Saint (Angelview Academy #1) - E.M. Snow Page 0,46

makes my life a living hell for fun. There’s no way I’d ever like him.”

Hate and love are two sides of the same coin.

I want to swat away the annoying little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying these stupid things.

At least my vehemence appears to convince Loni.

“All righty, that’s a big no on Saint,” she says with a megawatt grin. “Sorry, just had to ask.”

“It’s fine,” I sigh. Bending down, I pick up the sweatshirt and leggings I’d been contemplating for my study-date-not-a-date with Liam. “Now, on to more important things than Hot Draco. Does this outfit say there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with you?”

Loni studies the outfit a moment, then crinkles her nose and nods. “That would be the general vibe, yes. If you want, you can take Dorito to solidify yourself as the cat lady who doesn’t give a shit.”

“Perfect. And no to the cat, but thanks.” I turn to my bathroom to change, knowing the last thing I want is to give Liam the idea I’m trying to impress him.

Less than an hour later, Liam picks me up in a black BMW that still smells like new car.

We’re pretty silent during the ride, and the atmosphere between us is thick and awkward. Maybe going off campus was a bad idea? At least there, we could find some neutral ground to interact on. I’m about to go straight into the lion’s den, where he’ll have every advantage to … what?

Torture me?

Seduce me?

Only work on the English project with me?

I realize I’m paranoid for no actual reason. Liam hasn’t done anything to me as of late to give any indication he has ulterior motives tonight. When we pull up to the house, I try my best to relax. I don’t want the whole evening to be this tense.

All rational thought temporarily leaves my mind as my eyes take in his family’s beach house. A more apt description of it would be beach mansion. My jaw drops at the sprawling two-story structure that looks like a blend of modern and Italian architecture. Liam gets out the car, and I stumble to do the same and follow him up to the front door. The opulence of the interior of the house is more mind-boggling than the stately exterior. It’s all sleek, black and white surfaces, with glass walls that fold open to reveal a breathtaking view of the ocean.

“Holy shit,” I murmur.

I glance toward him. He’s rubbing the back of his head, ruffling his already messy black hair, as though uncomfortable.

“Yeah, it’s cool, I guess,” he replies with a shrug.

“Jesus Christ, Liam, this place is incredible!”

He lifts his shoulders again, his mouth tight. There’s a look in his eyes that just seems sad, though he’s doing everything he can to mask it.

I’m curious what could weigh down a guy who lives in a place like this?

Is the view too spectacular?

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I ask, “Are your mom and dad home?”

His mouth thins even more, until I can’t see his lips. “Not usually. I think they’re in Italy this weekend, watching my older brother do some stupid fucking race.”

Ah, there it is. I think I’ve just stumbled onto the reason for that underlying sadness. My heart hurts a little for him because that sadness isn’t so unfamiliar to me.

“It sucks when nobody’s there,” I say softly, thinking of my own mom and how I was never the priority I should’ve been to her.

He looks down at me, his expression unreadable. “You sound like you know exactly what that’s like.”

I drop my gaze to the scuffed toes of my white tennis shoes, remembering too late why I can’t let any details about my life be known around here. Not even Loni knows about my mom—or the accident that sent her on the run.

Not that she was a great parent before she had to disappear.

“We should get to work,” I quickly say. “We’ve got a lot to do and haven’t really started any of it.”

He looks like he wants to press me. To dig in and uncover all my dirty secrets. It’s a relief when he appears to let the matter go, shaking his head in bafflement before turning and walking toward the open concept kitchen.

“You want something to drink?” he asks over his shoulder. “We should have beer. Maybe wine.”

“Beer’s fine,” I answer.

“You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” he says, opening the fridge. “We’ve got some soda and juice,