Sinful

“Who is?” Sam asks, but I know as soon as I look onto the pitch.

“Zane Holland, Carter Blackwood, and Romain Montford,” I hear one of the girls add as she points them out on the field. “Our future husbands and the Gods of Reynard Prep.” She sighs.

Several lads are spread out over the cricket lawn dressed in whiter than white. I spot the blond rugby player who threw the ball at me on the first day—Carter Blackwood. Next to him is a dark-haired boy with model looks—Zane Holland—grinning as he slams his bat into the ball, sending it hurtling forward. And lastly, Romain Montford—blue hair, deep blue eyes, a sardonic look on his face—is the bowler, facing Zane. He catches the ball cleanly out of the air. Zane scowls and swears. He’s out.

Romain laughs like he’s the king of the hill and bowls again.

The sight of him stifles the air in my chest. As if knowing, Romain glances up, looking in our direction, his smirk turning sultry as soon as our eyes lock.

Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. I’m burning up where I sit. I leave the jacket where it is, in my lap, and drag my eyes away from the cricket game. When I look back, Romain is still watching, smiling darkly. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, unable to taste the unappetizing beer.

“I should get back.”

Sam looks at me. “You haven’t finished your drink yet.”

I give him a tight smile. “I don’t like ale,” I admit.

“Oh, why didn’t you say. Let me get you something else.” He goes to get up off his chair, but I beat him to it.

“No, no. I’ll go,” I say. Anything to get away.

I give one last look toward the cricket green. Romain is watching me as he rubs the ball on his leg and then throws it with skill, spinning it sharply at the next batter.

My stomach is in knots.

Why do I feel like I’m that fucking ball?