Page 19 of Manhattan Secret

This man-boy is going to be trouble.

For varying reasons, not least of all how tightly coiled my stomach reacts with how intensely he’s gazing up at me—almost as if daring me to say something to incriminate myself.

I might have behaved stupidly irresponsible last night, but one thing Lachlan Fierro will learn about me in time, I won’t back down. If he has bullying in mind, then I won’t buckle. I don’t give in to emotional terrorism.

God, please don’t let me give in to him.

“Well done, Mister Fierro.” My voice as flat as I can get it, I hand his paper back with barely an apathetic glance in his direction and walk to my desk.

I’ve never been happier to hear the bell ring.

No one says goodbye to me, just sends exploratory looks on their way by, like I’m something they’ve trodden in.

So this is the class who will test my metal.

Okay, then. It’s good to know.

There’s always one in every school.

I just didn’t figure it would be my advanced students.

It is usually the kids who have the poorest test scores.

I guess the fortunate brings a whole new type of entitlement.

Lachlan Fierro, of course, is the last to rise from his desk, A god of a man climbing to his lofty height.. did I take note of his height last night? He seems so much bigger as he stoops over to realign the leg of his jeans.

That bad luck of mine just keeps on coming at me full force.

His gait when it gets going, is slow down the aisle of desks. I hate that I notice how appealing his walk is. Strong as if he knows he’s owed everything and doesn’t have a care in the world.

I have so many cares I’m practically vibrating through my skeleton as I pack away this class and prepare for the next in a few minutes.

Ignore him,my psyche screams.

Let him leave the class and we can put this whole sorry business behind us.

That is the hope. The silent pray I send to the heavens. Let me just get through this. But the big shadow falling over my desk says otherwise and my sigh is dramatic

“You’ll be late for your next class, Mister Fierro.” I convey with a tight voice. A voice that is on the opposite spectrum to the breathy, pleading voice I’ve given him previous.

Oh, god. Stop.

“I thought I should introduce myself.” Before I can rattle off that I know his name already he says in that rich voice of his. “Lachlan. Or Lachie. And you’re Delaney Sloan.”

God, my name on his lips shouldn’t register how good it sounds.

I’m losing my mind. Seriously. I can’t entertain any thoughts about him in my head and yet… there they are, stacking up like vicious little bricks to remind me of my mistake.

I need a brain transplant. This crap isn’t happening to me.

A pulse in my throat beats rapidly and I resist the urge to curl a self-soothing hand around my neck.

He’ll only perceive it as weakness.

All jungle cats look for a weak spot, waiting to attack.

Unable to remain seated with him towering over my desk, I pop to my feet, and ignore the half smirk tipping up his lips.

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