AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He can see it too. I can tell when his eyes roam over me, taking me in with a sweeping glance, I don’t belong here. I never did. The silent lines have been drawn. He’s one of them. The trust fund kids from old money. I’m just the stepchild Theo got saddled with when he married my mother. The girl who doesn’t dress the part and never says the right things. And right now, I’m overly aware of my curvy figure sticking to the black leggings and tank top I picked out haphazardly today.
The girls at Black Mountain Academy maintain a strict air and gossip diet. While they are busy stuffing cutlets into their bras or finding doctors crazy enough to give them implants, I’m trying to find bras that hold my boobs in. When his gaze flickers over my body with mild disinterest, I’ve never been more aware of the fact that I look nothing like them.
“Who are you with?”
The dark prince does have the ability to speak, but his words are tinged with accusation, and I know I didn’t imagine the narrowing of his eyes just now. It might be hot as hell outside, but the temperature seems to have plummeted a thousand degrees suddenly.
“Who am I with?” I repeat dumbly, blinking at him before I shake my head. “Uh, nobody. Here.”
I thrust the plate of pineapple at him, but he doesn’t make an effort to take it, so now I’m just standing here with my arms extended as heat floods my cheeks. Why did I have to be cursed with awkwardness?
“My mom made this,” I babble while he stares at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “She gets the pineapples shipped over from Hawaii. Maui Gold. Um, we live next door with Theo. They got married a couple of years ago, and we moved here after that. That’s probably why we’ve never met. Anyway, she said you guys had just moved in, or back or whatever, and she wanted me to drop this off. I’m Kailani. Principal Dawson sent me as the tutor.”
He drapes his long body against the door, his eyes moving over me like he’s trying to figure me out. I wish he’d just take the stupid fruit. Or at least respond so I can erase the word vomit that just erupted from my mouth. How is it that rich people have such a way of making you feel like you’re from another planet with just a single look? This guy screams antisocial. I convince myself quickly he must hate everyone, so I feel better about the circumstances.
“This is the part where you introduce yourself.” I straighten my spine, refusing to let his intensity intimidate me.
Again, he doesn’t answer. I release a breath and shrug, withdrawing the plate. “Fine. Good talk. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but honestly, you seem like a dick. So why don’t you just let me know when you’re actually serious about the tutoring.”
I pivot on my heel, and his hand catches me around the arm, halting me. Warm fingers dig into my skin, squeezing me in a way that makes my nervous system short circuit. When I turn around, he’s much closer. So close, I can smell the sweet and spicy notes of his cologne. To my horror, I find myself inhaling that scent, and I hope he didn’t notice.
“Are you fucking with me?” He arches a brow at me, and from this angle, I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“What?”
“You know who I am. So, just tell me what you really want.”
“Um, you’re starting to sound like a cliché plot from a thriller novel.” I yank my arm away from him and frown. “Are you high?”
He cocks his head to the side, considering my response for much longer than necessary before he comes to some sort of silent conclusion. When he drags his phone out of his pocket and checks it, it seems like an opportune moment to leave. But a weird part of me wants to see how this plays out when he frowns at the screen and drags his eyes back to me, his jaw flexing.
“Kailani Hale?”
My name sounds weird on his lips, and I find myself nodding along robotically.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Dawson sent you,” he murmurs.
“Yep. Like I said.”
He types something else into his phone. After a few more moments, the tension in his shoulders intensifies.
“No social media?” he asks.
“What?”
“You don’t have any social media.” He repeats as if I’m mentally challenged. “Why?”
“Uh… what does that have to do with anything?”
“Did you volunteer for the position?”
He’s switching gears faster than I can keep up now.
“For the tutor?” I shake my head. “No. The school called me.”
I leave out the part about them assuming I had nothing better to do.
