Good Grades & Mystery Games: Chapter 43

“What have you done to her?” Miles asks, storming into the kitchen as I sit by the breakfast bar, eating my cereal. Last time I checked, I was on my best behaviour. My grades have gone up. I’ve felt more relaxed than usual. I might not have got what I wanted by being back in the business, but I’m starting to like this new life a lot more because I get to share it with my favourite person.

“Done to who?” I say through a mouthful of Cheerio’s.

“Scarlett, you idiot.”

“Oh,” I say. I try to think of something that we’ve left unresolved, but I come up empty. All I’ve done recently is whisper filthy things in her ear while we prepare for our last report, eat her out until she’s a whimpering mess, and hold her hand. That’s it. I end up shrugging in response.

“Oh?” he repeats, throwing an empty can at me, hitting me in the arm.

“Okay, ouch?” I say, rubbing the sore spot of my shoulder as he walks further to me.

“Wren is freaking out. Scarlett hasn’t left her room all day because of something that got delivered.” He leans forward and pokes me in the arm. “From.” Another poke. “You. Did you send her a dead body to her room or something?”

“No, you sicko. I just sent her a gift,” I say truthfully, picking up my bowl to put it into the sink. Miles follows me, watching me intently. “Why are you breathing down my neck?”

“Because my girlfriend is worried about her friend because of you. So, you better-”

I cut him off with a condescending hand to his chest, pushing him away from me. “Careful who you’re talking to, Davis, or I’ll personally deliver a dead man into your room.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Just fix it, please,”

“She’s just being dramatic. I’ll go over when she’s cooled down.”

Except when I get to her apartment an hour later, Wren and Kennedy are standing by their kitchen island, arms across their chest, expecting me. It’s like walking into the Lion’s den. I didn’t know two girls could be so fucking terrifying, but they are. They both glared at me, their faces red with anger.

“What did you do, Branson?” Kennedy asks.

“You guys need to chill. She’s just being dramatic. I promise you when I speak to her, she’ll calm down,” I say, doing my best to convince them, but they don’t seem to take it well. I step further into the room, but they make me back up, their protective presence deterring me a little.

“She better. Or so help me God, you will not live to see another day on this earth,” Wren warns. She’s a lot scarier than Miles’s empty threats.

I hold my hands up in surrender, side stepping down the corridor until I reach her room. I knock on the door twice, calling out her name, but she doesn’t respond. I hear the faint footsteps as she unlocks the door. I wait a few seconds before opening it.

As I expected, she’s standing with her back to me, staring at the painting I bought her. Her room must be the biggest one in the apartment because she somehow manages to fit a queen sized bed, a desk, a walk-in closet, and en suite. Her walls are painted a light grey colour with black and white movie posters covering the walls. It’s just so her.

I knew the second she stared at it in the gallery on our fake date as she held my hand, I had to get it for her. It took me longer than I needed to, but I wanted her to have it. For it to be just hers. There’s already so much art in this apartment – courtesy of Kennedy — but I wanted her to have something of her own and the painting makes so much sense for her. ‘You Are Home’ because that’s what my brain tells me whenever I’m around her. She is what home feels like.

“You got this for me?” she whispers. I can’t tell if she’s angry at me for doing this or if she’s that emotional that she can’t look at me. I take a step towards her.

“It was supposed to come tomorrow. I was meant to take you out for dinner first,” I say, admitting the truth. I wanted to show her how good I would be for her and to her before giving her a gift as expensive as this one, but the universe had other plans, apparently.

“How did you even get it?” she asks, slowly turning around to me, her arms still against her chest. My breath nearly gets knocked out of me as she blinks up at me, her brown eyes full of innocence, but I know she’s all sin. Her hair is down again, those deep brown waves bouncing off her shoulders. “It wasn’t for sale.”

“I have my ways,” I say, shrugging, shoving my hands into my pockets. She steps closer to me as she narrows her eyes.

“How much did it cost you?”

“Two hundred thousand.” Her eyes basically bulge out of her head. I rest my hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she sways a little. I had enough savings and I wanted to do something nice for her. I know she’s not a stranger to money, so I’m confused as to why she’s so shocked. “What? Are you mad at me?”

“Evan,” she whispers. “Don’t tell me you used all your savings to buy me this. I don’t even spend that much money on myself. I- I’m going to pay you back.”

I silence her ridiculous rambling with a kiss and she’s still in shock before she melts into me. She kisses me back, but she pushes off my chest as she looks up at me, her eyes filled with worry. “I’m serious. I’m going to pay you back every penny.”

“Stop saying that, Scar. Let me be nice to you,” I say before kissing her again. I hold her face to mine as I kiss the side of her mouth. “Plus, I know a better way you can pay me back. Without money.”

“Yeah?”

“Come to dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight.” She thinks about it for a second, twisting her lip between her teeth before smiling wide. I want to take her on a real date. One where we’re doing it because we want to.

“Okay, but I’m paying.”

“If you pay, you’ve got to wear the red dress.”

“This deal seems like you’re getting the better end of it,” she challenges, holding her chin high.

“Just wear it. I’m begging you.”

“You know I love it when you beg for me, Branson,” she purrs, trailing her hand up my arm. She’s going to have to wait for tonight. Her friends still don’t know what we’re doing and I sure as hell know she wouldn’t keep quiet if I touched her now. “You won’t be able to keep your hands off me if I do.”

“That’s the whole point,” I whisper back.

* * *

She was right. Of course, she was right. I told her to wear the dress and she did. And she looks fucking stunning. She looks like she’s mine and I can’t stop touching her.

On the car ride here, I kept my hand on her thigh, needing the warmth beneath my fingertips. When I stepped out of the car, I held my hand out for her to clasp her palm into mine. When the wind swayed in her face, I brushed her hair out of her eyes and kept my hand linked with hers until we reached the restaurant.

I took her to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, everyone’s heads turning when we walked in like fucking royalty. She held onto my arm, letting me guide her until we got up the stairs to a balcony seat, overlooking the rivers and the mountains.

I said I would be the best boyfriend she ever had and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. To show her how in awe I am of everything she does. How I’m so incredibly proud of her. How every single thing she does lights me up inside.

As the sun starts to fade, I can’t stop looking at her. Her face is flushed like it always is whenever I’m around. She is practically glowing as she talks animatedly with her hands, while I watch her. She still drops her eyes after four seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, glancing to either the plate in front of us or to the scenery.

All I can think about is how full my heart feels to finally have her. How badly I’m in love with her smart, brilliant, and beautiful mind.

“Stop staring at me,” she mutters, pushing her hair behind her ear, showing off her silver earrings. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Angel, you’ve been making me nervous all my life. How do you think I feel?” I say back, chuckling. She shakes her head at me as she tries to hide her giddy smile.

“Can I ask you something?” she says as she picks at the garlic dough balls in the middle of the table. She shoves a piece in her mouth.

“Anything.”

She swallows. “What do you fear the most?”

“Getting all existential on me before the main course, sweetheart?”

She laughs a little. “I’m being serious. We have these great moments — moments where we argue, and you look right through me, and I don’t know…I feel like I want to know everything about you.”

“I’m scared of a lot of things, Angel,” I say truthfully. She leans back in her chair a little, listening to me intently. I want her to know everything about me. Everything. “Growing up, I was always anxious, always waiting for the other ball to drop. I thought that things would happen to me — bad things — if I didn’t do a certain thing. I always had to count to a specific number before falling asleep and if I didn’t, my brain would trick me into believing that I was going to get killed. And that was just at the beginning.” She leans forward now, reaching out to hold onto my hand. “Then when my mom left, I thought that was the other shoe. That it needed to happen to stop the compulsive thoughts, but it didn’t. I just got worse until one day I wouldn’t leave the car because it didn’t feel right. Something in me was telling me that if I left, something bad would happen. So, my dad finally took me to see a doctor and I got diagnosed with OCD and then a few months later, I realised I had anxiety.”

“Why do you think you were anxious all the time?” she asks quietly.

“I guess I just couldn’t believe the life I was living. It felt like I was trapped in someone else’s body. Nothing truly felt like it was mine. Everything felt so fleeting, like it could just disappear at any moment, and I was just constantly in anticipation, waiting for it to happen.”

She nods before dropping her gaze to the table again. “Do you still feel like that now? With me?”

I shake my head. “Not anymore. Not when I know I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine, no matter what.” She squeezes my hand again, rubbing her thumb against it and it makes me relax, feeling that much lighter. “What about you? What’s your biggest fear.”

“Being forgotten,” she replies instantly. “I know it’s stupid because there’s going to be a day where that last person who remembers you disappears, and you just become nothing. That’s what I don’t want to happen. I want my name to mean something when I’m gone.”

It feels like she’s speaking right into my soul. There’s always been that looming fear that no matter how hard I can try to make something of myself, to make myself seen, it’s not going to last forever. Day by day, people are forgetting you. Whether that be strangers or people you once knew. Then one day, there’s going to be that last person who remembers you and they’re going to go too. The worst part is, you’ll never know when it’s going to happen. It just will.

“It already does. You and your name mean so much to me. And it’s going to continue to mean so much to me until I can give you my last name,” I say easily. She narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.

“First of all, what makes you think we’re going to get married? And second of all, what makes you think I want your last name?” she quizzes, sounding and looking genuinely taken aback. I know dropping the marriage hint is way too early, but I know what I want. There’s not going to be anyone else but her. She’s it for me.

“Because I know you. I understand you more than I understand myself, sometimes. We’re not just a one-time thing, anymore, Angel,” I say. Her lips part slightly, her brown eyes huge and wild. “But you’re right. You’d only take my last name to combine it with yours.”

She nods at that, her face breaking into a smile so beautiful it almost hurts. “Exactly. Because we’re equals.”

“Exactly,” I say back.

“Which means no more trying to save me when I’m a damsel in distress. Or buying me expensive things just because.” She says the last two words with an eye roll, including sarcastic air quotes. “I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own, Branson.”

“I know. I just-” I sigh, shaking my head a little. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Scar.”

She snorts. “How many women have you said that to?”

“None.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should because I mean it.”

We spend the rest of the meal talking about everything and nothing. She tells me about her dreams about having her own clothing line for Voss and I tell her that I know she can do it.

She tells me about everything she wishes to do when she finishes NU as we walk back to her apartment. It’s a long walk, but she doesn’t stop talking. She tells me about how she’s excited to see her dad again when he’s home and I tell her that I’d want to meet him too at some point.

She tells me how she wants to get cats when she has her own place, and we argue over her being a cat person and me preferring dogs. Really, I could be convinced into being a cat person if she wants one so badly. After seeing her with Mila, I’m sure I could convince her too.

Even when our throats dry, my feet are aching and she’s laughing at her own jokes, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

As I stand with her outside her apartment door, she shoves her hands into her coat pockets, neither of us wanting the night to end.

“You know what you said earlier?” she asks. I hum in response. “Would you really do anything for me, or were you just saying that?”

“Anything,” I say.

She laughs quietly, her hair brushing in front of her face a little. “You’d even steal a whiteboard for me?”

I groan, throwing my head back. “How many times are we going to have this conversation, Angel? I didn’t steal your damn whiteboard.”

“Oh, so you’d do anything for me, but stealing is where you draw the line?” she retorts, her cheeks flaming as her hands fall to her side. “What if I was being attacked, or stalked, and my stalker had a collection of whiteboards, a fetish of some sorts. You’d have to steal one to prove to the police that your girlfriend isn’t crazy. What then, Branson, huh? What.” She pushes me in the chest. “Then.”

Girlfriend. That word does something insane to my insides. It sits on my chest nicely, like a warm fuzzy cat making itself at home. My girlfriend, Scarlett. I love the sound of that.

“So, you’re my girlfriend, now, huh?” I mock.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s beside the point. I want to know if what you said was actually true.”

I grip her chin in my hand, watching the surprise wash across her face as her eyes search mine. I bring my face closer to hers, nudging our noses together as she takes in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” I murmur against her lips, “I’d steal it for you, tesoro.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Did you just call me-”

I silence her with a kiss. “Just shut up.”