Academic Rivals to Lovers in a Boarding School
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"You wanna know the really dumb meaning behind my name?" He muses and I walk ahead of him. "Nope."
"Basically, it means the transporter of goods by cart or wagon, it's from an old french word I be...
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Short chapter but it's worth it for the next one ;) ..... Milas Pov
"Don't start something you can't finish Mila." His hand catches on mine and I snatch it away.
"I'm just teasing you Crawford, you and I both know if I started, you'd never want to stop."
"Other way around sweetheart. I'd make sure you wouldn't leave this damn closet until the only name you can remember, is mine."
Shit.
"I doubt that. From my calculations-" He rolls his eyes and I press a finger to his lips. "As I was saying... sex with you would be mediocre —at best— and Id probably have to 'finish' the job myself."
He pushes open the closet door I'm leaning against and grins to himself when I fall out, catching myself before my body hit the ground, but it was pretty fucking close.
"Asshole." I mutter while opening the door for him to 'walk through.'
"Ladies first... Carter." I wear a tight smile, gesturing my hand for him to go through as he flips me off.
"You can be a bitch all you want Mila, but remember who initiated that moment in there." I ignore him and shut the door behind me, walking ahead of him so I don't have to look at his stupid jawline and annoying hazel eyes.
"They do call me the 'psycho blonde bitch' for a reason, I'm spontaneous. I do shit that I regret two seconds later, that's just how my brain works. Even if it's not exactly the dream or ideal, it's the way I live."
"So what else do you regret?" He questions further and I ignore, holding the railing as I try not to trip up in my Vuitton heels.
That would be chaos, not for me. God no, but the poor heels? What on earth would I do without my pretty heels. Me falling would just be collateral damage.
"Mila, would you at least let me help you down the damn stairs before you break an ankle." He shouts down to me and I continue walking, why should I even respond to 'Mila' anyway?
It's not my name, just an annoying little nickname, which I hate, by the way.
I finally reach the side door that I had left through and walk back in, maintaining a regular face and a polite smile. As usual, people attempt to talk to me, making light conversation so I do the same.
Even with my mask over my face, it's completely obvious who I am. Maybe it's the dress or the eyes, but people notice me by the hair.
