Vendetta(42)
“I was wondering what kind of stuff you do for fun,” he continued. “I was thinking about it earlier.”
“So you don’t forget about me, then?” I teased. “When you’re playing basketball with your brothers or hanging out in your giant mansion and I’m at the diner wasting away from boredom?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.”
“And you’re not very forgettable, either,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“I think most people would disagree,” I returned.
“I’m not most people.”
“You’re certainly not,” I agreed.
“So tell me about yourself, Sophie. I want to know about you.”
“Why?” No one ever wanted to know about me. Especially not bronze, statue-type people. “I’m very boring, I promise.”
He laughed again; it was close and intimate this time, and I could feel his breath against my ear as he leaned toward me. “Maybe you should let someone other than you be the judge of that.”
Instead of answering, I kicked a stray pebble and watched as it bounced into the street.
“Well, let’s start with what we know,” he began, rubbing his chin with his hand. “You can be a little defensive …”
“Hey!”
“It’s endearing,” he assured me quickly. “And what else? You don’t like storms. You’re thick-skinned, and you blush whenever someone looks at you for too long …”
I grimaced. So he had noticed that.
“… which makes it more fun to look at you.” He smirked. “Not that it isn’t fun to look at you already.”
I could feel myself blushing again, and I cursed the timing of it.
“Is it just you and your parents at home?” he continued delicately — seamlessly, almost.
“It’s just me and my mom,” I answered. “My dad’s been gone for a while, so we do our best not to burn the place down or poison each other with bad food.”
I felt guilty about skimming over the part about my father being in prison, but I didn’t want to risk everything so soon.
“Do you get along?”
“Yeah, when we’re both at home. But we don’t see each other as much as I would like, I guess.”
Suddenly I felt horribly vulnerable, entrusting my innermost thoughts to this beautiful boy, who probably didn’t care about my relationship with my mother.
Nic regarded me contemplatively. “That must be difficult. But maybe your distance makes you closer when it counts?”
“Maybe.” I suddenly felt heavy with emotion. What was it with these Priestly boys? Just this morning I was on the verge of tears with Valentino! And now …
“So you’re going to be a senior?”
Saved by the conversation change. We fell back into step with each other.
“Yup, starting in September. I have one more torture-filled year of high school to go.” I sighed theatrically, glad to be moving away from the previous topic. “What about you?”
“Just graduated,” he replied with an edge of triumph in his voice.
“And what will you do with yourself now?”
“I deferred college for a semester; I’m working with my brothers mostly.”
“In Cedar Hill?”
“No,” he replied. “Not exactly. Not all the time.”
“Do you like it?”
“What I do or where I live?”
“Cedar Hill.” I suddenly felt embarrassed by my association with the place. Especially the part we were in now. It was a far cry from the opulence Nic was used to.
He smiled at me like he could sense my shame. “I didn’t like it at first, but I do now.”
“What do you do here? What kind of work?”
He shrugged, but kept his shoulders rigid. “Right now? Not a whole lot …” he said vaguely, trailing off.
“Do you think you’ll miss school?”
Nic shook his head. “It’s only one semester. And I like to be active; I want to feel useful, like what I’m doing is making some small difference in the world. I don’t think I’ll ever need to use trigonometry in real life.”
“I know,” I concurred enthusiastically. “Or Shakespeare. Bleugh.”
Nic reacted like I had slapped him on the side of the head. He stopped and placed his hands on my arms, pulling me toward him until I was right under his gaze. I thought he was going to start shaking me. “Did you really just knock the man who gave us Romeo and Juliet?”
I frowned. I had never really considered it at length before; I just knew I didn’t like school, and for me, Shakespeare was synonymous with school, a place where I didn’t feel welcome. “I guess I’m not a big fan of tragedy.”