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

Today hasn’t been great.

I had a paper due first thing in English this morning and while I turned it in on time, I had second thoughts about how I wrote it from the moment I handed it to Mr. Winston. But it was too late.

What’s done is done.

In American Government, we had a pop quiz I wasn’t prepared for. Everyone could leave early when they finished, and of course, Arch Lancaster was first out the door. I even heard Mr. Briggs tell him, “One hundred percent. Impressive,” before Arch flashed him a smug smile, turning his attention toward me—why, why, why—and then promptly exited the classroom.

I skipped second period—office duty—claiming I needed to catch up on homework. Vivian told me that was fine, and I hid out in the library, unable to concentrate on anything but my thoughts.

Like how I was purposely avoiding Arch and I didn’t understand why. Just the idea of being near him made me nervous. Confused.

Worried.

Lunch was miserable too. I stood my ground by remaining in the dining hall versus running away and hiding, which was what I really wanted to do. I got another salad but sat with no one. Was ignored by everyone and for whatever reason, that hurt more than usual. I don’t know what I did wrong, or what I did to deserve this, but it’s starting to hurt more and more. That I have no friends. That no one seems to like me.

Am I snobbish? Unlikable? I try so hard, but maybe Arch was right? Maybe I try too hard? I don’t know.

I can’t wait to get out of here. Go somewhere new. Start my life over.

By the time I’m in statistics, I’m settling in at my desk with complete relief, knowing there are only two more classes and then I can finally go home. All I can think about is hiding away in my bedroom, wrapping a blanket around me and hopefully reading my book that I’ve missed since I forgot it in this class yesterday.

Setting my backpack on the floor, I duck my head and peer into the storage cubby beneath the desk, relief flooding me when I see my book. I pull it out, ignoring the people filing into the classroom, cracking open the spot where my bookmark is nestled, frowning when I see the blue Post-it stuck in between the pages.

What’s your favorite part?

I lift my head, glancing around the room. Who wrote this? This means someone was thumbing through my book and saw all the pages I annotated and highlighted.

That’s…embarrassing.

“Oh, you found your book. I’m so glad,” Mrs. Nelson says as she stops by my desk.

“Yes, I forgot it here yesterday,” I tell her, wondering if she knew who had their hands on it. Who might’ve written the note. “Do you happen—”

“Mrs. Nelson, I have a question,” another student calls, distracting her. She offers me a quick smile before she takes off, eager to help whoever it was that asked.

Leaving me alone with the book. And the note.

I crack it back open and stare at the words. How they’re written. Very brash and bold, which I didn’t realize handwriting could be. Like a boy wrote it.

My entire body flushes at the realization. This is so embarrassing. Why would he want to know my favorite part?

That’s just…weird.

I look at the last words I highlighted, reading them again and again.

He looks at me as if I’m the only thing he sees and my heart swells with a foreign emotion. I think this is what it feels like to be…

Loved.

But maybe I’m mistaken.

Swallowing hard, I scan through the pages, looking for my favorite part. I don’t want to leave the book behind but maybe…maybe whoever it is will read it and see me for who I really am. Maybe it’s a way to make a friend.

This might not be a guy who left the note. It could be a girl. A fellow bookworm who enjoys reading romances on the spicier side. Wouldn’t it be fun if we could bond over that and eventually start a book club together?

My heart skips a beat at the promising thought.

Deciding I can sacrifice one more day without my book, I choose the section that’s been my favorite so far and stick the Post-it note on that page, adding my own words to the note before I shut it and discreetly stash it away in the desk.

If they don’t respond tomorrow, then it’s fine. My hopes will be dashed, but I’ll take my book home and finish it. But if they do answer…

Then maybe we can continue our conversation.

“Aw Daisy Mae, why do you look so down?”

I smile at my father when he enters the house, but it feels forced so I let it fall, glancing back down at the book I’m supposed to be reading for English.

I’m not reading it at all. I stare at the pages and the words become distorted. Fuzzy. I’m too distracted by everything going on in my life. The attention from Arch. Whoever’s writing secret notes in my book. All of the homework I still need to do. I’m so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t realize how late it actually was and I promised my dad I would fix dinner tonight.

“I’m just tired,” I tell him as I shove the throw blanket aside and stand, stretching my arms above my head and yawning as loudly as possible. None of that is forced. I haven’t been sleeping great lately either. “Sorry dinner isn’t ready yet.”

“I can wait.” Dad smiles. “I can even help you.”

“That would be nice.”

We move about the kitchen smoothly, the two of us used to dealing with each other over the past almost six years. His mood is somber tonight too and I know why. It’s probably why mine is as well, though we’re both loathe to admit it.

It’s almost my birthday.

The anniversary of my mother’s death.

The day isn’t special for me anymore. It’s a sad day. A remembrance of how tragically we lost her. I can’t celebrate on that day. It just doesn’t feel right, and while Dad always tries to make the day a positive one, it never works.

We’re two weeks away and look at us. Already quiet, the air tinged with sadness. All of the unspoken things hanging between us, heavy and foreboding. He’ll eventually want to ask me what I want to do for my birthday and I’ll insist on nothing. He’ll get me a cake and try to make my favorite dinner but the night will end in tears.

It always does. For the both of us.

But tonight we’re pretending, offering each other quick smiles as we pass in the tiny kitchen. I boil water for the noodles while Dad browns the meat for the sauce. A homemade sauce we can together, using the vegetables from the garden. His mother, my grandmother, was Italian and handed down her recipe to Mom, but she could never make it right. Dad though? He makes it perfectly, and he taught me how to as well.

Twenty minutes later and we’re seated at the table, both of us silently eating our spaghetti, the only sound the crunch of our salads or Dad tearing into the garlic bread. I finally start asking him questions, hating how thick the silence is, needing to break it for a bit.

“Did you give Kathy any more tomatoes?”

He swallows down a big bite of garlic bread. “I sure did. Brought her a whole bucket earlier this afternoon. She said they’ll make their appearance in the salad bar tomorrow. They’ll also be offered on sandwiches and if I keep her supplied, they’ll be available for Taco Tuesday.”

“That’s great.” I smile at him, taking another bite of spaghetti.

“We’ll have to keep some more for ourselves, of course. So we can can up the sauce for next—” He ducks his head for a moment and I stare at his graying hair, my heart panging. He’s getting older, and I worry about him being alone when I leave. “You won’t be around next year.”

“I’ll be here until June,” I remind him, my voice soft. “I can eat plenty of spaghetti between now and June.”

He smiles, but his gaze is tinged with sadness. “I’m going to miss you, Daisy.”

“I’ll miss you too.” Reaching out, I settle my hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “I got a B on my American Government quiz.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug, wondering why I told him.

“It’s great,” he repeats, his gaze fixed on me. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I want to be the best I can be.” He already knows about my extra hard class schedule. I came clean the day after I made the changes because I can’t keep secrets from this man. He’s the only family I’ve got. “And a B isn’t the best.”

“It’s better than failing.”

“Arch Lancaster got an A. He didn’t miss a single answer.”

“He’s inhuman,” Dad says vehemently, making me giggle.

“Like a robot,” I add.

“A troubled one.” Dad shakes his head, stabbing his fork in his salad bowl almost viciously. “You’re leaving him alone, aren’t you?”

I nod, my voice solemn. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I’m glad.” He chews, his expression thoughtful. “You’re too good for that boy.”

“I’m not interested in him like that,” I say too quickly. “And he’s definitely not interested in me.”

“He’s a damn fool if he’s not. Look at you, Daisy. You’re a beautiful girl. Sweet and smart and kind. All the boys you go to school with are blind idiots.” He averts his head, staring out the window, wincing against the waning sunlight. “Maybe I should be glad they don’t notice you. None of that lot is worthy of you.”

I know he’s trying to make me feel better but all he’s doing is reminding me that no one really cares about me. Just the faculty and staff, and most of their care is probably out of obligation. Out of loyalty to my father, who’s been such a good employee over the years. Someone they can all count on.

Including myself.

I give up on eating because my appetite still isn’t the best and I clean up the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher as full as I can so I don’t have to hand wash anything tonight.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Dad says as I’m finishing wiping down the counters.

“I’ll be outside,” I tell him, almost rolling my eyes when he stops short at my reply.

“It’s almost dark.”

We both glance toward the window. “The sun is still out.”

Kind of.

“It’s dangerous after dark.”

“It’s a gated campus,” I point out, but his voice is firm.

“Still dangerous. Too many boys out roaming around in the night.”

I burst out laughing at how ominous he sounds.

“I’ll stick around the house. I promise.”

Once he’s gone, I rinse out the wash rag and leave it in the dish drain, then make my way outside. I don’t really want to take an actual walk. More like I just need fresh air to clear my head for a bit.

Without even planning on it, I find myself in the gardens behind the library, where all of the ancient statues stand. Most of them are of old Lancasters, and I stop in front of one in particular, staring at the man’s face. He looks young. The name etched below his feet surprises me.

Archibald Lancaster.

Not the Arch I know, but I can see the family resemblance, even etched in marble. I drink him in for far too long, staring at his face. The hard set of his jaw. The firm line of his lips. His stare is cold, even though he’s not real, and it’s as if the longer I look at him, the more he seems to come to life. Leaving me completely unsettled.

With a little shake of my shoulders, I leave the gardens in a rush, practically tripping over a striped ball of fur that runs beneath my feet. It’s a thin tabby cat that goes hiding behind good ol’ Archibald, its golden eyes staring at me as the cat tilts his head to the side.

“Aw.” I kneel down, holding my hand out. “Come here, kitty kitty.”

The cat stares and I swear I can feel its silent judgment.

“Come on.” I rub my fingers together in a soft snap and make a tsking noise like I remember my mom doing when I was little. We used to always have cats because Mom loved them. Once she was gone, Dad gave them all away.

Every single one of them.

I keep calling, to the point that the sun is mostly gone and the sky is glowing a mix of purple and pink, tiny stars twinkling. I shift closer and closer to the kitty, until I’m actually touching it—I wish I knew if it was a boy or a girl.

“Come here, cutie,” I murmur, pleased to hear the soft, low rumble of a purr. “You are so sweet, aren’t you? Oh yes, you are.”

I’m even petting the top of its head, eager to coax it into my arms when I hear a deep voice boom from behind me.

“Are you actually communicating with that cat? Pretty sure you’re a fucking fairy princess, Daze.”

Gasping, I leap to my feet and whirl around, the cat scampering off, disappointment filling me for a brief moment at the loss. Just when I was making progress too.

But then I lift my head and find that it’s Arch standing in front of me. Clad in sweatpants and…

Oh my God, nothing else.

He’s all sweaty and there are AirPods in his ears. Very expensive looking Nikes on his feet. It’s obvious he was running and I do my best to keep my gaze trained on his face, but it’s like I can’t. Not when there’s so much bare skin on display.

He appears even bigger without a shirt on. Muscles everywhere the eye can see. His thick shoulders and bulging arms. His firm pecs and flat stomach with a hint of a washboard.

Wait, that’s no hint. His abdomen is at least a six-pack and oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fit specimen in the literal flesh in my life. I know we’re basically the same age but he seems so much bigger, so much older.

He looks like a man, while I feel like an inept child.

“You’re staring,” he snaps when I don’t respond.

My gaze flies to his and I see irritation there. With a hint of something else. Something unfamiliar, but somehow, I recognize it. Because I have the same feeling tugging deep in my belly, reminding me that I’m a female and he’s a male and while we may bicker and fight, there’s something else brewing between us that is getting harder to deny.

Attraction.

Chemistry.

Whatever you want to call it.

It’s there, like an invisible string tugging, pulling me closer to him. I take a step forward, like I can’t help myself, and he doesn’t move, his gaze sweeping over me. Lingering in places that leaves me tingling.

“What are you doing out here? Looking for pussy?”

I rear back a little at his dark tone, at the words he just said. “Why are you always so crude?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, his expression almost blank. “I think you bring it out of me.”

“So, it’s my fault that you act like such an ass?” I can’t believe that question just flew out of my mouth, but when I’m around him, it’s as if I can’t help myself.

I just say what I feel, consequences be damned.

The faintest smile curves his lush lips and I swear my heart skips a beat. “Yeah. I’d definitely say it’s your fault.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and wrap my arms around myself to fight off the sudden chill that wants to steal over me. Or maybe it’s his nearness that’s affecting me, making me all shivery. Pretty sure my nipples are hard too because they’re literally aching and it makes no sense. So, he’s shirtless.

So what?

I can’t stop letting my gaze roam over him. His skin looks so smooth. I bet the muscles beneath all that smooth skin are hard as a rock. I wonder what it would feel like, being pressed up against him. Or having him pin me, my body beneath his—

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Right now.”

The knowing in his voice makes me uneasy and I shake my head.

“N-no way.” I shake my head.

He chuckles, the rich sound washing over me, leaving me achingly aware of his nearness.

His near nakedness.

What’s he got on under those sweats anyway?

My entire body flushes hot at the thought.

“Where were you today?” he asks, changing the subject. Leaving me confused for a moment.

“I was at school.” I say it slowly, like he might have trouble comprehending me.

Arch makes a dismissive noise. “You weren’t at the office second period.”

“Oh.” He realized that, hmm? What, did he miss me? If I had more courage, I’d ask him if he did. I’m sure he would have no qualms asking me that question, but I can’t seem to work up the nerve. “I was in the library.”

“Why?”

“I needed to study.” I shrug, hating my lie.

More like I needed to stay far away from him.

“You missed out. Vivian trained me on the phones.” He makes a disgusted face and I almost want to laugh. “That is the very last thing I ever want to do.”

“Answer the school phone?”

“Yeah. I asked Viv if I could change up the script but she said hell no.”

I very much doubt she literally said the words hell no to him. And I know for a fact she wouldn’t let him get away with calling her Viv either. “How exactly did you want to change the script?”

“Thank you for calling Lancaster Prep. Arch Lancaster speaking.” He grins. “She said no one would believe an actual Lancaster would answer the phone, and I argued that’s my point. But she still wouldn’t let me say it.”

“Is she going to continue to let you answer the phone?” Sounds risky. He might say or do something that could cause trouble. Something he loves to do apparently.

“No way. She’ll shove me back into that coffin of an office tomorrow and have me stapling useless packets until the end of time. You do realize what they’re doing, right?”

“What are they doing?” And who is they?

“Keeping us apart.”

It’s the way he says it. Like he hates the fact that Matthews and Vivian are the ones keeping us apart when maybe…

Maybe he doesn’t want to be kept away from me?

No. I’m reaching. Seriously.

“I should get back home,” I say as I start to walk right past him, but he reaches out at the last second, his fingers locking around my wrist, keeping me in place.

The moment he puts his hand on me, my heart starts to race, and the blood rushes through my head, pounding in my ears. His touch is firm yet somehow still gentle. He’s barely touching me at all, but I can feel his fingers on me as if he were running them all over my skin. Lighting me up inside.

Reminding me that I’m small and delicate and he is very much…

Not.

“Where’s your dad?”

“In the shower,” I say, breathless.

“He knows you came out here by yourself?” Arch’s brows shoot up.

I’m rendered silent. All I can do is nod.

“Go back home, Daze,” he murmurs. “Bad things happen out here after dark.”

I stare at him for a moment, my head buzzing. Filled with lurid thoughts of bad things. Naughty things.

Every single one of those ‘things’ starring Arch Lancaster.

And me.

“I’m serious.” He loosens his hold on my arm, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, and my full body shudder is hard to hide from him. His predatory smile tells me he noticed. “Go home. Hide away in your bedroom and read one of those romance books like you do, instead of living your actual life.”

I gape at him, shocked he knows I read romance. “How do you—”

“You were reading it in the dining hall yesterday at lunch,” he fills in for me. “Is the story juicy? Full of dirty sex scenes?”

My hot cheeks give my answer away and he smiles.

“That’s what I thought.” He tugs me close, my body colliding with his, his mouth at my ear when he whispers, “Next time you read one of those scenes in your book that gets you so hot and bothered that you’re sticking your fingers in your panties, maybe you can imagine it’s me doing those things to you instead of some fictional character.”

“Wha—” My voice drifts when I realize he’s gone. Leaving behind no trace except for the scent of clean sweat lingering in the air.

And the ghost of his hot words throbbing between my legs.