Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (2 page)

“I’ll miss you.” He folded his hands in his lap.

“I’ll miss you, too,” she said, then almost ran out the door.

Was she embarrassed? Was it because of his shameless giggle? How absurd. Who cared? If he didn’t, then nobody else should. Especially not her if she truly cared about him.

Mari’s back heated as she thought about how that girl should’ve been more understanding with him and even a little more patient.

Scratch, scratch, scratch . . .

The sounds of the teacher writing the homework on the board was a good distraction since her mind kept circling around the guy next to her no matter how much she tried to think about other things.

It was hard to ignore him when each time she took a breath, his amazing smell would waft toward her.

Was he fanning his scent her way and timing it with each inhale she took?

She blinked, held her breath and turned her attention back to the front of the classroom. This guy meant nothing to her. She didn’t know him, and he’d be nothing more than a classmate she barely spoke to all year long.

The teacher cleared his throat, then the lecture began—thank God, because the guy next to her seemed to be somehow closer to her. His arm was a few inches from hers. She could feel his body heat radiating off him.

For some reason, the thought of him sweating sounded more appealing than she wanted to admit.

“Ahhh,” the boy said and relaxed into his chair a little bit. “Yeah.” He nodded. “This is better.” His chair moved closer to hers.

And that’s when things started to get really interesting.

She wanted to turn her head and scowl at him—tell him to fuck off, but then he sounded so delighted to be near her.

Why would he feel that way?

Instead of tensing up, she kind of went lax, too.

“Better. Much better,” he said with a husky sound to his voice.

Well, great. Just perfect. Now he was making her eyelids go heavy on her just by glancing over at him and seeing nothing more than a very satisfied-looking teenager. Once more, he was staring at her unabashedly.

She slowly moved her gaze over his chest. Next she traced her eyes over every muscle twitch in his hands. Damn, he had strong, gorgeous-looking hands. She always was drawn to a guy with nice, capable hands. The slight shape of the veins that crept up his forearms was entrancing, too. So far, there was little she could find wrong with him, other than the fact he liked to zero in on her face quite a bit without any shame whatsoever.

She set her hands on the desk and tapped out a quiet, nervous beat.

Was time slowing on purpose, just to torture her?

She blew out as silently as she could.

He turned away from her, but still sat very close.

So what? Some people didn’t have any iota of what personal space meant. Maybe he was one of
those
types. As long as he kept smelling this good, she would be able to deal with it all year long, no problem.

“Man,” he huffed to himself a moment later, staring at the teacher with a bored, yet slightly annoyed look on his face.

What was bothering this unusual boy now? Was he upset time was crawling by as well?

She scanned the desk, trying to figure out what was making him sound this way and breathe louder.

Ah, the phone his snot of a girlfriend left behind wasn’t recording. His hands were shaking as he held them clasped in his lap.

Boy, he sure did swing from one end of the mood spectrum to the other in record time. One minute he was saying everything was better and looking all cozy and pleased—the next, he acted like he was dying of brain-numbing boredom and lack of patience.

She leaned forward, moved up and out of her seat to set it right for him, doing her best to ignore the purple sparkles on the phone case that was entirely too uppity and girlie.

No guy would be caught dead with a phone like this—
ever
.

Should she remove the case for him? Would that set him more at ease?

She considered asking, but instead just went for it. He was most likely the type that didn’t ask for help. Too macho for that. She reached for the phone.

“What are you doing?” the new guy barked.

“I’m pressing record for you so you’ll have your notes and removing this case so it won’t blind you. This way you don’t have to let go of your hands, and you won’t have to admit you were near a phone that belongs in an obnoxious, overpriced nightclub where the girls wear neon pink thongs to match their acrylic nails,” she explained.

He didn’t make it easy as she leaned over him. In fact, her right breast brushed up against his arm twice as she maneuvered her body into awkward angles to get around him.

She finally got the iPhone set up and when she sat back down, he was staring straight at her with a blank expression.

His sapphire blue eyes were alarming with how much they penetrated straight into her. No one in her entire life had ever studied her face for as long as this boy had.

Was he angry at her for touching
his
Samara’s stuff? Was that what this was all about?

“Look I’m sorry, but I . . .” Forget it. He wasn’t responding, so they were probably beyond friendship since she’d stepped over his invisible line of what was okay with him, even though her personal space was nothing to him.

When she gazed back, the brightest, purest blue eyes startled her even more. He was smiling, and it lit up his entire face. Those eyes were now soft and grateful—tender, somehow.

“I like you,” he whispered, but it was a loud, scratchy whisper Mari was sure the whole class heard, including the teacher. “You’re nice to sit by. This is a good spot. You were smart to pick it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back, much quieter.

He smiled bigger and his shoulders rose a little.

Wow—he was adorable when he grinned like that with a childlike innocence that was so authentic, it made her heart expand in her ribcage.

“Do you like me?” he asked. “It’s okay—you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone your answer.”

“Uhhh . . . Sure.”

She picked up her pencil and began tapping it. Her gaze went to the teacher, but for several minutes she was sure the boy next to her, seated on the right, was still focused entirely on her.

An electric current must have been moving over her arms, because they were breaking out in chills and the hair follicles were almost on end. But not in a scared way. More like . . . Well, she didn’t know what.

This was all new to her.

All she knew was that it was hard to take notes and concentrate with him doing that.

“You have nice eyes. They tell me you like me, so I know you’re telling the truth. Thanks for that,” he said.

Her breath barely leaked out of her. If she said something else, would that encourage him and this—whatever this exchange was?

“What’s your name?” he asked a few moments later, this time in a softer voice.

“Marissa Cole, but I go by Mari. What’s yours?” She kept her eyes on the teacher. Not because she was being a dutiful student, though she usually was, but because this guy was gorgeous and totally disarming.

“Adam. Adam Latham, and I like you. I know I already told you that, but I wanted to make sure you know I really mean it. You’re nice.” His folded hands landed with a soft thud on their table.

“You’re nice too, Adam.” She cleared her throat and tucked her head down, causing her long brown hair to fall forward.

She was relieved to have something between them. A barrier helped her breathe.

“Ms. Cole, answer please,” the teacher said in a gruff tone.

“It’s umm . . .” Had he called her name before now? How had she missed that?

“It’s pi, and the remainder is so tiny, it’s not worth looking at,” Adam answered for her.

“Well done, Mr. Latham,” the teacher said with a smile. His eyes twinkled at the the new student.

Mari’s eyes flashed over to her table-mate, expecting a grin. Instead, he was staring at her hands, and he looked as if he’d been doing it the entire time while he had answered the teacher’s question relating to the lecture.

“You have nice hands,” Adam said. This time he was quiet—she barely heard him. “They’re very graceful. Not long enough to play piano easily, but they’re still really pretty.”

“They are?” Her voice went up in pitch, and her brow furrowed.

“I like it when girls have short nails instead of long, fake ones. Samara always keeps hers nice and short. They’re neat and trim. Feels good when she scratches my back for me.”

She swallowed a grunt at the reminder that he had a girlfriend and they were most likely intimate.

He studied her hands further. Was he working something out in his head, because he kept narrowing his eyes and squinting. “Can I hold one of them? Would that bother you?” He extended his left hand.

“No, I don’t mind, but how will I take notes?” She realized after she blurted this dorky answer, that she
did
in fact mind. What was he doing asking this of her when he had a girlfriend?

“We can swap seats since I write with my left hand and then you can write with your dominant one.” He smiled in such a cheerful way, her mind was wiped clean of objections.

“A-a-all right—we can do that,” she stammered.

They quickly swapped, and he moved with a grace and fluidity that seemed odd for somebody as tall as he was. He had to be over six feet by a few inches.

“There. I’m seated. Give me your hand, please,” he said, his eyes filled with hope and expectancy.

Her fingers flexed, but she kept her hand steady as she extended it under the table toward him.

He took it with a greedy yank, tucking it into his side, under his arm. His bicep clamped down over their conjoined hands. Was she ever going to see that left hand of hers again, ‘cause he was gripping it awfully tight.

His unusual handholding was not as baffling as when he angled his body away from her like he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And his chair at some point was scooted farther away as well.

Did she smell bad? Did he think she was ugly to look at?

Or did she say something wrong?

Question after question flooded her brain through the remainder of the class. When the bell rang, he sprung up from his desk and tightened his hold on her hand.

“It’s lunch time,” he said.

“Not for me. I have lunch fifth period,” she said.

“I’ll go get that changed for you.” He tugged on her hand.

She managed to grab her backpack and then he started leading her down the large steps. There was no time to think—only keep pace with him so she didn’t trip and face-plant.

“I can’t change my schedule for you, Adam. Have you forgotten you have a girlfriend?”

He turned abruptly, swinging around in a wild way and faced her with their noses only two inches apart. “You could be my girlfriend. I’d like that.”

“I . . . I, um . . .” She had to look away from his piercing blue eyes. It was like looking into a mesmerizing, hypnotic gem that held her spellbound.

He marched her out the door and straight to the office.

Had he heard a word she’d said?

Adam bypassed the two students waiting in line to talk to the office secretary.

“I need to see my guidance counselor now. It’s an emergency,” Adam told her.

“Oh my . . . And you are?” The secretary straightened her glasses that were already straight.

Her too? He was having an effect on an old woman? Jesus, he was too good-looking to be walking around this place.

“I’m new here, and my name’s Adam Latham. I need to see Mr. Perez right away.” Adam tucked Mari’s hand that was almost knotted permanently with his back under his arm again. It was warm there, but they looked like a couple of nutballs.

The secretary did as he asked, and Mari’s jaw hung open. How did he do that?

Within moments they were in the guidance counselor’s office, and Mari was barely able to speak a word, let alone take a solid breath. Adam was like a tornado in the middle of the desert—whipping up a cloud of dust so thick nobody could see, and she was definitely disoriented.

“I’m sorry, young man, but I can’t change her lunch. She’s locked in based on her electives,” the counselor said.

“But we have to have lunch together. See!” Adam pulled her hand out, and when their entwined hands were in front of Mr. Perez’s face, Adam took a huge breath. Mari swore she could see his ribs almost reaching out for her hand, begging them to return.

“See what?” Mr. Perez stared and blinked—nothing more.

Yeah—she knew the feeling.

“I have to hold her hand. I feel safe when people I like hold my hand or touch me. I like her. My sister, Samara, she’s sick of doing that for me like I’m a baby. I need Mari to give her a break.”

Mari’s eyes went wide.
Sister?
And whoa! Who said anything about her giving his sister a break for anything? This almost sounded like a full-time position he was putting her in.