I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,15

penis did in the movie, nearly knocking the 3D glasses off some girl walking by.

His shoulders move in silent laughter, and I squeeze in tighter by the wall.

“Anyway.” I lower my voice. Pete leans in to hear. He smells strongly of floor cleaner. “I kind of ran out of the class before I saw him—”

“Naked.”

“I was going to say disrobed.”

“Of course.”

“I waited around after, though. I wanted to… well, ask him out.”

“How’d it go?”

I tilt my head. “What do you think?”

He leans back, pushing his shoulder against the wall. There’s a look that’s similar to pity resting in his light brown irises, and no, no… don’t want that.

I blow out a breath and give the stone wall some great eye contact. “He said I’m not his type.” I gulp hard, swallowing away the crack in my voice. “He knows me all of three seconds and already figures I’m not”—I drop to a whisper—“bad-a enough for him.”

I wait for Pete to laugh at my edited swear or the fact I can’t deal with seeing a penis or simply laugh at me as a whole, but he doesn’t. He’s silent for forever and a day.

“Okay… not saying no, but I gotta ask,” he says, and my gaze picks up to meet his. “Are you doing this for a guy you know all of three seconds?”

“A little,” I admit. I won’t tell him I fell in love with Zach the second he walked in the door. That would get a laugh out of anyone. But it’s more than just that. Zach’s words just might have kicked me over the edge on something I’ve thought for a while. “For real, though, Pete? I’m not happy with who I am. I don’t like being so uptight and inflexible. I want to be different, but I have no clue how to do it.”

He blinks slowly, his lashes long and so not fair. His dark hair is an absolute mess, his shirt still untucked, his khaki uniform pants wet along the bottom, his left shoe untied. He’s chaos and doesn’t care one bit, and I’m jealous of him.

“You ready for your first lesson?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting. A skip hits my chest, and my spine straightens. I nod emphatically, opting not to question his decision to do this for me.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pen. He has an unclicked pen in the back of his khaki pants. Yikes! I bet there are so many ink stains back there.

He lifts his hand, tucking the pen into my very messy ponytail. I try to keep my cringe at bay at the fact that it’s still clicked open.

“Make a list.” He smirks. “I know you love those.”

He’s right. “A list of what?”

“Everything that scares you.”

My brows lift, and I reach up for the pen, click it closed, then put it in my front pocket where it belongs. “Prepare for a lot of reading.”

Pete

Candace and I both worked the morning shifts that Sunday, so she sent me a message asking if we could start her “rebelessons.” I told her sure, as long as she never calls them that again.

My bike sputters as I turn, following her instructions to get to her place. Damn, her neighborhood is nice—better than anywhere I’ve lived, that’s for sure. Each property I pass has gates and about three acres of yard stretched out before I could reach a front door. It looks—and smells—like there are quite a few farmers out here. Even in the light snow falling from the early December sky, the stench of manure carries in the wind.

I push up my face covering, my breath keeping my cheeks warm. Maddie gave me such shit when I came home with Gertrude, a name that has stuck since I gave it to my bike a few days ago. But I saved a ton of money, and she didn’t have to take me every which way anymore.

The road starts to thin out up ahead, turning into one lane. Another bonus of a bike is I’m not too concerned about someone driving down opposite me. The gravel gets a bit muddier the farther I go, kicking the snow up my legs. Brown spots spatter my gloves as I put the bike into the next gear and accelerate.

I hope Candace has got a hot cup of coffee for me or something. Whiskey is probably too much to hope for right now, even though I could sure use a drink.

The fact