Sweet Nothing(56)

“Definitely,” I tease back. “What’s his name? Dr. Ward?”

“Dr. Ward’s like sixty-five, Elle. I can’t say that didn’t hurt a little.” He closes the door behind him. “How was your dinner last night?”

“It was fun. Did you get your work done?”

“Almost.”

My eyes flick past him, where the students in my second period class are peering through the tall, rectangular window in the door. “If you don’t get out of here, the kids are going to start talking, you know.”

“The kids are already talking,” he grins. “Probably about how they can’t believe that a gorgeous woman like you would be caught dead with a dude like me."

My breath catches in my throat. They wouldn’t think that if they knew me. Neither would you.

“Um, so do you want to get dinner tonight or something?” I blurt out. “I don’t know if you have plans or anything, and if you do that’s obviously fine, but—”

“Can’t." He shakes his head. "I wish I could, really, but this extra work for Goodwin is really bogging me down, you know? I just want to get it done.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. God, I must sound desperate. “Yeah. Of course. I mean, I have prep to do, too. So we should do that. Work.”

“Elle—”

“It’s fine!” I chirp. “Really.” I force a smile. “I should start class, okay? And I’ll just see you whenever. No big deal.”

“Okay. I’ll… call you?”

“Whatever you want.” I glance pointedly at the door. After a beat, he turns to open it, letting my students inside. “See you later, Mr. Poulos.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Sloane.” Luke fist-bumps a couple of the students coming through the door, then disappears into the hall.

I sink deeper into my chair, grateful for the deafening chatter building up in my room. Grateful that in these few minutes before the bell, I’m invisible.



That night after dinner, I shower and change into yoga pants and an Allford t-shirt, then curl up in bed with my econ text and a legal pad. I should prep for class tomorrow. I page slowly through the assigned chapter, my eyes traveling over the words without registering them. Something’s not right. I’ve had the feeling ever since Luke left my classroom this morning, and I can’t put my finger on what it is that’s bothering me. It’s not that he has work to do. I’ve never been clingy with guys before. But something just seemed… off. Maybe it’s something with his ex. He’s seeing her tonight and he doesn’t want me to know. I shake the thought from my head. No. I’m not going to let my ridiculous insecurities get in the way. He was honest when I confronted him, and he’s being honest now.

I’m scribbling the first few questions to a pop quiz when it dawns on me. It’s the reason Luke gave for having to work late. He’d told me that Dr. Goodwin needed art for his office. Told me that the space was bare. But I’d been in Dr. Goodwin’s office at the start of school. It was perfectly decorated. Why would Luke lie about something like that? What was he hiding?

Stop it, Elle. You’re being paranoid. But I can’t shake the feeling weighing heavy in my chest. If you’re capable of lying, so is he. Maybe he’s not who you think he is. I slam my book closed and stare up at the ceiling.



—And Ms. Halloran, if could you please tell the court what your father told you

—that afternoon. The prosecutor had asked me not to look at my father, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes found his, and the sight of him was almost enough to break me. Dressed in his most expensive suit, in the tie my mother had bought him for his birthday the year before. He looked frail. Weak. Nothing like the father I used to know. I remember thinking that maybe I never knew him.

—Objection. Hearsay. My father’s attorney is listless. Knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

— Your Honor, Mr. Halloran confessed his crimes to his daughter on the afternoon in question. We all know hearsay doesn’t apply here.

— Go ahead. The judge turned to me and nodded. Giving me permission to end my father’s life as he knew it.



The knock at my bedroom door brings me to the surface. I suck in a deep breath.

“Hey. You okay?” Luke ducks into my bedroom and closes the door. The space between his brows gathers with worry.

“Yeah. Sure.” I rub my face in my hands. Try to slow my breathing. I’m shaking; hoping he won’t notice. “I was just drifting off. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Come here.” He sits on the edge of my bed and pulls me into him. I want to let myself relax, want to let him hold me. But my body is wound tight, curled into itself in worry and fear and guilt. I can’t let myself go. I don’t know how.