Page 3 of The King Contract
I scrunch my nose up. “No, I’m serious. I think we’ve met.”
He tilts his head to look at me and quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Where?”
Now I’ve got oxygen circulating again, memories slot into place like solving a puzzle. Flashbacks of a teenage boy standing beneath a diving board, hands up to a crowd of onlookers as I hold the school camera to my eye and click furiously.
“Swimming champion,” I mumble. The man’s smug smile vanishes. “You were swimming champion five years in a row. Your name would get called out over the speaker at St. Xavier’s. Noah . . . NoahKing!” I point at him as my brain clicks on his surname. I smile smugly at his bewilderment.Ha.
Recollections of Noah King race back in full force. Seeing him on podiums, watching him surf at senior camp. He was notorious for joking around and disrupting class, which, as someone who valued every lesson, annoyed me to my core.
He was everything I wasn’t. Popular, athletic, charming. The class clown who teachers adored. He’d run late every day because he’d surf before school, and I don’t think he ever got in trouble for it. I was a straight-A student who had a healthy respect for discipline, was editor of the student body newsletter, and the person who achieved the highest academic result in the entire grade. Noah and I were as cliché as they come.
Whilst my brain has quickly catalogued everything about this man, he clearly has zero idea who I am. “St Xavier’s. Right.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t act like you remember me.”
“I don’t remember your name,butyou were really smart. Right?”
“You’re guessing,” I say dryly.
“No, no, I remember,” he insists. “You finished top of our grade.”
My eyebrows perk in surprise. “Yes, I did.”
“Polly Thompson,” he guesses confidently.
“Millie Schofield. So close.”
I don’t miss the way his gaze drags over my soaked-through frame, like he almost can’t believe I’m next to him. Maybe he’s thinking how much I haven’t changed. Still awkward limbs and curly hair. To my credit, my limbs have more muscle on them now than they did in high school. My hair still hates me, though.
“I wasn’t a dick to you, was I?” he asks.
I’m not sure what bothers me more. That he doesn’t rip into me for how little I’ve changed or that I’m utterly unmemorable. “Was that a bad habit of yours?”
He drops his shoulders. “Still is, apparently.”
His despondent tone brings out my need to reassure him. “You weren’t a dick to me.”
Noah’s lips twist in thought, but he doesn’t expand on the topic. “Do you want to share why you climbed that death trap in this weather, Millie Schofield?”
“Did you not notice my camera when you screamed at me?” I ask sarcastically, staring out at the roaring waves. My chest tugs with bitterness, and I bite my lip to stem the flow of tears. My most-loved camera and brand new protective gear have officially been lost to the ocean. I’m lucky I left my phone with Ellis. “Guess I’m never seeing that again.”
I gather my hair to wring it out. “It’s not replaceable.”
Deep regret lines his face, his body turned towards me to shield me from the wind. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“It’s just a thing,” I mutter. “We’re alive. That’s what’s important.”
He gives me a half smile. “That was really hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”
“You have no idea.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I can’t replace your camera, but maybe we could catch up? Go for a drink and talk about old times.”
“Old times?” I ask, perplexed. “What old times would we catch up on?”
“We could reminisce on the old school days,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “I could show you my surfboard collection. I’ve got some amazing photographs of big waves too. If you’re interested in photography, you’ll love them.”
His warm breath dances across my cheek, his deep green gaze hypnotising as he lures me in.
