Hurt Read Free Page B

with incredulity at his response. Then she latched on to his smile and gave a wry shake of the head.
    ‘Very funny – give it back.’
    He took in a quick lungful of air. If he messed this up, the moment would burst. Hands in pockets, he hunched his shoulders, scuffing his heels against the ground and narrowing his eyes in mock-suspicion.
    ‘First I’m afraid I’m going to need some proof that this – uh – seemingly valuable item does in fact belong to you.’ He cocked a grin and stepped back tauntingly. But he was aware of a warmth rising in his cheeks: it was clear that he was flirting now, and so this was the point at which she might just demand the watch back and stride off. How fine that line was between connection and interruption – one false move, one misspoken word, and you found yourself on the wrong side of things.
    But she only let out a little sigh of mock irritation. ‘My name is Lola Baumann,’ she informed him, dragging out the words with exaggerated tolerance. ‘It’s engraved on the back.’
    ‘Oh, really . . .?’ He removed the watch carefully from his pocket and pretended to inspect it. ‘I’m Mathéo, by the way.’ He kept his eyes narrowed on the watch.
    ‘Where are you from?’
    ‘Here – London. But it’s French – my mum’s French.’ He felt himself flush and tried to mask it by cocking his head and pretending to narrow his eyes at her. ‘So I’m guessing you’re a Greystonian like the rest of us?’
    ‘Unfortunately. We moved here from Sussex last month for my dad’s job.’
    ‘So are you in the Lower Sixth too?’
    ‘Yeah. Not doing any science-y subjects like you, though.’
    He felt himself start. ‘How do you know which subjects I’m doing?’
    She smiled. ‘You’re the Olympic diving guy. Everyone knows everything about you.’
    He flushed at that. ‘Well, what subjects are you doing, then?’
    ‘Art, English and Music.’
    ‘Ah, that explains why I haven’t seen you around school.’ He turned away, tossing and catching the watch with exaggerated nonchalance.
    ‘Hey, careful!’ She lunged forward, but he was too quick.
    ‘Hold on, hold on.’ He moved backwards, holding out his hand to keep her at bay. ‘An engraving, you say? Pity I’m not wearing my contacts—’
    ‘Oi!’ She lunged again, and this time caught hold of his wrist. ‘Open your hand!’
    The look of fierce determination on her face made him chuckle. ‘No!’
    ‘Fine, then I will!’ She attempted to prise open his fingers. ‘Oh God, why are guys always so freakishly strong?’ As she dug her index finger into his fist, he allowed her to gradually unclench his hand until she found it empty.
    Sucking in her breath, she appeared shocked for a moment, her eyes meeting his, her fingers still round his wrist. For a second she was so close he could almost smell her hair . . . He stepped back with a jolt, blood thrumming in his cheeks.
    ‘What?’ she asked sharply, noticing the change in his expression.
    He managed a quick laugh, galloped back a few steps and pulled the watch out of his pocket. ‘Catch!’
    She squawked and had to jump for it, only just making contact as it arced over her head.
    ‘Oh, my poor watch!’ Lowering her hands, she inspected it carefully, polishing its face with the hem of her shirt, then holding it up to the light to scrutinize it for scratches. ‘This is brand new, you know – a leaving present from a friend back home. God, if I’d lost it—’
    ‘You’re welcome,’ he interrupted with a sarcastic grin.
    She slipped it back on her wrist and pinned him with a stare. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! Thank you for trying to steal it and then nearly throwing it in the water!’ Brushing the hair back from her face, she shook her head with a long-suffering air, but he detected a glint of humour in her cut-glass eyes.
    Leaving the park and its orchestra of summer scents, they exchanged crunchy gravel for the unyielding asphalt of the main road, striped with long,