If I Could - B. Celeste Page 0,24

some other local restaurant.”

I hadn’t planned to go this year. I’ve gone to most of them, but I’m always the first to leave. Nobody stops me either.

“So, are we going?” he quips, hands folded together on the desktop.

Are we…? “We, huh?”

He grins. “Yeah. We. You don’t expect me to go alone, do you? I barely know anybody.”

“I’m sure Harper will fend for you.” I don’t mean my response to sound short, but it does, and I’m not the only one to notice.

Lawrence counters with, “And I suppose Michelle isn’t good enough to protect you from the big bad coworkers who want to socialize with you?” Eyebrows drawn in challenge, he smirks at me before leaning back in the chair. “Come on, Scout. It might be fun. Get a drink, maybe dinner, talk a few people up, and then we can leave. No big, right?”

I don’t bring up the Michelle comment, or his snub at my apparent introverted nature. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if Lawrence would have liked me better if he knew me before my life turned upside down. I was fun. Went out. Drank from time to time. I kicked ass at darts, pool, all the basic drinking games. Could flip a cup and win beer pong like nobody’s business. People liked me, and I, for the most part, liked them.

In hindsight, I could have lied. Made up some fake plans, maybe even bring said plans to fruition and visit Iverson and Claire. Instead, I give him a nod and say, “Let me know when and where.”

He claps his hands together once. “Great. I’ll pick you up.”

I blink. “Uh, you—”

“I’m not giving you a chance to bow out or leave early,” he informs me matter-of-factly before standing like he’s done his duty. “It’ll be fun, grandpa.”

My eyes narrow at him. “I’m not that much older than you.”

He’s unfazed, grinning wide as he saunters to the door. “You started it.”

Sighing reluctantly, I know he’s right. There’s no point arguing with him about it. Breaking apart a piece of my cinnamon roll, I huff out a laugh. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you, Mr. McKinley?”

And the last thing I expect him to say, the words making me choke on my damn food as his eyes roam to my lower half is, “I hope I am, Nichols. I really, really hope so.”

Then the shithead walks away laughing.

Chapter Seven

Reece

Junior: Be ready by seven.

I stare at the text for about two minutes, where I’m sitting at my kitchen table tweaking some lesson plans for next week and shaking my head. Lawrence, who insists I call him Ren like everyone else, reminded me three times since Tuesday that he’ll be picking me up for a “night of fun” with some friends. Not that I want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but I don’t consider any of my coworkers friends besides Michelle.

And Lawrence, I suppose.

I’m not sure how he weaseled his way in, but he did. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve thought about this every chance I could. He’s attractive, that’s the first reason. Easy on the eyes, in the all-American sort of way. Arrogant because he knows it, confident because he’s comfortable being in his own skin, and yet, down to earth in the way he handles himself. He’s not the guy you wouldn’t give a second look at, so yeah, I noticed him quickly, analyzed why he captured my attention and managed to hold it. But his looks, as appealing as they may be, aren’t the only thing that has me enamored. It’s his personality. His humor, his shameless sarcasm, and the way he handles himself in any situation.

He likes teaching, I can tell when a few of his students pass him in the hall and give him high fives like they’re already won over. Not that I’m surprised if he’s anything in his classes like he is with me—save for the flirting. At least I hope so. Then again, maybe I’m overthinking that. It’s been a long time since I’ve been flirted with, especially by another guy. Only this time, I’m not uncomfortable with it. A little uncertain, sure, because I have no idea where I stand when it comes to Lawrence, but not uneasy. It’s almost refreshing knowing there’s a chance somebody like him could be interested in someone like me.

Yesterday, a couple seniors were about to throw down in the middle of the hallway about some girl I vaguely recognize the name of, when Lawrence