Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,25

“I didn’t say anything.”

I close my eyes, my shoulders sagging as relief floods through me. “Good. That’s… good.”

“I still can’t believe that Coach is…”

“Don’t say it,” I say, stopping him before he can finish. I don’t want to hear those words uttered out loud once again. Saying them that one time was one time too many. “Just… don’t.”

“Fine, I’m not… I won’t say anything. To anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” There is something in his voice that has me turning my head to look at him. His face is hard, and there is darkness creeping behind his light eyes that I haven’t seen before. He chuckles, but the sound lacks amusement. “I might know a thing or two about asshole fathers. Your secret’s safe with me.”

I remember what Callie said the other day.

I haven’t seen him like that, well, ever. But something’s been bugging him. I just don’t know what.

Is that it? Is he having some family problem he’s been keeping away from everybody else? Is that what’s been keeping him on edge?

“Nixon…” I start, but stop, not knowing what to say. And even if I did, I’m not sure I should. Not when asking would give him the right to do the same with me, and I’m not about to share my secrets with anybody. Not even somebody who’s privy to part of them.

Nixon shakes his head, offering me a small smile. “Go inside, Yasmin.” He tips his chin toward the dorm, pushing his hands into his pockets. “It’s getting cold.”

Closing my mouth, I nod and take a step back. “Goodnight, Nixon.”

“Night, Yasmin.”

“Oh, look who finally decided to pick up her phone!”

I laugh at the irritation I hear in my friend’s voice. “It’s good to hear you too, Grace.”

“It would have been better if you’d have picked up that phone more often! I was about to go to the police and file a missing person report.”

“And who did you think kidnapped me?”

“How the hell should I know? We haven’t spoken in so long, you’d be lucky if I’d have been able to give your description to the cops.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Whatever, I’m not playing this game like we’re five. Tell me, was your kidnapper at least hot? Maybe he had you tied to your bed all this time, so you weren’t able to pick up the damn thing and call.”

The absurdity of the picture has me laughing even harder.

“What? No, of course not. I’m busy. With college. You know, that thing where you have to go to classes, and study and work, because suddenly you’re an adult with obligations and responsibilities and...”

“Can’t say I do,” she says dryly.

I met Grace a few years back at the community center we attended in New York. She was sick for a while and needed to catch up on her studies, so I helped her. As they say, the rest is history. Although she’s a year younger, something between us clicked, and we’d become inseparable. Until now.

“Not until next year. Get ready to pull out your big girl panties.”

I hear her chuckle on the other side of the line.

“I miss you, Yas,” she says softly.

“Miss you too, Gracie. How are things back home?”

I listen as she tells me about her brother and sister-in-law and their kids, as well as the people we both know from the center.

“I stopped by your place.”

That grabs my attention. Grace did occasionally stop by my house, but never if I wasn’t home. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I saw your mom, and she invited me for dinner.”

My stomach grumbles in protest. “Don’t tell me that,” I whine. Seriously, there isn’t a better cook than Mom, and just the thought of any of her specialties has my mouth-watering. Not that the food here is bad, but it’s a far cry from Mom’s homemade cooking.

“That bad?”

“Not bad, just not the same.”

“I really can’t wait for next year.”

“You’ll remember this conversation in a few months when you’ll be standing in line in the cafeteria, and somebody steals the last plate of whatever you want to eat from under your nose.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” We grow silent for a minute. “What about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

Her answer is fast, automatic. The same one I’ve been hearing for way too long, and she can’t fool me with her bullshit. But instead of calling her out on that, which I know won’t result in anything good, I change tactics. “Any cute boys in the picture? Did you get