laundered and ironed, and I’ve even tied up my hair with the mustard-colored ribbon in a neat ponytail.
All clean and tidy.
Just the way he likes.
I knock on the door and his voice travels through it to hit me in the gut and steal my breath. “Come in.”
Swallowing, I turn the knob and open the door.
He’s sitting at his desk. There’s a book spread open on the table, a pen holder, a couple of Post-its, a stack of notebooks. Soccer balls are neatly arranged by the beige wall, along with a bookcase that has books on it arranged just so.
Everything has its place and order.
Even him.
Sitting in his high-backed chair, his shoulders broad and his back straight, he looks like he belongs here. He looks like he commands the room as much as he dominates the soccer field.
Maybe it’s the way he’s staring at me, with complete authority, complete possession. Or maybe it’s the way his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he’s clicking this pen in his hand, waiting for me to step inside the room.
Step inside his lair.
So I do. I step inside and warmth grips me from every side. It grips the back of my neck, circles my waist and slides down to my thighs.
“Close the door,” he commands, sounding every inch the coach that he is.
Every inch the famous The Blond Arrow.
Swallowing, I obey.
“Lock it,” he orders again, clicking the pen.
“What?”
“Lock the door.”
I hiccup a breath. “I… I don’t think there –”
“Lock the fucking door, Salem.”
“Okay.”
I reach my arms back and turn the little thingy on the knob to lock it.
The instant my job is done, I do the craziest thing ever. I mean, I’m famous for crazy so why stop now.
I rush toward the desk, toward him.
Which might not be such a great idea given how aloof and mature he looks. How old and teacher-like.
But it’s like ripping off a band-aid.
I need to apologize and I won’t wait for even a single second to do it. I’ve already waited four whole days without making a well-deserved apology.
I stick my arms out. “Before you say anything, I’ve got something to say.”
I’m aware that this is what I said to him at the bar, where I demanded he apologize, and the way he stares at me, without moving a muscle except to click the pen, I get the feeling that he’s aware of it too.
That he was probably waiting for me to gush words like a river and create drama like the queen I am.
“Okay so.” I wipe my hand on my thigh and lean against the edge of the desk to keep my shaking at bay. “I know I’ve been avoiding you and it’s not cool. That’s not fair to you, especially when I made you apologize to me in the bar. And made such a big deal out of it. So I’m sorry about that. For not apologizing sooner.”
He studies me from his perch and even though I’m looking down at him slightly, I feel much, much smaller than him right now. “You’re apologizing for not apologizing.”
Well, when he puts it that way it sounds ridiculous.
“Yes. Sort of. But the point is that I shouldn’t have done that. I should never have done that. I…” I try to gather my thoughts. “I’m sorry I tried to kiss you. It was completely uncalled for and a huge mistake. You’re my sister’s boy –”
Why can’t I remember the correct terminology of anything?
“Ex-boyfriend and it’s super tacky. And weird. And you don’t need creepy advances by a stupid girl when you’re going through so much. And the truth is that I really wanted to be your friend, you know? I really wanted to be someone you could talk to but I took advantage of that and I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath when I finish.
Although no amount of deep breaths will calm my heart. It’s thundering inside my chest, lurching and writhing.
I’m not sure because of what though.
Is it because our friendship was so short-lived and the pain of it is intense? Or is it because he keeps staring at me in that intimate way of his?
Like he knows me. He knows every bone and every muscle and every cell in my body.
Every secret of my witchy heart.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, his intense, dominating scrutiny, he leans forward and puts down the pen, shutting up the clicking, draping the room in complete silence.
Sitting back, both his elbows on the