Page 30 of Manhattan Secret

“Who’s making you laugh?”

Not what I expect.

My neck cranes to better see him, but it’s an instant regret because that face… oh, god. It should be a work of art hung in the Louvre. Sharp edges and full lips, tempting eyes begging me to play.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“You are my business. Boyfriend?”

My belly sloshes.

The tightness in his lips tell me he’s jealous.

And the slick rush of satisfaction becomes all the sweeter … more dangerous, when I watch his jaw constrict.

“Yeah, my boyfriend.”

“Liar.” He issues quietly and winks at me, turning back to his table.

Leaving me breathless.

For all Lachlan Fierro, or anyone knows in this city, I could have a boyfriend or three. Only Margo knows I’m single. Maybe that’s what I need to get this man-boy to go back to chasing girls his own age.

The same girls I’ve seen draped over him all week. In the hallways, in the cafeteria. In class most especially. Fawning and praising the leader with batted eyelashes and pouting lips.

I might have puked had I caught him return any of their affection, but as far as I’m aware, he hasn’t so much as gave the girls a kiss.

I’m stupidly pleased about it. And then berate myself for being jealous of who he spends his time with. He should get a girlfriend, then we can move on.

It’s only a few minutes later that Ethan leaves.

I can only surmise that Lachlan has stayed at his table to intimidate me, legs extended out like some kind of God, long fingers resting on the table as he watches me.

I do my best to ignore him, and it’s while I’m ignoring him that I start for the bathrooms and nearly plow to the floor by a guy walking into me.

I apologize and he glares darkly at me, telling me to watch where I’m going. Rude much.

My face turns cherry red, noticing who witnessed the exchange and that redness doesn’t dissipate when I see him pull the guy up and say something I can’t quite catch but when the guy carries on to his table, he looks a lot less aggravated.

“You should never have said sorry to that jerk,” Lachlan says the moment I step out of the bathroom. I come up short before I bang into his wide chest.

This is pure torture for me.

“Being polite doesn’t hurt.”

He rests an arm along the wall, essentially blocking me from leaving. “Apologies are for the weak, Delaney, especially when it’s not your fault.”

“Miss Sloan,” I correct automatically, and I view his mouth split up at either end. “Are you saying you’ve never said sorry?”

“Sure, when I’m wrong. Not because it’s expected or for someone else to feel superior. Stop highlighting your imperfections with needless apologies. That jackass should have said sorry to you.”

Oddly sweet, I smile. “Well, thank you. But it’s fine. Can I get by? I need to go back to school. So should you.”

“You look beautiful today.”

Instant belly flutter.

“You shouldn’t say that.”

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