SIX ARABELLA

SIX

Arabella

I STARE at temptation personified patting his thigh as an invitation to … sit on his lap? Is he for real right now? The very morning that I choose to wear the shortest uniform skirt I own and a skimpy pair of undies beneath it? My bare butt cheeks are going to settle on his leg and um …

That’s a lot to consider.

The groundskeeper checks the clunky watch on his wrist. “You have less than two minutes until the final bell rings.”

“Arabella. Come on.” The commanding tone of Rowan’s voice has me spurring into action and next thing I know, I’m on his lap.

Perched on his leg.

His thigh.

One large hand owned by the Rowan Lancaster suddenly rests on my waist, keeping me in place, while the other reaches up and grabs hold of the black bar above us, caging me in. “Hold on to me.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I grip his shoulder, my hand sliding upward as if I have no control over it, closer to his neck. He’s warm and solid and he smells so freaking good. Like a fresh pine tree in the middle of a forest. Like crisp mountain air and sin, if sin had a smell.

It would be Rowan Lancaster.

The golf cart jerks into motion and I fall against him, making him grunt. I immediately start to pull away but his hand tightens on my waist, pinning me to him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, his annoyance obvious because I’m sure he knows I was going to ask him if he was okay. If I hurt him.

This boy hates when people show concern for him, and it’s the oddest thing.

The brisk November air blows against us as we hurtle toward the math and science building, and I shiver in Rowan’s arms, my butt settled right on his firm thigh. I can feel his gaze sweeping over me, tingles erupting everywhere his eyes touch, and when he tilts his head back to look into my eyes, his dark brows are drawn together as if he’s confused.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he whispers, his voice harsh.

“My uniform?” I say it as a question, which is how I often speak to him. He makes me feel like my answers might be wrong every time he awaits a response.

“Your skirt. It’s fucking indecent.” His hot gaze seems to burn a hole through my exposed legs as he stares at them. “One wrong move and we’ll see everything.”

My outfit choices are dictated by him, and he doesn’t even know it. I wanted to capture his attention in the most extraordinary way today, and only moments ago, my disappointment in not finding him at his usual morning spot had nearly overwhelmed me. Seeing him on the golf cart immediately lifted my spirits, but now …

Now I’m worried he thinks I’m too much. Too obvious. Too brash and cheap and unattractive.

These are all of my old insecurities roaring back to life. There are other, more personal reasons as to why I dress the way I do. Act the way I do. All my life, I’ve never received the attention from my parents I so desperately craved. I’m an only child with a workaholic dad and a mom who travels with him everywhere he goes. They’re too wrapped up in their own lives to worry about me. I’ve spent the majority of my life away at boarding school. Family holidays don’t exist. My father is in finance, and according to him, the finance world never rests, not even on Christmas or New Year’s or even Thanksgiving, which is coming up soon.

I’ll be spending the holiday like I usually do—on campus here at Lancaster Prep, eating dry turkey with the other unfortunate souls who don’t have anywhere to go during the holiday season. It is truly the most depressing thing ever.

“Maybe I want someone to see everything,” I finally murmur, just as the golf cart comes to a screeching halt directly in front of the steps that lead to the building where our first period class is.

Rowan ignores my comment, nudging my hip with the firm press of his fingers, indicating he wants me to get off his lap. I jump off him, gripping my backpack so it doesn’t slide out of place as I run up the stairs and I can hear him behind me. Note the groan that escapes him as he follows me.

“Jesus, Bells. I can see your ass.”

I scurry into the warm building, my heart racing, my cheeks heating. “It can’t be that bad, is it?”

“You’re delusional,” he says as he keeps pace with me as best as he can, remaining close. “You need a bodyguard to block everyone’s view.”

I am mortified. I must look atrocious. “I should go back to my room and change.”

He reaches for the classroom door before I can, holding it open for me right as the final bell rings. “Too late for that.”

I go inside, Rowan practically on top of me, and I flop into my seat, wincing when my bare skin meets the cold, hard plastic of my chair. This is just …

A giant mistake. I got his attention in the worst way, and he seems downright disgusted with me. Maybe he thinks my butt is too skinny because lord knows, it’s not too big. My figure has always been a little more on the boyish side, and I only just got decent boobs last summer after they remained as flat as can be since I was twelve. Most of the boys I know have reminded me of that fact too, save for Rowan.

He’s never commented much on my appearance at all. That might be part of the reason I try to wear something completely outrageous every day. I want him to comment, to notice, to see me. To appreciate the view, the fashion, the time I take each morning to catch his attention in the hopes that he’ll notice and fall madly in love with me.

Instead, I gross him out with my skinny butt cheeks on display. I’m a disgusting human being. Maybe I should start drinking protein shakes. Or I should work out more. I should definitely cover up …

“Arabella.” The exhaustion in Mrs. Guthrie’s voice is obvious. I know she’s tired of my antics. I completely understand why. “You’re breaking dress code.”

I don’t even argue with her. “May I be excused to go change?”

She seems startled by my lack of protest. “Of course, you can. But hurry back. I’m starting on a new section and you’ll want to be here for it.”

I grab my backpack and rise to my feet, immediately turning so my back is to the wall and no one can see my butt. I send Rowan an apologetic smile and edge out of the classroom, walking funny so, again, no one can see something they shouldn’t. I only breathe a sigh of relief when I’m in the empty hallway.

I hear the clanging slam of a door only seconds later, just as I’m about to go outside, and I pause at the double doors, glancing over my shoulder to find Rowan hobbling toward me.

He’s so adorable with that irritated look on his face, his dark hair hanging over his forehead in the most appealing way. He’s getting better at maneuvering with the ankle boot, and I wait for him, pinning my back against the door so he can’t see my backside.

“Did I offend you?” he asks the moment he’s standing directly in front of me. Close enough to touch.

Now that I’ve actually touched him, even sat on his lap, I want to do it again. Immediately.

“Offend me how?” I blink at him.

“By telling you your skirt is too short.” He got rid of his winter coat and he rests his hands on his hips, shoving back his uniform blazer with the movement. “I, uh. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Did he just stumble over his words? That is so un-Rowan-like of him.

“If you don’t want to go back to your dorm room, you can have this.” My jaw drops as he takes off his blazer and holds it toward me. “This should cover you up.”

It takes me a few seconds to find my words. “But then you’ll be out of dress code.”

“They won’t punish me for not wearing this. Here.” He thrusts the coat closer to me. “Put it on.”

I’m in my uniform vest, which is what the girls wear if they’re not feeling the jacket, which is me almost all the time. The vest is easier to work with when I’m tweaking my outfit. And dumb me shrugged out of my heavier coat and left it in the classroom when I could’ve wrapped it around my waist and hid my skirt.

“I don’t want you to get too cold,” I start but he shakes his head once, cutting me off with just that movement.

“Stop being ridiculous and wear the damn thing, Bells.” He literally pushes it against my chest, and I have no choice but to take it from him and slip it on.

The blazer completely overwhelms me in all ways possible. It’s far too large and hangs practically to my knees, which was his intent. And the sleeves are too long. I’m shoving them up my arms, but they fall back down, covering my hands completely. Then there’s the fact that it smells like him, his scent clinging to the fabric.

“That’s better,” he says, satisfaction lacing his voice. “Come on. Let’s get back to class.”

I follow after him in a daze, my steps slow, my thoughts racing. He ran after me. He sort of apologized. He offered me his blazer and forced me to take it and now I’m wearing it. I think he felt bad for cursing at me and telling me my skirt was too short and oh my God.

Right now, I feel like the luckiest girl alive.