You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 17

I have a crush on Arch Lancaster.

I know, it’s so stupid. He’s completely unattainable and out of my league and all of those other things, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Remembering how he looks at me. The things he says. He’s not romantic. Not even close. He’s blunt and borderline crude.

Not sure why I soften it with the word borderline. He is crude. He’s also outspoken and we’re nothing alike. Not at all.

But he looks at me and my heart beats faster. He smiles at me and I’m breathless. And when he touches me?

I feel like I could melt.

I truly believed I wanted a romantic love like what I read about it in my books, but that’s not what’s happening with Arch. At least, I don’t think it is. I’m not even sure anymore what’s real and what’s fake. It’s like I’m superimposing the situation with my book upon Arch, as if it’s him who’s annotating the book and highlighting his favorite parts.

The boy highlights all the sexy parts. The ones that make me blush. He started out tame enough but he’s taking it further with every day that passes, to the point that he highlighted the sexiest scene yet, where the guy went down on the girl in a rather descriptive manner.

After that moment, I took the book with me, not leaving it behind for him. I was too embarrassed to continue, I suppose. Ending our little game once and for all. Was he disappointed? Probably. But I don’t want to lead someone on. I don’t like whoever it is I’m talking to. Not like that.

I like Arch. Whenever I read the highlighted parts, I imagine Arch doing those things to me.

His lips find the spot between my legs, sucking me. Licking me. His tongue slides inside of my pussy, essentially fucking me with it and that’s all it takes.

I’m coming. All over his face. Making a mess. Normally I’d be embarrassed but not with him.

Never with him.

I slam the book shut and shove it under my bed before I leap off the mattress, going to the mirror that sits over my dresser and staring at my reflection, not impressed.

I look like a little girl with the stupid braids. I rarely wear makeup and my face is plain. I like my hair, it’s probably my best feature but I hide it by putting it in braids all the time. It’s like I don’t want anyone to notice me.

It’s dumb.

Annoyed, I change out of my clothes and don a bright pink sports bra and matching pair of shorts that I got for my birthday last year. A set I desperately wanted and that wasn’t cheap. I was surprised my father bought it for me and I’d been so excited when I opened the box.

Then I promptly shoved the clothes in my dresser and never wore them. Too embarrassed, afraid the color was too bold. Like I would draw unwanted attention if I wore it.

Who’s going to see me? I don’t take P.E. anymore and I’m not in any sports. The only place I can wear it is our yard. Or walking around campus after hours. I could run down to the beach but it’s kind of far and I don’t like to go there alone.

I tear off the tags and toss them in the trash, then slip on a pair of no-show socks on my feet. Put on my newer Nikes and head outside, determined to get a little sun and wear this damn “too revealing” outfit. Who deemed it too revealing anyway, huh?

Me, that’s who. I’m my own harshest critic. No one is as cruel to me as…me.

Not even Arch, and he’s said some pretty crappy stuff to me.

My phone buzzes and I check it to see I have a text from my dad.

Going out to dinner with Kathy tonight. Want to join us?

Frowning, I immediately type out the word NO but then backtrack, thinking about what I should say.

I can’t begrudge my father for wanting to go out and find female companionship. Kathy is nice. She seems to like and appreciate my father and he enjoys spending time with her. I know he’s been fairly quiet about his intentions toward her and that’s because of me. He’s worried about how I might react.

He’s lonely. I’m lonely. He wants a girlfriend. I want friends.

Fine, I want a boyfriend.

But I don’t think I’m going to find one in the boy I like the most. He doesn’t seem like he’s boyfriend material.

Sighing, I type out a nice, encouraging response to my father.

Thanks for the invite but I’ve got too much homework. Have fun though. Don’t stay out too late!

There. That’s good. I sound like a parent, which he might appreciate.

He responds quickly.

Dad: I’ll be home before curfew.

Smiling, I leave my phone on the dresser and head outside, eager to soak up the sun at least for a few minutes. I don’t bother putting on a hat either. I walk right outside, squinting from the sunlight, grabbing my shears and bucket and start working on the roses, clipping all the dead leaves and dying blooms, murmuring to the pretty new buds. After a few minutes I feel something soft brush against my ankles and startled, I glance down to see the cat I tried to get a few days ago. Purring and rubbing against me as if he—or she—owns me.

“Look at you,” I say, pleased. “Are you my friend now?”

The cat glances up at me, golden eyes glowing as it meows.

I sort of ignore the cat, going about my business, wanting the kitty to be comfortable with me. Eventually I set down the bucket and she doesn’t run away. I bend down, rubbing my fingers together and the cat butts her head against my hand, purring loudly.

“Oh, we’re truly friends now, huh.” I scratch the cat under its chin, rubbing. Smiling at the loud motor sound of its purr. The cat wanders off, its tail standing straight up and I can tell it’s a boy.

“What’s your name, huh, buddy? Where did you come from? Are you hungry?”

“You talking to yourself out there, Daze? Or are you talking to the roses?”

I rise up, startled to find Arch standing on the edge of the garden, his hand at his eyebrows, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“What are you doing here?” I fight the humiliation spilling over my skin at him finding me like this. Talking to a cat and wearing this outfit.

This outfit that’s not me.

“I was about to go for a run but I thought I heard your voice.” I drink him in, noting the shorts and T-shirt he’s wearing. He’s staring at me too. I can feel his eyes skimming over me. His hot gaze lingers on my chest for a beat too long and I swear I can feel my nipples bead tight. “You look like you’re about to go for a run too.”

“I don’t run.”

“Is that your rose cutting outfit, then?” He’s smiling, but I can’t tell if he’s making fun or not.

“It’s too bright, huh. The color. I thought I would like it but I don’t know. I feel stupid.” I’m this close to bolting for the back door of my house, embarrassed I would admit this to him.

“I like the color.” He takes a step forward, his voice gentle, his expression…sincere. As if he can sense my panic and wants to reassure me. “You look good, Daisy.”

“I-I do? You’re not just saying that?” My heart beats extra fast as he draws closer, and I tell myself to calm down. It’s going to be okay. It’s just Arch.

But that’s the problem. It’s Arch. And I’m all alone. Dad is gone. School has been out for hours. Most of the admin staff is gone, only the dorm advisors are left behind. Oh, and that one old, chubby security guard, who even I could take down if I wanted to.

Not that I want to take down Cliff, but he doesn’t instill any sort of safe feelings inside me when I see him.

“I would never just say that. When it comes to you, I mean every word I say.” He stops, an entire row of vegetables between us and I’m tempted for the briefest moment to throw myself at him. Just so I could feel his arms close around me.

Just once.

“I have a question for you,” he says, his voice calm. Like he’s not trying to talk me down from a full-blown panic attack.

“Wh-what is it?” I hate that I’m stuttering, but he just makes me so nervous.

“Why do you never clip any of the live roses and bring them inside?”

I stare at him, stunned he would ask. Surprised he noticed. Not even my father pays that close attention to me.

“What do you mean?” I ask warily, my defenses up.

As usual.

“I’ve noticed that about you, whenever I catch you cutting roses. You only take off the dead ones and trim back the branches. The dead leaves. You always leave the roses that are budding, letting them bloom fully instead of cutting them and putting them in a vase to enjoy inside,” he explains.

Should I be worried he noticed all of that? Because I’m not. A flush of pleasure washes over me at his words, at his attention to detail.

He notices me.

He sees me when it feels like no one ever does.

“I enjoy seeing them here. In their natural element.” Swallowing hard, I decide to be real with him. “When you clip them, they’re essentially dead. You kill them for what? To put in a vase and water so they can look pretty on a kitchen counter or a table for a few days? No. I’d rather keep them alive for as long as I can. Everything deserves to live.”

Arch stares at me, seeming to take in what I just said, and I can’t help but worry he might think I’m…I don’t know. Weird? I have issues. Don’t we all?

My issue is with death.

Time is fleeting. One moment you have someone in your life, and the next they’re gone. Why not enjoy everything you can in its natural element? Like roses?

“Daze…” His voice drifts and I watch as he tilts his head back, his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. I stare at the strong column of his neck, noting the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. He’s scaring me. This long pause, like he’s trying to work up to say something.

What is it? What’s wrong? What did I do?

All those questions run through my head, bringing that panic attack roaring back to life. Bigger than before.

“I need to tell you something.” He says this to the sky and my heart is in my throat, I swear. “But I don’t want you to get mad.”

His words make my head spin and I close my eyes for the briefest moment, swallowing hard. I’m swaying on my feet, finding it difficult to stand up straight and there are dots flashing before my eyes. “Arch.”

My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, his name a croak on my lips.

He’s there, right when I begin to crumple, his strong arms coming around me, catching me before I fall. I don’t completely black out, but I was about to. I know I was. I’ve done this before, especially when I was younger. Right after Mom died. I was so fragile then. Never eating, not really taking care of myself.

When I blink my eyes open, I find Arch’s face is in mine, worry etched into his handsome features, his hands gentle as he holds me.

So gentle.

“Shit, Daze, are you okay?” He sounds worried.

Scared.

My gaze searches his and I don’t know when things switched. When he became my savior instead of my enemy, but I’m grateful he’s here. Right now.

I need him.

“Take me inside,” I whisper. “Please. I need to lie down.”

He gathers me in his arms, carrying me as if I don’t weigh a thing and I cling to him, my arms slung around his neck, my head resting against his chest. I can feel the pounding of his heart beneath my ear and I close my eyes, a shiver stealing over me when his fingers press into my bare skin.

If he never stops touching me, I’ll die happy.

Arch makes his way inside our tiny house and I can’t even work up the energy to be embarrassed over how old everything looks inside. How threadbare. Dad doesn’t like spending money on what he calls useless things. Knickknacks and new furniture or the latest in electronics doesn’t matter to him. It never really has. He’s saving just about every dime he makes on a retirement plan for him and a college plan for me.

I love him for that and don’t really need the finer things in life, but right now, I’m a little mortified by how old our TV is. And our couch, which sags in the middle.

But I can’t worry about any of that now. Not when I’ve got Arch in the middle of my living room, gently settling me down on the couch like I’m made of glass and I might shatter at any moment.

“You want something to drink? Water?” he asks, rising to his full height and glancing around the tiny living room.

Everything seems small when Arch is in the room. He fills the space with his overwhelming presence and all I can do is stare at him in disbelief.

He’s in my house. He’s trying to take care of me.

What is this life?

“Daisy.” His voice is firm and my gaze snaps to his, taking in the serious line of his mouth. How he’s watching me with lowered brows and an almost frantic light flickering in his brilliant blue eyes. “I’m getting you something to drink.”

“My water bottle is in my bedroom,” I admit.

His gaze goes to the hallway. “Down there?”

“First door on the left.”

He’s gone in an instant and I sling my arm over my eyes, closing them. Sort of wanting to die. This is so embarrassing. I almost fainted—something I haven’t done in a long time—right in front of him and now I’m acting like a damsel in distress. This is awful.

I’m sure the moment he can get out of here, he’ll go running and never look back.

Arch returns in seconds, my pale peach colored Stanley clutched in his hand and I sit up, pausing when my head starts to spin. I blink slowly once, twice, and thankfully, the spinning stops.

“Here.” He thrusts the tumbler in my face, the straw right at my lips. “Drink.”

I do as he says, taking long sips, the icy cold water cooling my heated skin. I eventually take the tumbler from him, our fingers brushing, sending a scattering of tingles up both of my arms.

All over me.

It’s like I can’t help but react to him every single time he so much as looks at me, let alone touches me.

“I feel better,” I admit once I guzzle a bunch of water. “I don’t know what happened just now.”

“You almost fainted,” he says, filling me in on exactly what happened. “Even your eyes rolled into the back of your head.”

“Oh God.” Fresh humiliation seeps in and I cover my face with my hands, wishing he wasn’t here.

Also, incredibly grateful that he is here.

“Have you ever fainted before?” he asks.

“A few times,” I admit. “When I was younger. After…”

I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t think I have to.

After my mom died.

He’s quiet for a moment and when I drop my hands, I see that he’s watching me. His expression is incredibly serious. “You freaked me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he’s quick to say. “It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

Not sure what I should say, I grab my tumbler and take another sip. Shocked when he settles his big body on the other end of the couch, lifting my feet and settling them in his lap before he proceeds to untie my shoes.

“What are you doing?” I squeak, leaning over to set the Stanley cup on the coffee table in front of us.

“Taking off your shoes,” he says, as calm as ever. He slips each one off, then my socks, and I try to jerk my feet out of his lap, but he clamps down hard on my ankles, keeping me in place.

“They might stink,” I warn him, my cheeks, my entire body flushed with embarrassment.

“They don’t.” He literally brings one of my feet up to his face and breathes deep, like he’s trying to inhale my toes. “Not at all.”

A nervous giggle leaves me, and I’m jumpy when he curves his hands around my feet and starts to massage the insole, his touch light.

Perfect.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, his gaze on mine. “Everywhere.”

I swallow hard.

“Including your feet.”

It’s your fault, I want to tell him. I get in your presence and I almost faint.

But I don’t say that. How could I? Confessing all is…

Scary.

And I don’t even know what I’m confessing. Everything that’s happened between us since the first day of school has been so confusing. Conflicting. He’s mean, he’s nice. He’s hot, he’s cold.

I don’t get it. I don’t get him.

“Where’s your dad?”

The question is casual, but the way he’s touching me is definitely not. He might only be rubbing my feet but who does that? No one. No one really touches me ever. I get the occasional hug from my father but that’s it. I am starved for physical touch and obvious displays of affection. The way that Arch has his hands on me…

I never want him to stop.

Should I tell him the truth about Dad’s whereabouts?

“He went out to dinner.” My voice is hollow, a scrape against the dry skin of my throat and I take another sip from my Stanley cup. “With Kathy.”

Arch’s brows draw together. “Kathy from the dining hall?”

I nod. Sip yet again.

“They like each other?”

“I think so.”

“That’s…” His gaze finds mine again. “You’re okay with that?”

“I want to be.”

“Are you though?”

“I will be eventually.” I shrug. “He’s lonely.”

“So are you, Daze.”

My heart drops into freefall.

What did he just say?

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