to kill him.
I’m going to kill the guy I love.
But I let out a laugh first – nervous and completely fake, glancing at Coach TJ from the corners of my eyes; she’s glaring at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I laugh again and his lopsided stretch of lips turns into a full one as he watches me grapple with the situation he created.
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are,” I continue. “But I’m afraid there’s a problem in your stupid joke.”
“Oh, is there?”
“Yes. Because I can’t go anywhere off campus, let alone to a bar. I don’t have the privilege yet. Besides…” I narrow my eyes at him and repeat his words from that night. “Lights out at nine-thirty, remember? That’s the rule and even I wouldn’t dare to break it my very first week at St. Mary’s.”
Something crackling passes through his eyes. “Is that what the rule is?”
“Yes. Maybe you should read the rule book.”
“Maybe,” he replies lazily. “Or maybe I should just ask you. Since you’ve become such a model student.”
I purse my lips at his sarcastic comment. “So I was here. In bed. Where I belong.”
I think I spoke too many words and gave too much of an explanation, and now they’re going to catch me.
They’re going to take away all my privileges – however basic they might be – and probably even shut me in a room so I never ever sneak out again.
All because this jerk is having his fun with me.
But then I hear him drawl, “Well, now that you mention it. It wasn’t you.” My body unclenches and he looks me up and down again. “The girl I saw had messier hair, I think. Poutier lips too. You’re right.”
It’s a wonder I can talk after that ‘poutier lips’ comment but I do. “Apology accepted. Now you know.”
“I didn’t apologize.” Then, “I would’ve loved to see that though.”
“See what?”
“You.” He dips his face and lowers his voice. “In bed.”
I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what he’s doing or trying to do. I don’t know why he’s saying these things.
The most bizarre, breath-stealing things ever since he came back from LA.
“You want to see me in b-bed?” I ask with dried throat and swollen tongue.
He nods slowly, the strands of his hair falling over his smooth, unbothered forehead. “Very much. I would’ve loved to see you following the rules, being a good girl. Staying where you belong.”
I swat my own hair off my forehead because my fingers are being impatient and unruly, whining to push aside his hair. My heart is being unruly too, whining to get close to him, whining to be laid at his feet.
“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Somehow. “You’ll get to see that. Me, following all the rules.”
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it,” he says, boring his eyes into mine, imparting a meaning, a secret meaning, that I don’t understand and yet strangely, I understand in every way.
“Now, can we stop the soccer superstar ass-kissing and play?”
“Sure,” he agrees magnanimously before tipping up his chin at me. “Just as soon as you stop acting like an overeager groupie who cuts the line and fall back into it. Like everyone else.”
I open my mouth to retort because how dare he call me a groupie, even though whatever I’ve learned about soccer, I’ve learned from him.
But his words jar me. They remind me that we’re not alone.
I mean, I knew that but now it really hits me that there’s a group of girls standing behind me, glaring at me, including a teacher, Coach TJ. And I’m doing exactly what they thought I’d do.
I’m taking advantage of the fact that I lived with him and talking to him – who’s also a teacher now – in such a brazen, familiar manner.
Under his challenging gaze, I duck my head and move back.
Once I’m standing in the line, I look up to catch Arrow – Coach Carlisle, sorry – still staring at me with an inscrutable look before he unfolds his arms and looks away. “One by one, I’d like you to come forward, introduce yourself and tell us what position you play. And then, we’ll start with a thirty-minute warm-up game.”
So that’s what we do. We introduce ourselves. When my turn arrives, I try to look as demure as possible.
“Salem Salinger. I’m the wide midfielder.”
My eyes are on my cleats so I don’t know if I’m right or not. But I feel like he pauses on me. I feel like his eyes