Page 3 of Sinful Storms

“What was that, dear?”

Oh, shit. I hadn’t realised I’d said that out loud. Of course the golden boy, the glory hunter himself, would take the starring role in the game, even in my mind.

“I said yes. He scored some goals. The team played well. They won.”

“They did.” Her voice was firm, like there’d been no question that Hatherley Hall would beat Cheltenham. “We must get together with Tristan soon. We have a lot to celebrate.”

“I’ll find out when he’s free,” I said.

I wouldn’t.

One second spent with him was a second too long for me.

2

ARIA

“Of everyone in this school, why do you always end up in my vicinity? You’re like a fucking cockroach that won’t die.”

Tristan’s brows lifted, his lip curling with amusement as he slid into the empty seat next to mine. “You want me to die? I’m wounded, little scorpion.”

“Don’tcall me that. It’s bad enough that I have to be in the same classroom as you, not to mention that farce of a ball where we were forced to dance together. Now you decide you want to sit with me? Why? Why would you even want to sit here?” I pointedly glanced around the classroom, where there were plenty of seats available, far away from me.

He tutted, shaking his head, his stupidly blue eyes sparkling with humour. “Such a filthy mouth from a supposedly classy girl.”

I took him in. Navy blazer with royal blue piping. Zero creases. Pale blue shirt and a tie in the school colours. Perfectly pressed navy trousers and a shiny metal badge pinned to his lapel. I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Head Boy. I can’t bring myselfto fake it like you. Golden on the outside but depraved on the inside.”

“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me. Did you ever think of that?”

“No. That’s all you. You don’t get to blame your personality defects on me. Now, please leave and find someone else to piss off with your irritating presence.” I jabbed my fingernail into his solid bicep to emphasise my point, and he smirked, flexing his muscle. Dickhead.

“Miss Harper. Mr. Smith-Chamberlain. Are you quite finished disrupting my lesson?”

My gaze shot to Professor Watkins, our politics teacher, who I hadn’t noticed standing in front of our table, his arms folded across his chest and his mouth set in a thin line.

“My apologies, Professor. Just a slight disagreement regarding the seating arrangements, but I’m sure we can work through it,” Tristan said smoothly, flashing our teacher one of his patented fake smiles. Ugh. Everything about him was so fucking fake, his rich boy arrogance radiating from him like a repelling shield. Having said that, there were plenty of deluded people who fell for his supposed charm. And that was why he was the head boy and why he’d slept his way through…no, I didn’t even want to think about his ridiculously high body count. I shuddered as I crossed one leg over the other, smoothing out the resulting crease in my navy, black, and royal blue tartan skirt. Getting near his diseased dick—the thought made me gag.

“Very well. See that you keep it down and stay in your seats. I’m expecting the two of you to set an example.” Professor Watkins spun on his heel and strode back up to the front of the classroom.

“The two of us? He must be joking. Speaking of the two of us, why would you even think it was a good idea to sit next to me? Surely everyone knows by now that I hate you, including you.”

“That hate goes both ways, and you know it. Most people would be dying to sit with me,” he hissed, his mask finally cracking and his irritation slipping out.

I smiled in response to the first genuine reaction I’d seen from him today. His jaw tightened, but he recovered quickly, mouthinghate youand blowing me a kiss with his middle finger. I returned the gesture, to which he flashed me a proper smile.

I hated it.

I hated him.

And most of all, I hated the way he made my heart beat faster with his smile.

“Can you believe the head boy actually had the audacity to sit with me? He always sits at the front, and now he’s just trying to make my life a misery.” I groaned as I flopped back onto Quinn’s bed in the dorm room we shared with Gracelyn and Samira. A shaft of sunlight slanted through the tall lead-paned window above the bed, a golden strip bathing the Cotswold stone walls in a honey glow, and I glared at it. Even nature was out to get me, reminding me of the golden boy everywhere I went.

My roommate laughed, glancing over at Grace and Mira, who I just knew were rolling their eyes. Whether it was at my complaint or about the fact that they, too, knew just how much of an arrogant dickhead Tristan was, I couldn’t be sure. Probably both.

“It’s bad enough that I’m constantly forced into his proximity with you and Elena dating Roman and Knox. Two of the three gods— Oh, fuck my life! I cannot believe I actually referred to them as the gods. I’m gonna throw up.”

Quinn laughed even harder. “It’s not like you to be this dramatic.” She stroked a soothing hand through my hair. “Everyone calls them the gods, so I wouldn’t worry about it. Just don’t call them gods in front of Tristan, unless you want him to comment on it.”

---