Borrowed Time

Want to make a deal?

Chapter Four

Ainsley's POV

I was livid.

I could literally feel the blood pounding in my head. Who the hell did he think he was? Showing up, unwelcome might I add to my house and expecting a thank you for returning a diary that he made me lose in the first place. I sat on my vanity, brushing through the messy, bird nest that's my hair. I'd spent the whole night with that jackasses' face floating around in my head. The whole night thinking about the way his jaw ever so slightly ticked when I said something that struck a nerve. The way he raced his hands through his hair when he clearly didn't know what to say. But the most frustrating thought that wouldn't leave my head, was the way his skin felt against mine. How the rough callus of his hands contrastingly smoothly grazed over my chin. That stupid, stupid half smirk and how it tugged on every emotion I had in my body. No one and I mean no one has ever riled me up the way he did yesterday.

And that is why I couldn't get him out of my head.

****

The first two periods went through without a hitch, I spent my classes silently ignored in the corner. The exact way I like it. If there's one thing high school taught me? If you're not paying attention to people, they won't pay attention to you. Usually I would spend my lunch time sat in the library, reading or sketching. Yet for some stupid reason, a reason I was two seconds away from regretting, I found myself sat on a table furthest away from the crowed as possible. Tucked away in the corner. The room was loud, obnoxious and quite frankly fucking frustrating. But as if the universe couldn't get enough out of my severely irritated mood, it threw another curve ball.

"Hawkins" a voice whispered from beside me, before I even looked up, I could see that stupid one-sided smirk on his face. Oh, how I'd like to smack it off. I took in a deep, exasperated breath before throwing my book down on the table in front of me and lifting my gaze to meet his. Just like I said, there it was, his signature one sided smirk that makes all the girls in this school swoon. Well not all, cause there's nothing I'd like more than to slice it off. Now let me tell you about Holden Carter, he moved to town a little over a year ago. He soon became Mr Popular and the schools star hockey player. Every girl wanted him, and every guy wanted to be him from the moment he set foot in the hallway. He was self-righteous, cocky, arrogant, lazy and as of yesterday a huge pain in my ass.

The sound of the cafeteria seemingly buzzed out as my eyes trailed over his expression, his brows were frustratingly raised. As if he knew exactly how much he his presence was annoying me. His light brown hair seemingly perfectly hanging just over his forehead. Yet what drew my attention the most was his eyes, no matter how bright he tried to make them seem, I could see far beyond the façade. I knew there was uncertainty behind them. A loud bang rushed my consciousness back into the room, looking behind me, Holden's usual crowd were practically beating each other senseless.

"Oh god" I muttered; my voice barely audible. Did this guy not know when to quit? "What do you want" I sneered. His eyebrows lifted in a suggestive manner, that damn smirk spreading across his face. His bare arms lifted to rest on the table, crossed just in front of him emphasising the bulging muscles, the arms of his t-shirt practically two millimetres from ripping. Someone get this dude a bigger shirt.

"Depends on what you're offering" he leaned forward. His elbow slightly grazing mine shooting a ping of warmth through me. I may be a bit of a loner, but I wasn't born yesterday, and I knew exactly the kind of stuff he was insinuating.

"You're disgusting" I retorted, moving to the seat further away, putting as much distance between us as possible. He let out a small, yet husky laugh drawing the attention of a few of the students scattered throughout. I wasn't blind, nor stupid. I could see why all the girls fell for his charm. He was handsome but when he smiled? He was devastating.