“That’s such a load of crap, Kaley, and you know it.” She turns away from me and sulks off toward the student lot.
I follow after her.
“Is it Ems? Really? Because I can’t think of any other reason why you’d be mad at me right now.”
She whips around, and I have to stop myself from crashing into her. “Because I don’t believe you!”
I step back, her words catching me off guard. “W-what don’t you believe?” The opposing team’s bus turns onto the street, and the lot grows quiet.
“I don’t believe it’s just college,” she says sharply. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me. So before you accuse me of not being there for you, why don’t you ask yourself why I can’t be?”
As soon as she says it, I know it’s true.
“Am I right?” she says, her eyes narrowing.
Yes! Of course you’re right! I want to tell you things . . . but I can’t.
“What is it?” she says, softening.
“It . . . it’s a lot of stuff, Ems,” I say, defeated.
“So talk to me.”
“I will, okay? Just not now. I really am tired.”
She hardens. “Whatever,” she says, storming off.
“Damn it,” I whisper to myself.
She knows me too well. She would be appalled if she knew what was distracting me from our friendship. When she swoons over Mr. Slate it’s all fun and games. She’d be furious if she knew a crush on my teacher was putting a strain on my relationship with Tommy. She doesn’t want anything jeopardizing our precious foursome. Especially not a silly, childish crush. But it’s more than just that, I realize. I haven’t let her in on anything lately . . . the seriousness of my parents fighting, my lack of arousal toward Tommy, and my full-on arousal toward Mr. Slate—not that I would ever admit to that last one.
I watch her until she’s around the corner and out of sight and decide to wait out here for Tommy. His truck is parked next to Derek’s car, and I don’t want the fight with Emily to continue. A cool breeze swirls around me as I stand on the deserted sidewalk, tugging on my long sleeves. I wish I had decided on jeans instead of a skirt. Scanning the faculty lot, I spy about five unattended vehicles . . . one being a shiny black Tahoe with oversized rims, polished to perfection.
Movement catches my eye as the hatch on the Tahoe slowly rises. Mr. Slate slings a bag of equipment in the back, then disappears from my view. I glance around the near-empty lot and hesitate before stepping off the curb. The Tahoe is facing the school, so he can’t see me approaching. My brain screams at me: Stay back! But I’m drawn to him like a magnet to steel. I need to be near to him—even if for just a moment. I want his attention. I want him to reward me with that twinkle in his rustic-brown eyes. I no longer want to be his student . . . I want to be on his level.
I want to attract him.
I approach the SUV and round the corner, startling him.
“Oh! Hey there, Kaley.” He glances around. “Car trouble again?” He hesitates. “Do you need a ride?”
I suppress a laugh at his unintentional innuendo. “My car’s still in the shop,” I say. “Don’t worry, I have a ride.” I smile. “Thanks again for helping me this weekend. You were right about the alternator.”
He slides a baseball bat next to the bag of equipment. “No problem.” His voice is stiff. He’s no longer in uniform and wears a thin, dark-gray athletic shirt—leaving little to the imagination of what his upper body possesses—with a pair of black athletic pants. He still wears his baseball cap that threatens to hide his beautiful eyes in a way that makes him even more mysterious. The newfound ache swells below me.
“Do you mind if I sit for a second?” I ask.
Not waiting for an answer, I hop up on the back ledge next to the equipment and let my legs dangle before I cross them. His eyes flicker to my bare legs for a moment, sending a thrill across the back of my thighs. Uncertainty crosses his expression.
“This is okay, right?” I say with a timid smile. “It’s not like we’re alone or anything.”
He stares at me without a reply—we both know we’re pretty much alone. No one can see us back here. He seems guarded and takes a step back, continuing to watch me without saying a word.
“Sorry. Should I leave? I just wanted a minute to breathe. Emily’s mad at me, and I’m not looking forward to going home.” Ugh, that sounded so juvenile. “I still haven’t told her about my parents, and I think she’s misreading me,” I add.
He crosses his arms, almost as if he is trying to hold onto himself. “I’m sure she’d understand if you just told her.” His voice is low, and I start to wonder if he’s annoyed.
I’m making a fool of myself.
“I’m sorry, I’ll go,” I say as I move to jump down.
He steps forward, pinning his body against the back corner of the Tahoe, blocking me. His arm stretches over my head, resting on the top of the vehicle, as he leans forward.
I freeze.
“It’s okay, Kaley.” His tone is like velvet. “I said you could talk to me, and I meant it.”
He’s so close, we’re almost touching.
I try to find my voice. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“You won’t . . . you’re not . . . it’s okay—it’ll be okay.”
I blush. His words tumble awkwardly out of his mouth, but his eyes hold mine with a force that makes my whole body shiver, despite the warmth on my face.
“So, I take it you worked everything out with Bradford?” There’s an undercurrent in his voice that I can’t quite grasp. “That’s good at least, right?” His impressive arm above me is distracting.
“I guess,” I reply. His familiar scent is now mixed with his sweat. It’s sensuous, and I wonder if this is what he smells like when he makes love.
His expression is impassive. “You forgave him for the other night?”
“I guess so,” I say, running a hand through my hair. My elbow grazes his shirt. “Although, I somehow ended up apologizing to him.”
“What did you have to be sorry for?” The edge to his voice surprises me. “He let you walk away in that dress, right?” His eyes darken. “That should be unforgivable.”
I swear my heart stops beating, and I’m going to need a defibrillator. Energy charges the air between us as his intrepid words hang in the silence, dangling over me like forbidden grapes. A shiver ripples through me as my body recalls the sensation of his touch when I used Tommy’s body, and I fight the urge to reach out for him. It’d be effortless to lean in and kiss him, he’s so close.
“Are you cold, Kaley?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
I shake my head, stifling a nervous giggle. Dragging my gaze from his, I let my eyes slowly scroll down his toned body. When I look back up, there is an unmistakable hunger written all over his face.
Holy hell.
Anxiety grips me, and I break the silence. “So um . . . great game tonight.”
Oh, real smooth. I’m at a loss for words, but there are probably a hundred thousand different things that would top “great game.” Not to mention, I barely even watched the game—but we won so I assume it was great.
“Yeah,” he says with a seriousness that makes me believe he isn’t thinking about baseball. “We weren’t expected to win, but we pulled it off.” His inviting lips part slightly as his eyes rest on my mouth. “Kaley,” he says softly. “I—”
“Kaley?” A third voice interrupts from behind him.
Mr. Slate jerks back in a flash, and I’m face-to-face with Derek.
“Derek! What are you doing here?” Yeah, that’s probably the worst thing I could’ve said.
And I said it.
Anger flashes through Derek’s eyes. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I was coming over to talk to Slate about the game.”
“Yeah, me too,” I fumble.
Mr. Slate folds his arms across his chest and squares his shoulders to Derek. “What’s up, Larson?”
I hop off the back of the Tahoe and adjust my skirt.
Derek watches me before turning his attention to Mr. Slate. “Just wanted to talk to you about that last inning . . . but you look a little busy.”
“Not at all,” says Mr. Slate. “We were just discussing precalculus.”
Whoa. He lied.
“Really?” Derek challenges. “I thought you were talking about the game.”
I look at Mr. Slate in alarm, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. “Conversations progress, Larson,” he says with authority.
“Wow. That looked like some heated precalc,” Derek throws back at him. “No wonder she has an A.”
“What exactly are you implying, Derek?” Mr. Slate’s voice is severe. His entire body is tense, and I can tell he’s struggling to keep his composure.
Derek smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing at all, Coach.” He turns to me. “Tommy’s looking for you. Why don’t you go find his truck to ride in?” His glare rips through me, and he walks off before giving me a chance to reply.
I turn back to Mr. Slate and start to apologize, but he cuts me off.