up and stretch my arms over my head then run in place. A few people look over and I toss up a wave. “Ignore me.”
Finally she drops her pen and shakes her head at me. “Are you for real?”
“You act all prim, but I know you’re laughing on the inside. Plus, I legit can’t help myself. Probably just need to get laid.”
“Indeed.”
I’m at her side of the table and sitting next to her before I know it. “You didn’t come to me, so I’m coming to you.” I push her notes away. “Let’s talk.”
“It’s a library. We aren’t supposed to.”
“Never stopped us before.”
Her face flushes.
I exhale and ease closer until our legs are pressed together. Her body stiffens, the way it did in class yesterday when I walked in.
Shit. I want a redo button.
“Do you ever think about freshman year?” I ask, rather abruptly, and she darts those brown eyes at me then glances away.
“In general, sure. Doesn’t everyone at some point?”
My hands tighten under the table. This is important to me, a memory I never brought up before because something always held me back. Fear? Maybe.
“Remember the field party that year? Everyone wore togas?” I watch her face, but she keeps it carefully blank. “Mine was blue and I looked amazing. I even had those olive leaves in my hair—Ryker’s idea, not mine.”
“Don’t recall that. I must have missed that shindig.”
“Really? Huh. A group of us went in the barn to play spin the bottle, and my turn landed on you.”
She toys with her phone. “You have me mixed up. All those girls you’ve been with must be running together in your head.”
“It’s not that many, Charm.” I lean back in the chair, stretching out my legs, feigning nonchalance. I let a few seconds go by. “There’s a legend about those parties freshman year—the first person you kiss is the one you end up with. Did you know that?”
I watch the pulse in her neck, fascinated by how rapid it is.
“Fairy tales for frat boys and jocks who want to get laid,” she murmurs.
“Hmmm.”
Her eyes tangle with mine. “It wasn’t me.”
“Right, right. Just some other hottie I kissed.”
She clears her throat and swiftly changes the topic. “Penelope mentioned the awards dinner next week. She’s already cleaning our house to meet Ryker’s dad. Vampire Bill is freaking out every time she turns on the vacuum.” She pauses. “Are your aunt and uncle coming up?”
“Nah, they’re too busy.” I keep my face carefully blank. “One of the girls has a play that night.”
Her head cocks, a little frown worrying her brow. “Can’t one of them come? Alma is just a few hours away, and it is a national championship.”
My chest rises, and I look away from her, tapping my pen. I hear the questioning tone she’s using, almost gentle.
Several seconds go by, and I count the tiles on the floor.
“Blaze. Look at me.”
I turn back to her, my eyes showing no emotion. “What?”
She takes in my face and her lips turn down. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It seems to have ruined your good mood. If you ever want to talk about them or your parents, I’m here.”
I’m here.
Something in my chest loosens. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with them. I mean, when I first moved in, I was messed up from my parents dying, but part of me was excited. A real family…” I shrug, trying not to let my emotions show. “I walked into their house and vowed to myself I was going to be the best kid ever. I wrote down this stupid oath thing in my notebook about how I was going to sit still, take out the trash, help with the babies, and work on the farm. I would be the best son ever.” I stare at my pen, not really seeing it. “I don’t think they noticed. The day I came home from high school after signing my acceptance to Waylon, all I saw was relief in their eyes—relief that I would finally be gone and they wouldn’t have to pay for my college.”
I raise my gaze, and she’s staring at me. I guess she has been this whole time.
“And look at you now. Do they have any clue what an incredible person you are?” she says softly. I like that she didn’t berate or criticize them. I do care for them. I just don’t think my level of commitment to them was ever returned.