What was he upset about? I was the one whose reputation was in the toilet. “I don’t know. Scooter. Rhys. Some guy named Josh who I’ve never even seen before. Girls are glaring at me. Everyone is whispering.”
He cursed. “I guess they just assumed . . . my reputation makes people think they know me, that they have some insight into what I would do.”
Was I guilty of that? Thinking I knew him when really all I knew was his reputation? “I know you’re a jerk for not telling people the truth.”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters.” I swung around the railing and went up two steps. “You can emphasize to people that nothing happened.”
“They probably won’t believe me.”
“Why? You also have a rep for being a liar?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t want people believing something about me that’s not true.”
“Would it be so bad if people thought you liked me?”
“But that’s not what they think. They’re convinced I hopped on your bike, then hopped into bed with you. That I have no standards.”
“Standards? Do you think I’m that far beneath you?”
“No, stop twisting this around. I’m talking about people—guys especially—thinking that I don’t have enough respect for myself to believe that I deserve better than some guy who is just passing by. It’s about respect. For me. For you, even. For a relationship. I want a guy to ask me out because he wants to get to know me. Because he likes me. Not because he thinks I’m an easy booty call.”
Fletcher studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s fair, so okay.”
Hands on my hips, I glowered. “Okay what?”
“I’ll let it be known that nothing happened.”
With three days left of school, it might not make a difference. But maybe it would. “Thanks.”
The word came out hard and I didn’t sound grateful in the least, but I was still upset, and I didn’t quite trust that he couldn’t have nipped this in the bud earlier.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you spilled your tea over my head.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned my hip against the railing. “I considered locking you in a choke hold.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, like you could do that.”
“I know self-defense.” My dad had made sure of it.
Silence eased in around us. My anger at Fletcher dissipated. Somewhat. “Why would you make a bet like that?”
“It’s what guys do.”
“So juvenile.”
“Easy money.”
The anger sparked again. “I wasn’t easy.”
I shoved myself away from the railing, started down—
Pain shot through my left calf, my leg folded. I grabbed the railing with one hand, my calf with the other. “Shoot!”
The stairs vibrated as Fletcher flew around me. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a cramp.” Pressing my toes onto the step, I tried to stretch out the muscle. Not enough room. I shoved on Fletcher. “Move.”
“Sit.”
“Get outta—”
His hands came around my bare calf, choking back my words. He lifted my leg, giving me no choice except to drop down onto the step. “Fletcher—”
“Do you have to argue with me about everything?” he asked as he nimbly untied my sneaker. “You should have taken the time to cool down.”
“Which is what I was going to do when you stopped me.”
He tugged off my shoe, dropped it. It bounced before falling between the steps to the ground. He knelt. With just the right amount of pressure, he bent my foot back with one hand while the other gently massaged the knot in my muscle. His hands were large and warm. I almost moaned as the pain began to lessen. He must have felt the knot dissipating because he sat with my leg across his lap and began using both hands to knead the aching muscles. Then I had to bite back a moan of pleasure. It felt so good.
He took half a second to peel off my sock and toss it at me. I snatched it, stuffed it into a pocket, while his fingers returned to working their magic.
“It’s okay now,” I felt obligated to admit.
“Give it another minute. It could cramp back up.”
I was willing to give it ten minutes, thirty, a hundred. I didn’t usually notice guys’ hands, but something about his was intriguing. Maybe it was the fact that they were caressing my skin with deliberate long strokes interlaced with little squeezes. Every now and then he would return his attention to my foot, bend it, stretch the muscle in my calf.
“You’re good,” I said.
“Thought you thought I was a bad boy.”
“I meant that you’re good at massaging.”
“Lot of practice.”
And that pretty much broke the spell he’d been weaving. I didn’t want to think about all the girls he’d practiced on. I pulled my leg free. He seemed at once surprised and irritated. I stood. “It’s fine now.”
He gave me a half-smile. “Just let me know if you need help working out another cramp.”
“I think I can manage it.”
I started down the stairs. He didn’t try to stop me. I slipped under the steps and snagged my shoe. When I straightened, he was standing, watching me, and I was glad that he hadn’t had a good view of my butt from where he was. “Thanks for the help with the cramp.”
It seemed like I was always thanking him.
“No problem. Like I said, anytime.”
“Weren’t you supposed to meet Dad at Smiley’s?”
“Yeah, I need to head over there, but I wanted to get this straightened out first.”
“Why? You’ll make a bad impression with Smiley and make my dad mad.”
“I called to let them know I’d be a little late.”
I considered putting on my shoe so I wasn’t lopsided, but let it go. “Why did you want to take care of this first?”
“Because your dad is a cop; he’s observant. He would have known something was wrong between us, and there is no way I would have come out of the story looking good and still been welcome here.”
“I didn’t think you really wanted to be here.”
Shrugging, he rubbed his hands on his jeans. “It’s not so bad.”
“High praise indeed for the Watkins’s hospitality.”
“I like it when you’re not mad. The girls I’m usually with . . . they don’t care about their reputations. Or they care but they care about being popular or desired or . . . they don’t care about the things you do. You’re different.”
Before I started to blush, I said, “Everyone’s different. And you should go.”
“Yep.”
With an uneven stride, I walked to the gate. I felt his gaze on me the entire way. Now if I could just forget the way it had felt to have his hands on me.
Chapter 10
FLETCHER
I loved the smell of engine oil and grease. I felt right at home when I stepped into Smiley’s garage. Mr. Smiley—or Smiley, as he told me to call him—was an odd-looking guy with big ears and a smile that took up most of his face. He looked really glad to see me and enthusiastically shook my hand when Avery’s dad introduced us.
With pride, he took us on a tour of the place. Running my hand over some of the tools reminded me of working on cars with my dad—before my mom died, before he lost his job, before everything went to shit.
“So what do you think?” Smiley asked. “Think you’d like working here?”
I didn’t have to look at Avery’s dad standing there to know my answer. “Yes, sir. I’d love working here. I could start Friday.”
He furrowed a brow that was wrinkled with years. “Graduation is Saturday, isn’t it?”
My gut clenched at the reminder. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s make it Monday then. Enjoy your last few days of high school.”
I could have told him that was impossible. School and I didn’t get along, but I didn’t see
the point. I thanked him. He shook my hand again. Then I walked out with Detective Watkins. He wore a suit. I heard a slight creak of leather and knew he wore a gun holstered beneath his jacket. The first time I’d met him he’d been in uniform and had explained all the various notches, loops, compartments, and other aspects of his duty belt. I’d been twelve at the time. Scared. He’d made me feel safe.
“I was hoping we’d have a few minutes to grab a quick cup of coffee,” he said now, “but it’s almost time for supper. We should probably head home.”
“About that.” He stopped walking to face me squarely. I cleared my throat. “I appreciate being included in the family time and everything—”
“It was part of our agreement. You’re a member of the family. You eat with us, play with us, and have the same curfew as Avery.”
“Yes, sir, but I’m feeling like I can’t breathe. I have some school stuff to take care of tonight. You let Avery take care of school stuff, right?”
He studied me a minute, and I wondered if he knew I wasn’t being exactly honest about what I wanted to do. “I know it’s been an adjustment, but you’re right. School comes first. Still, there is a curfew.”
“I won’t be late.” It was so strange to have to check in with someone. I watched him get in his car. I straddled my motorcycle, took my time putting on my helmet, and waited a couple of heartbeats until he’d pulled out and was on the street. Then I took off in the direction of the school. Two lights down, when I knew Detective Watkins could no longer see me, I hooked a right and headed to Joe’s Pizzeria. It was a popular hangout and they had the best pizza buffet in town.
The parking lot was already crowded when I arrived. I parked in the area designated for motorcycles and headed in. Travel posters with scenes from Italy dotted the walls. Although I didn’t think the owner, Joseph McFarland, had ever been to Italy.
“Hey, Fletcher,” Wendy McFarland, his daughter, greeted me. “You here for the buffet?”
We had math together, flirted a little, but had never gotten together. She seemed just a little too nice. She didn’t give me a hard time like Avery did. Wasn’t sure why it suddenly struck me that I liked the way Avery never cut me any slack.
“Not really.” I glanced around, pointed. “I just need to talk with somebody.”
She smiled, winked. “Help yourself to a drink if you want. On the house.”
“Thanks, but I won’t be here that long.”
I sauntered between the tables until I arrived at one that had three couples sitting at it. Grinning at two girls sitting at a nearby table, I asked, “Can I borrow this chair for a minute?”
One smiled brightly. “Sure. You can join us if you want, Fletcher.”
“Thanks. I just need the chair.” I pulled it out, turned it around, set it beside Scooter Gibson, and straddled it, crossing my arms over the back.
“Hey, Fletch, my man,” Scooter said. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. Grab a plate, join us.”
He’d told me earlier in the day that he’d be here this evening. “Just need to talk to you about that bet.”
He gave me a sly smile that made me want to punch him. Had he grinned at Avery like that? “I’ve got no hard feelings that I lost.”
“I didn’t think you did, but there seems to be a misunderstanding. The bet was that Avery Watkins would leave with me.”
He winked. “Yeah, so how was she in the sack?”
Both my hands fisted into tight balls. “She left with me. That’s it. Nothing else happened.”
His face dropped like I’d just told him I’d totaled his Corvette. “But when a girl goes with you, something always happens.”
Not always, although I was never going to admit that. I had a strict kiss-and-don’t-tell policy. Rumors, what the girls told people, I couldn’t control. “Nothing happened with Avery. I need you to make sure people know that or I won’t be happy.” I tapped a finger near my bruises. “You don’t want to become the other guy.”
He held up both hands. “You don’t have to threaten me.”
“You’ll fix it?” I asked.
“I’ll try, sure, but the ‘nothing happened’ rumors don’t travel as fast as the ‘something happened’ rumors.”
I met the gaze of everyone at the table who had stopped eating to watch and listen with interest. Then my gaze landed back on Scooter as I held between my fingers the twenty he and the others had pooled together to cover the bet. I was going to do whatever it took. “Make it right,” I ordered.
Nodding, he pushed my hand back. “Keep it. You met the literal terms of the bet. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks.” Standing, I returned the chair to its table and sauntered from the restaurant. He was right: it was always harder to undo the damage. I knew that all too well.
It was strange hearing my footsteps echoing through the hallways. Shadows had begun to fall but it was still light out, would be for another hour or so. I never returned to school after the last bell rang. It was odd being here now. I’d passed two people who were monitoring the hallways and heard a couple of locker doors slam. Then I arrived at Mr. Turner’s room.
It was one of the rooms where students could go for math tutoring. There were four tutors, one at each corner. Each one was helping another student. Three of them had their desks arranged so they were facing the person they were explaining things to.
But not Avery. Her desk was right beside Brian Saunders.
Standing just inside the doorway, I watched as Avery explained a problem to him, her finger pointing out one thing and another, her shoulder brushing against his. I didn’t want to think about all the nights that I could have been that close to her while she explained things to me.
Because of the way they were facing, I could see the concentration on her face. And more, the passion for what she was teaching. Or was it the act of teaching itself that excited her?
For me, school had always been a chore. Just get the work done, move on. Learn the bare minimum that I needed to get by. I thought about all the times I’d seen Avery hauling a backpack to and from the parking lot, her shoulders rounded slightly like she was carrying a heavy load. I’d always wondered why she lugged all those books around. It occurred to me that she might not be smart because of her IQ. She might really enjoy learning.
She said something to Brian. He nodded, began making some marks with his pencil. I knew the moment she realized he was going to arrive at the correct answer. Her eyes softened and her lips curled up ever so slightly. I thought about how Brian would feel when he looked up and saw the joy radiating from her face, when he realized he’d gotten it right.
I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t want to see him grinning at her, see her smile growing even wider, her eyes sparkling even brighter.
I spun on my heel and headed back down the hallway knowing that where Avery was concerned, I seemed capable only of getting it wrong.
Chapter 11
AVERY
“Thanks, Avery,” Wanda Ford said, as she shoved her algebra book into her backpack. “If I can just keep all this straight in my head through tomorrow morning, I might make it.”
“I would say anytime,” I told her, “but we’re almost finished with school.”
“Thank God. See you around.” She hurried out through the door.
She was my last student to tutor, and we’d gone a little long because she was struggling with some of the concepts. As I gathered up my things, I wasn’t surprised to see Rajesh Nahar standing near the door. We both tutored in this room, and he always walked me out to the parking lot as though he didn’t quite trust the building to be completely empty this time of night. I appreciated the way he watched out for me. We’d been friendly academic rivals through most of our school years.
After turning off the light, he followed me into the hallway and closed the door. I always felt like a lumbering giant next to him because the top of his head didn’t quite reach my shoulder. Kendall said I worried about my height too
much. Maybe I did. It never seemed to bother Rajesh.
“So do you have your speech written?” I asked.
“Most of it.” Although his parents were from India, he’d been born here. “I’m very grateful for the scholarships that I received for graduating second, but I have to admit that I’m really nervous about speaking in front of everyone.”
“You’ll do great,” I assured him. “Although I’ve heard if you get nervous, you should imagine everyone in their underwear.”
He released a small laugh. “I’m afraid they will be imagining me in my underwear.”
“They won’t. Besides, everyone likes you. They want to hear what you have to say.”
He looked askance at me. “Sometimes I wonder if you got an answer or two wrong on an exam just so you wouldn’t graduate ahead of me and have to give a speech.”
“I’m not brilliant enough to figure out how to scam the system,” I told him. Then I smiled. “But you’re right. I would have if I could have. No speeches for me!”
He laughed loudly and knocked his shoulder against my arm. He was one of the few people with whom I was comfortable talking about my grades and schoolwork. He studied more than I did. Whenever we could, we’d partnered up for projects because we knew neither of us would slack off.
He shoved open the door and held it while I walked out of the building. Then we were heading for the parking lot.
“I know it makes me a geek,” he said, “but I’m going to miss all this.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “But let’s keep it our secret. People already think we’re geeks.”
The sun was in its final stages of disappearing beyond the horizon; twilight was hovering and would soon give way to darkness. Only a couple of cars remained in the student parking lot. A couple of cars and a motorcycle—parked beside Trooper.
Fletcher was lounging on the hood of my car, his back against the windshield, his ankles crossed.
“Do I need to toss him off your car?” Rajesh asked, and I fought really hard not to laugh. Like little Rajesh could toss buff Fletcher anywhere, although I did appreciate his offer.
“Nah, it’s fine,” I told him. “But thanks.”