NINE ARABELLA

NINE

Arabella

AFTER A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep and a minor attitude adjustment, I feel better this morning. Not so caught up in my own insecurities and worries about a certain boy. On the plus side? I had a few things work in my favor despite yesterday being such a disaster, and I’m currently clutching one of those things as I stride across campus in search of Rowan.

Today he’s where he should be. I still don’t know what happened yesterday when he wasn’t in front of the building waiting for me as usual, but I see him now, hanging out with his friends like normal. They’re all laughing and chatting away while he stands in the middle of them, his expression serious, his gaze searching. Searching for me?

Of course not.

Adjusting my hold on his uniform jacket and giving myself a mental pep talk that I can do this, I march straight toward him, passing his friends by as I approach Rowan, stopping directly in front of him.

“Here’s your jacket.” I keep my voice quiet and measured, not wanting to act too excited, which is my usual mode when I’m near Rowan. I offer the jacket to him. “Thank you for letting me wear it yesterday.”

He doesn’t even look at the article of clothing that belongs to him. Instead, he keeps his gaze on mine, catching me in his spell. I could stare into his beautiful green eyes forever and never get tired of it. “You didn’t have to give it right back.”

Why does he argue every single point with me? He should just take the damn jacket and say thank you.

“I wanted to. I was afraid I might forget.” I try to shove it at him but he still won’t take it, which is the slightest bit frustrating. “Plus, it’s just cluttering up my room.”

That is the biggest lie. Yes, I’m clean and everything in my room has its place. I don’t like messy things. It comes from a lifetime of living at a boarding school or with my mother, who is the fussiest person I know.

Cleanliness is next to godliness , is what she would always say. Which is funny, considering my parents aren’t what I would call religious people.

“I’m clutter, huh?” He sounds … amused?

Odd.

“You’re not clutter. Your jacket is.” I practically press it against his broad chest. I can feel the warmth from his body seep into my hands, and I would give everything to have the opportunity to run my hands all over him. I know once I started, I would never be able to stop. “Thank you again. It was very—sweet of you to loan it to me.”

I hear Callahan chuckle at my use of the word sweet, which no one would ever say in regards to Rowan. It’s why I chose the word in the first place.

“You’re welcome.” He finally takes the jacket, staring down at it clutched between his hands before he returns his attention to me. “Not sure what I’m supposed to do with it right now though.”

“Take it back to your room?” I raise my brows.

“It’s pretty far and my—my ankle is bothering me,” he admits.

I’m shocked at his confession. He’s not one to say when he’s in pain. “Do you want me to take it back for you?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I would like to. I’m the one who brought it with me, after all.” I take the jacket from him before he can protest. “I’ll run it back now. What’s your door code?”

All of the dorm rooms have a keypad code to gain entry.

“Won’t you be late for class?”

I check my phone. “I still have twelve minutes. I can do it.”

“I’ll text you my code.”

I frown. “You don’t have my number.”

“Ah, but I do.” Within seconds my phone vibrates, and I check to see I have a text from an unfamiliar number.

I send him a look, baffled as to how he has it. “How did you get my number?”

“I have my ways,” he drawls, his smile slow. Be still my rapidly beating heart. “You better run if you’re going to drop that jacket off in time.”

Without another word, I take off, dashing across campus toward the building where all the Lancaster family suites are. I’ve never been over here before and my curiosity is increasing with every second that passes. I’m going to be in Rowan Lancaster’s room.

Alone.

In under two minutes I find myself in his dorm suite and I pause in the doorway, taking it all in. The room is huge. All of the Lancaster family is housed in a different building when they attend here, and their rooms are twice as big as ours. I have my own private room as well and mine is the size of a closet compared to this.

I’m jealous. There’s so much room where I could store all of my clothes, and I have a lot. Too much, some might say, but I adore fashion so I tell myself it is my one indulgence. And I don’t have many.

Checking my phone for the time, I decide to do a quick perusal of Rowan’s room, though I would never go through his things. I’m not that bold, and I wouldn’t want someone going through my stuff so there is that. I’m a big believer in always treating people how you want to be treated.

I wander around his room, stopping at the foot of his bed, noting how he didn’t make it. The comforter is thick and black, the sheets a dark gray, and I’m tempted to lie in the very spot where he does every night …

But that’s creepy. I’m not an obsessed stalker.

With minor apprehension I check his connected bathroom to find that it’s clean, which is a relief. I scan the top of his dresser and find there are no personal items. Not even a picture frame of his family, his besties, a girl, nothing. He left his laptop open on his desk and without a thought I tap the space bar, making the screen light up. There’s a login page but it glitches, switching over to show his open tabs on his browser.

Blinking, I lean in to examine the page he must’ve last looked at. It’s an article from an architectural and interior design magazine and I recognize the house immediately.

It used to belong to my parents. And the photo that appears is of me, sitting on my princess bed in the princess bedroom I never really got to enjoy because I was never home.

My heart pangs looking at that photo of myself. How sad I look in my eyes, even though I’m smiling. The smile isn’t very big though and I’m not showing any teeth.

God, I look miserable. I was such a solemn child. There was no real joy in my life then. When I got a little older and went to therapy during middle school, I realized I had to make my own joy. Clothes make me happy. My friends. Even my crush on Rowan.

Checking the time, I toss the jacket on his bed and zoom out of there, hurrying back to the math and science building and praying I beat the final bell. My mind is full of questions, none of them I can ask because then I’d have to admit I was snooping on his computer and I had no idea his browser would show up. They never do.

It’s like fate wanted me to see that he’s checking up on me. But why? Why does he care? Why do I matter? I never felt like I did to him before. The flirting and the banter are fun but it never seemed like it meant anything to him, though it always meant a little something to me.

Fine, not a little something. It is a big something. And now my new discovery feels like something even bigger.

Rowan Lancaster wants to know more about me. He somehow found that old article about my parents and checked it out. Did he read it? Could he tell how pretentious and money-hungry my parents are? How callous and cold? Probably not. The article I’m sure shone them in a good light. Everyone believes the Hartley Thomas’s are a wonderful couple who move about society and never have a bad thing said about them. I wonder what would happen if their business associates and social circle found out what neglectful parents they are?

I make it into our statistics class with two minutes to spare, though I’m out of breath. Thank God I wore regular loafers today. Well, they are Miu Miu loafers and cost a fortune, but still. They’re comfortable and surprisingly easy to run in.

“You made it,” Rowan says when he spots me from his desk.

I pause in front of where he sits, reluctant to go to my desk. Trying to savor this moment of Rowan speaking to me first without tossing a little insult in my direction. “I did. With a couple minutes to spare.”

His expression turns serious. “Thank you for taking that back for me. I don’t normally have a problem getting around campus, but you know.”

He points at the cumbersome boot he’s wearing.

“I understand. And you’re welcome.” I offer him a tentative smile, practically bursting with the need to tell him I saw what was on his laptop.

But I can’t.

“You didn’t go through my things, did you, Bells?”

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head repeatedly, hoping I don’t appear suspicious.

Rowan contemplates me for a moment, his assessing gaze moving over my face before it drops, checking out my outfit. “You’re fairly subtle today.”

Instead of the usual white button down, I’m wearing a hot pink one under my navy vest. I personally love the look of dark blue and pink together, but of course, I’m breaking dress code. Though in the least offensive way possible.

“You call this color subtle?” I tap at the collar of my shirt.

“It’s subtle compared to you having your ass hang out of your skirt yesterday.” He grins. Literally grins.

I have to grip the edge of his desk so I don’t pass out.

The bell rings, jolting me into moving over to my desk, and I can feel the weariness of Mrs. Guthrie as she takes in my outfit while I shrug out of my coat.

“Hot pink, Arabella? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I say with a nod, not about to regret my life choices. “You don’t like it?”

A long-suffering sigh escapes her. “I’m going to pretend I don’t see it.”

“Perfect.” I rest my clutched hands on top of my desk, trying my best to act like the dutiful student all while my mind is busy trying to comprehend the fact that Rowan grinned at me just now. How faint the sight of that beautiful smile made me feel.

How warm and fuzzy I got when I realized he was doing research on me. I have nothing to hide. I really don’t have any secrets, save for the one I wouldn’t mind him finding out.

The fact that I’m completely infatuated with him.

I’ VE JUST LEFT theater class and am headed toward the dining hall when I hear someone call my name.

“Arabella, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

I lift my head to find Lydia making her way toward me, a beautiful smile lighting up her fairy-tale princess face. I pause, waiting by the water fountain for her, my smile strained and my nerves frazzled.

I don’t like talking to her. Something about her sets me on edge. Maybe it’s all the perfectionism that bothers me. There has to be a flaw hidden in there somewhere.

“Hi, Lydia,” I greet her when she’s standing directly in front of me.

I’m starving and dying to eat lunch, but she’s holding me up. Of course.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for just a moment?” She tilts her head to the side, all of that beautiful blonde hair cascading past her shoulder.

“I need to go meet my friends.” That is the weakest excuse ever and she sees right through me.

“It won’t take long.” Her smile brightens. “I was hoping to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” I’m frowning. What do I have that she could possibly want?

“Yes.” She nods. “I was hoping you would relinquish your partner in American Government and let me work with Rowan instead.”

“Oh.” My voice is hollow. I forgot all about that. It dawns on me that I’m project partners with Rowan in two classes, which is kind of wild. And wonderful.

“Yes, oh . You lucky bitch. God, he’s hot.” She nudges my side like we’re good friends and she’s trying to be funny, but I’m guessing she really does think I’m a bitch for snagging him from her. “You don’t have a thing for Rowan, do you?”

I thought everyone knew I had a thing for Rowan, but maybe Lydia doesn’t realize it. Not like we’ve talked much over the years. She’s definitely not someone I would consider a friend, though I don’t view her as an enemy either.

Maybe I should start looking at her like that though …

“We’re … friends.” That sounds lame but I don’t know how else to describe what Rowan and I share. Truthfully?

We don’t share much at all.

“Really?” Her voice is full of doubt. “That’s funny. I never see the two of you together.”

“You just saw us in the dining hall at lunch a couple of days ago,” I remind her, my voice frosty. “Together.”

Lydia blinks at me, that smile still on her face. “Just friends then, hmm? So you won’t mind giving up your friend for the project?”

She makes air quotes with her fingers when she says the word friend.

“Actually, I would mind.” My smile is just as phony as hers. “Rowan and I work well together.”

“Hmm.”

That’s all Lydia says. Hmm. There’s so much doubt and annoyance in that one sound. It kind of spurs me on.

“And we enjoy each other’s company,” I tack on, sounding like a grandma.

“Every time I see Row with anyone, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying their company,” Lydia says.

She’s observant because her assessment is one hundred percent correct.

“Well, he enjoys mine.” I lift my chin, hoping I look confident. As if I know what I’m talking about. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Lydia.”

Her smile fades, her gaze shifting to my right, and that’s when I feel it. A presence looming behind me, the scent of him lingering in the air. I lock my knees so I don’t do something stupid like faint, secretly praying he didn’t overhear our conversation or the things I said about him.

“You just don’t know when to let up, do you?” Rowan asks Lydia and my stomach sinks into my toes.

He most definitely overheard our conversation.

Lydia’s overly cheery expression is back, her eyes magically sparkling. How does she do that anyway? “What are you talking about?”

“I told you I was working with Arabella and here you are, trying to get her to what—switch out with you?” He sounds shocked, but he really shouldn’t be. He’s a hot commodity on this campus. I’m surprised this sort of thing doesn’t happen more often.

“That is not what I was trying to—”

“Cut the shit, Lydia.”

His tone is dark. Almost menacing. And I can feel the look on his face. A glower. A scowl. Whatever you want to call it, I know it’s scary and I wouldn’t want it aimed at me.

Lydia takes a step back, all signs of her sunny disposition gone in an instant. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Who says?” He shrugs, taking a step closer to me, and I almost wilt when I feel his hand lightly rest on my shoulder. “Leave Arabella alone. She’s my partner in American Government. I’m not interested in working with you.”

Lydia works her jaw, her gaze shifting to mine. I see the irritation there. She’s not happy being denied what she wants. Worse? She doesn’t like that who she wants is choosing someone else. “Looks like I made a mistake. Because truly? I don’t want to work with you any longer either.”

She flounces off before we can say anything and the moment she’s gone, Rowan drops his hand, which makes me immediately miss his touch.

“She needs to back the fuck off,” he mutters.

“I think Lydia has a crush on you.” I turn to face him, surprised by how close he’s standing in front of me. My chest brushes his and I swear I can feel goosebumps dotting my entire body from the brief contact.

“I’m not interested.”

“Apparently, you’re not interested in anyone.” I think of my conversation with my friends yesterday. How they suspect he might be into … me.

Please.

Please?

Oh, I need to stop.

“That’s not true.” He sounds vaguely defensive.

“Really?” I arch a brow, ready for a challenge. “You haven’t gone out with a girl for the entirety of our high school lives.”

“Maybe I keep my dating life private.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is private here, Rowan. Especially who anyone is dating.”

“Maybe I don’t date girls.” His smile is wicked and he leans in, his mouth practically at my ear. “Maybe I only fuck them.”

I suck in a sharp breath at hearing the curse word whispered so intimately. He pulls away slowly, that naughty smile still on his face, and I can’t help myself. I slap him on the chest, my fingers tingling where they make contact.

“You’re rude,” I chastise, though my voice is weak.

My problem is I’d love it if he whispered in my ear again. If he said something completely filthy in reference to what he wanted to do to me. With me. Whatever. I would eat that up.

He chuckles, the rich, warm sound doing something to my insides, and I realize there is no fighting going on between us. Just flirting.

“You like it.”

Oh God, can he read my mind? Maybe my body language is too obvious. He probably thinks I’m easy when I’m not. Not even close. My sexual experience is very limited. I mean, I’ve had sex, but it was terrible and it probably doesn’t count.

Well, it does count. Unfortunately.

“How many girls have you been with, then?” I ask him.

“Been with how?”

Is he being purposely dense?

“Been with as in had sex with.” I smile serenely at him, this close to laughing at the shock I see on his face. I don’t think he expected me to ask that particular question. “Tell me, Rowan. How many?”