Page 7 of You Had Me At Thirteen

He wedges a foot between the door and the doorframe, stopping it from closing all the way, and casts a casual look down my body. ‘Why are you so sweaty?’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I walked home.’

‘From school?’

‘Yes. What do you want?’

‘We have an assignment to do,’ he says, cocking his head to the side as he fills the doorway. ‘We should make a plan to practice staring at each other.’ A sly smirk kicks up on one side of his mouth, and I fight the urge not to stare.

‘No, we don’t.’ I push my hip out as I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m seeing Mr Hughes in the morning so I can get a new partner.’ A satisfied smile pulls at the corners of my lips until I see his reaction.

He blinks slowly at me while clenching and unclenching his fists. There’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there moments ago, and the satisfaction I felt gets sucked from my lungs.

A bead of sweat drips down my back, but I can’t tell if it’s from the walk home, or from the way Wren is glaring at me, his eyes igniting my insides with the threat to burn me to the ground.

He seems to compose himself when he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe again. ‘I see. And why would you do that?’

This Wren isn’t the playful one from earlier today. I feel like the mouse trying to pull the splinter from the lion’s paw.

‘I’m not interested in working with you,’ I say, raising my chin.

He may make everyone else around him feel small, but I’m not letting him stand over me in my house. Although compared to him, I am small.

The muscles in his jaw work overtime as his face reddens, a vein bulging from his neck. ‘Suit yourself,’ he says, then turns on his heel and disappears out of sight.

I stare at the empty doorway, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Why is Wren so angry with me for wanting to swap partners? Don’t we hate each other? Isn’t that our thing? I can’t stand his arrogance, and he can’t stand my… well, I don’t know why he doesn’t like me. I don’t think I’ve ever given him a reason to hate me, but he avoids me like I have.

At least he didn’t argue. I expected some sort of heated argument with him, although I’m not sure why, as we’ve never fought before. That would require us speaking to one another, which has been a rare occurrence.

I’m sure he’s used to getting what he wants, and with looks like his, I imagine it requires no effort on his part.

I let my shoulders relax as the realisation I won’t be working with Wren sinks in. That’s one less thing draining my energy. I already have enough shit to deal with, namely a particular race that’s coming up, and a coach who won’t have a problem publicly shaming me if I fail towin him the gold.

I roll my eyes at the recollection from today’s meeting, and skip back to the kitchen to reheat my dinner.

While watching an episode of a true crime documentary on my laptop, I shove forkfuls of spaghetti into my mouth. By the time I’m done eating, I have sauce splattered down my blouse, so I head upstairs to shower before slipping into my cotton pyjama shorts and a tank top, deciding on some reading before an early night.

By the time I exit the bathroom, it’s now dark outside, and as I enter my bedroom while towel drying my hair, I switch on my lamp on the bedside table.

My footsteps slow when I notice Wren’s bedroom light is on as well. I search his room for any sign of him, although I’m not sure why, or of the reason I find myself drawn to him. Whatever it is, I have to sort it out quick smart. There’s no room in my life for feelings of any kind, or of being seduced by a dark-haired womaniser.

When I realise I’m still standing in the middle of my room, staring through Wren’s window like a puppy waiting for its owner to return home after a long day at work, I race towards my window to drag the white blackout curtains together.

But before I can close them up, Wren appears, his black boxers hanging from his hips in the way only he can wear them. And he’s freshly showered, his hair hanging damp against his forehead, beads of water still soaking into his golden skin.

The details of my room fade into nothingness as I wonder what kind of body wash he uses, or if he’s a conditioner or no conditioner kind of guy.

A long minute passes before I realise my curtains are still open, and I’m still standing at my window with drool almost running down my chin. To top it off, Wren is staring right at me.

Shit.

I pin myself to the wall, summoning my inner Spiderman.

Did he see me?

I squeeze my eyes shut as I smack my hand against my forehead. Of course he saw me. Unless I’ve gained the superpower of invisibility, he caught me ogling him.

To save myself from further embarrassment, I drop to the carpet and crawl along it, not caring about the carpet burn now covering my knees. When I reach the side of my bed, I yank myself up before switching off my lamp.

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