Golden (Book 1 of the Golden Series)

Chapter 9

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For the last forty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, I have managed to not look at Trent once.

I know it's exactly this long because every time I have felt my eyes wanting to look over at him, I've looked at the clock on the side of the room instead.

Once I'd sat down at the table I had organised my things, laid them out on the surface, and then looked straight outside the window and in the complete opposite direction of the man sitting beside me.

Kristie had been sat in front of me, however much to my dismay she was chatting away with her partner from the moment they sat down, perfectly content with making friends.

Her partner was the guy that Trent had walked into the class with and she was loving the attention that he was giving her. She'd barely even looked at me. And when Mrs Howard had called the class to attention and everyone started working, the room was basically silent.

No one was talking to their partner.

Maybe there was more of a divide between the two schools than I thought?

Although I couldn't really say much, I had been purposely ignoring my own partner.

So far it had been a good tactic.

Even if he did smell like fresh pine trees and leather.

Thirty-eight seconds...

Thirty-nine seconds...

Forty...

"Are you really that desperate to get out of this class?"

I jump slightly at his whisper, its velvety tone sliding into my ears and caressing my senses like thick honey, sinking further into my core.

"Excuse me?" I ask quietly, trying to ignore the butterflies that erupt in my stomach when I finally look at him. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. As if he wasn't sitting on the edge of his seat like me. Like being close to me had no effect on him.

Maybe I was just crazy?

He chuckles, motioning to the clock on the wall, "You keep looking at that thing every two minutes. You got somewhere to be?"

I shake my head, socked that he'd noticed.

"You hate English?"

Another shake.

"Are you trying to get away from me?"

His question catches me by surprise and I freeze, hesitating before I answer and this gives him all he needs, "Ah, I see."

He sits back in his chair, his head turning back to the front and continues writing without another word.

Was that it?

Wasn't he going to say anything else?

I frown at him, waiting for him to continue but he doesn't; he just goes back to work. Totally ignoring my dumbfounded stare.

I'm far too embarrassed to try and speak to him again, that was so rude of me, he must think that I think badly of the Eastsiders, even after what he did for me. He was so sweet in looking after me and now I was blatantly not talking to him.

That wasn't fair.

I watch him slyly, trying not to turn my head while hoping that he doesn't notice me staring. Earlier on I'd heard him take off his leather jacket and it took everything in me not to look at him and see what was underneath the leather. Now, however, I was freely letting my eyes roam over his body and as I do I can feel my mouth growing dry, my tongue feeling heavy in it. Underneath the jacket was a tight, white t-shirt that shows off how tanned he truly is. It also shows how often he works out because even through the material I can see outlines of hard flesh, perfectly toned.