Sara’s POV
He strolled in like he was walking a red carpet. His bag slung lazily over one shoulder, that confident smirk on his face, and his messy black hair falling perfectly over his forehead like it had been styled by the wind itself. He didn’t even look guilty for being late. Of course he didn’t.
The teacher barely glanced up. “Ah, Mr. King,” she said, smiling faintly. “Take a seat.”
That was it. No scolding. No lecture about punctuality. Nothing.
I stared in disbelief. If I had walked in late, she would’ve made me explain myself in front of the entire class. But Archer? He got a free pass—as always.
He looked around the room, searching for a seat. There were at least three empty ones, all not near me. So when his eyes found mine, my stomach dropped.
Please no. Please not here.
