Hot AF
I watch Valentine stride confidently toward my desk, that trademark smirk growing wider with each step. I can feel the eyes of our classmates on him, but I only focus on him. As he approaches, I tense, my shoulders tightening, and I pointly avoid looking at him.
“This seat taken?” he asks playfully, sliding into the desk directly behind me.
I let out an audible sigh. “You always sit here,” I mutter.
Leaning forward, I catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the air around us. It’s distracting. My fingers itch to reach back and push him away, but instead, I stay still as he gently tugs on a strand of my hair, watching it spring back into place.
“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “I think I might actually learn something in class today now that I’ve got such a great view.”
I feel my ears heat up as I fight to hide my embarrassment. I can’t let him see how much he affects me. I quickly glance back at him, and of course, there’s that mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Stop that,” I hiss, trying to sound more commanding than I feel.
He chuckles, releasing my hair but staying close. “Make me,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
My entire body goes rigid, preparing for battle. I whirl around and swat his hand away with surprising force. My eyes blaze with icy fire. “I said, stop it,” I growl through gritted teeth, my glare piercing enough to make even the bravest soul flinch.
But Valentine isn’t just any soul. He leans in closer, his face mere inches from mine. His voice drops to a husky whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. “You know, Scar,” he murmurs, “anger looks good on you. Really brings out the gold flecks in your eyes.”
I catch my breath. Heat floods my cheeks as his words ghost across my skin, causing me to squirm uncomfortably in my seat. My mind races, torn between the urge to slap him and the unexpected flutter in my stomach.
“I… you…” I stammer, struggling to form a coherent thought with him so close.
“What? Use your words, princess,” he drawls.
“You are an absolute moron, Valentine,” I hiss, venom dripping from my words.
He laughs—deep and rich, filling the air around us with genuine amusement. I watch as his eyes crinkle at the corners, dimples appearing in his cheeks.
He’s handsome, sure. But when he laughs, he’s breathtaking.
He leans back, running a hand through his tousled hair. “A moron, huh? Most girls find me charming.”
“Then bother them,” I mutter, my irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
Valentine opens his mouth to respond, but then the bell rings and Mrs. Hawthorne walks in.
“Saved by the bell,” he says, smirking as he turns to face the teacher.
Throughout the rest of class, I can feel his fingers finding their way to my hair, idly twirling a strand around his index finger. His breath is warm against my neck as he whispers, “Your hair’s so soft, Scar. Ever think about letting it down?”
I sScaren, a shiver racing down my spine. “Stop it,” I hiss, trying to focus on the teacher’s words. “I’m trying to pay attention.”
He chuckles softly, his fingertips grazing the nape of my neck. “Come on, where’s the fun in that?”
My face flushes. I clench my fists, willing myself to concentrate on the lesson, but his persistent touch makes it nearly impossible.
“I swear, Valentine,” I mutter, my voice strained, “if you don’t knock it off…”
“You’ll what?” he teases, playful mischief lacing his words.
I squirm in my seat, torn between snapping at him and the unsettling awareness of how his touch affects me. I bite my lip, struggling to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me.
Turning to look at him, I find his intense gaze already fixed on me. Our eyes lock for a fleeting moment, and I feel a spark of electricity before hastily looking away, my heart racing.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Suddenly, he leans forward again, his lips close to my ear. “Hey, Scar,” he whispers, his voice filled with mischief. “What do you call a fake noodle?”
Despite myself, I find myself curious. “What?” I murmur back, trying to keep my voice low.
“An impasta,” he replies, that grin evident in his voice.
I can’t help it—a snort of laughter escapes before I can clamp my hand over my mouth. I turn to face him, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
“Is there a problem back there?” Mrs. Hawthorne calls out to me.
My face burns, and I hide behind my notebook, desperate to disappear. I turn back to Valentine again.
“That was terrible,” I whisper, trying to contain my amusement.
His smile widens, his crystal gray eyes sparkling. “Ah, but it made you laugh,” he whispers back.
“So what?” I hiss, attempting to regain my composure.
“I decided my number one mission is to make you laugh at least three times a day,” he says nonchalantly.
“Valentine and Scarlet. Don’t make me send you two to the principal’s office!” Mrs. Hawthorne calls out again.
I straighten in my seat, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. I shoot Valentine a glare, but his carefree grin only grows wider.
“Oops,” he mutters with a wink, clearly unfazed by the teacher’s warning.
I clench my jaw, determined not to let him get to me anymore. I turn my attention back to the board, my mind racing as I try to ignore the butterflies fluttering whenever Valentine is near. How can someone be so infuriating and yet… so charming?
For the rest of class, Valentine stays quiet, but I can still feel his presence—the occasional tap of his pencil or the way he leans slightly forward as if about to say something.
When the bell finally rings, I waste no time packing my things, eager to escape before he can continue his teasing. But just as I’m about to make my exit, his voice stops me.
“Hey, Scar, wait up.”
I pause, my heart thumping in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, crossing my arms defensively. “What now, Valentine?”
He shrugs, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s your plan for the prom?”
I blink, caught off guard by the question. “Ehh… prom?” I stammer.
“Yeah, prom.” He leans against the doorframe casually, his gaze never leaving mine. “You know… dumb high school dance all the girls are dying to go to?”
“I know what prom is,” I say gruffly.
“You going with anyone?” he asks.
I furrow my brows, feeling my pulse quicken. I haven’t really thought about prom—mostly because the idea of dressing up and spending an entire evening around people, including Valentine, seems exhausting.
“I… don’t know yet,” I reply cautiously, trying to keep my tone neutral.
He raises an eyebrow, that smirk softening into something more sincere. “You should let me take you,” he says, his playful tone replaced by seriousness.
My heart skips a beat, the sudden intensity in his eyes catching me off guard. “Why would I do that?” I ask, crossing my arms to hide the warmth rising to my cheeks.
“Because,” he says, stepping a little closer, his voice low, “you think I’m hot.”
I snort. “No, I don’t! You should take Emily. She thinks you’re hot AF. Now get out of my way!” I squeal, pushing him aside before striding down the hallway.
