifferent conclusion.

             
Which, let’s be honest, confused the hell out of me.

             
“I can write you a pass,” he offered out of the blue. This was it! This was him showing his true colors! But his tone of voice was not anything like the doting, fawning boys I was used to.

             
“You can?” I squeaked while still feeling exposed for some strange reason.

             
“I’m the office aide this hour, which is why I had coffee in the first place,” he motioned to the still wet ground.

             
“Oh.”

             
“What’s your name?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

             
“Really?” I laughed.

             
His expression turned confused. “I can’t write you a pass without it.”

             
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if he really didn’t know my name or not. He looked confused, but really I was the one that was so confused I couldn’t even make a sentence.

             
“Uh, your name?” he asked impatiently.

             
“Ivy Pierce,” I struggled for confidence. Who was this guy?

             
“Come on Ivy, what class are you going to?” He motioned toward the office, but there was absolutely no way I was going back in there. Not to mention, the minute Mrs. Tanner figured out he was trying to help me out, she wouldn’t let him go through with it. And for some unexplainable reason I didn’t want to get in it with her in front of him.

             
Whoever he was.

             
“Um, I have,” I gave my schedule a quick glance before answering, “Mr. Taylor for creative writing.” He motioned me to follow him so I had to call after him before the door swung shut, “I’ll just wait out here.”

             
He nodded his head without turning around to acknowledge me. Huh. He jumped up, so he could reach over the chest high partition and grabbed the yellow late slips before settling back down to the floor and filling it out. I watched him through the glass in kind of a state of disbelief. He hadn’t looked back at me, not even once.

             
Obviously my self-confidence was used to more petting, but I had legitimate reasons to have always thought of myself as desired. I was desired- always. And it wasn’t something I liked or ever hardly tolerated, but still it was the truth. The male species as a whole couldn’t resist me and suddenly I smashed into someone I didn’t know, get splattered with hot coffee and my mojo was gone?

             
“Ivy Pierce?” a girl’s voice made me turn my head away from watching the mysterious office aide.

             
I turned to meet Kenna Lee as she approached the office. I forced a smile that I didn’t really mean and realized how hard it was to keep my focus on her. She was nice enough, or as nice as a girl could be around me and we had known each forever, but as far as friends went…. she didn’t like me. At all.

             
And I didn’t blame her.

             
Plus it was hard to keep my eyes off the office aide writing me a pass. What if he turned to check me out and I missed it? Or even better, what if he never turned to check me out?

             
Kenna’s smile seemed halfway genuine though so I had to wonder if girls would also be affected by my loss of mojo. Maybe I would start making friends.

             
“When did you get back?” she asked. She was one of the more attractive girls in our junior class. Her dad was Japanese and her mom was Italian American so she had the good fortune of beautifully mixed genes with long, silky straight black hair, and pretty tilted eyes that were a shocking shade of green.

             
“Today is my first day,” I answered, wondering what to make of her friendliness.

             
“Good luck,” she smiled knowingly, but friendly enough.

             
“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled while she left me in the hallway and entered the office.

             
Office Boy turned at the sound of the door bells tinkling and his gray eyes lit up as soon as they landed on Kenna. He stopped writing my pass to pull her into his arms and smother her in a kiss. She threw her head back in laughter and he went for her neck playfully.

             
It was kind of gross, in that sickeningly gross happy couple way that makes everyone around want to vomit. Really blissful couples always made me uncomfortable anyway and I felt the need to avert my eyes.

             
The office door opened again and a tan, long-fingered hand was thrust through the space. I followed the sinewy muscles up to a perfectly toned bicep along his shoulder, collar bone, throat and up to those clear gunmetal eyes staring at me with nothing more than complete disinterest.

             
“Sorry again about the coffee,” I apologized more sincerely for that spill than I had anything else in my entire life.

             
Ok. Almost anything else.

             
With one giant exception.

             
“No worries,” he replied without even a smile before the door was shut on me and he, whoever he was, went back to flirting with Kenna in the office.

             
That was honestly a first for me.

Please enjoy an excerpt from Reckless Magic, book one of The Star-Crossed Series, out now and available for free.

“Well, here we go,” I said softly to myself. I took a big breath and stepped out of the car. I gave a cautious wave to Aunt
Syl as I watched her drive away. She waved back enthusiastically. I felt anything but encouraged.  

I had to go to school, right? I did not have a choice. I was pretty sure it was against the law not to go…. I tried to think of other reasons to postpone the inevitable but came up empty handed. Social suicide…. I was well on my way. 

I cringed inwardly, knowing I looked like a hot mess. I could feel my tan skin, turning translucent with nerves, and my unruly, dark hair, tangled and wild as I stood too long in the wind. It whipped around my face in the hot, humid breeze, partially blocking the impending view from sight. I brushed my hair out of my face, but it refused to obey and with another gust of unbearably hot August air, I was forced to walk forward to maintain my sight. 

I felt sick and nauseous; I was practically on the verge of puking. I closed my eyes for several seconds and then opened them again, hoping I’d be someplace else, any place else. But I was right where I was supposed to be: staring up at my new school. The tall, ominous buildings clustering together, stared back. Their dark, red brick laughed at me silently, daring me to run away. The central tower, with its golden bell, and deep sweet chimes taunted me, mocked me. 

Ok, maybe I was being a little over dramatic, but school had never been my, um, thing. It could have been because I was a complete social spaz; or it could have been because this was my fourth school in two years. Either way, I always seemed to have trouble adjusting to teenage normalcy.

Kingsley Preparatory Academy was a last resort of sorts. Well, really, it was the last prep school that would take me; God forbid I would attend public school. As the niece and only surviving relative of my aunt, the doctor, I was destined for a higher education. 

If only I could have gone six months without being expelled. Kingsley was the last prep school in Omaha that had given me a chance, and that was only after a very generous contribution from my aunt and a promise from me that I wouldn’t burn it to the ground. Although I harbored no ill will for the school itself, I was not sure if I could keep my promise.

Not that I would burn it down on purpose, but that kind of stuff just happened to me. The burning down of schools, the flooding of schools, and the infestation of huge, tropical insects of schools…. All fell into the category of been there, done that. It's not like I ever did it on purpose; it all just sort of happened. 

So after another deep breath, I began my death march to the top of the hill and the large, brass, double doors that led into the Administration Building. The doors slammed shut behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. The lobby was dimly lit; it took a while for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. 

Kingsley was immaculate; beautiful marble floors and elaborate lighted sconces filled the lobby. An intricate, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and gave the room a warm glow that reminded me of dusk rather than 8:00 AM. Plush, crimson divans lined the lobby, and oil paintings of elderly people adorned the walls. I reminded myself that this was a school building and not the sitting room to a luxurious Victorian home.

I forced my feet forward and adjusted my backpack straps. I stopped to fiddle with my uniform, afraid to make the wrong first impression. The front counter, located directly on the other side of the lobby was crafted from a beautiful wood, probably mahogany, that expanded the width of the room and stood elbow-high. I walked the rest of the way tentatively, as this was like no other school building I had ever been in, and I'd had my fair share of experience. 

An elderly woman, with snow-white hair and small-framed glasses, sat behind a small desk made from the same wood as the counter that partitioned us. Her posture was perfect and her legs crossed properly, as she focused typing at her computer. A name-plate that read “Mrs.
Truance” decorated her desk, facing me. She glanced my way from the top of her spectacles and gave a little sigh. 

“You must be Eden Matthews,” she declared more as a statement than a question.

“Yes, I am,” I choked out. 

“Welcome to Kingsley,” she said tersely. Mrs.
Truance stood up gracefully and walked over to me with some sheets of paper in her hand. “Here is your class list and map of the campus. It can be quite confusing, so please ask for help if you get lost.”

“Thank you, I will,” I tried to smile, but she had already turned away and headed back to her desk. So instead, I looked down at my class list and found my first hour of torture to be English.