Chapter 13: Twelve

Confession #11: But I enjoyed talking to her, anyway.

“Comfy?”

I glanced at Reese blankly.

I’d just set my bag on the bench between us so no one could even suggest anything inappropriate might be going on here. But I must’ve made too big of a production of making us look non-romantic, because she sounded beyond amused.

When I met her gaze, blue-blue eyes crinkled with a smile. That little obsessed part inside me sighed in contentment.

Turning her attention back to her food as she stabbed a crouton as if she hadn’t just made my heart go ka-thump, she said, “I feel like your mom totally played me, by the way.”

At the mention of my mom, I cringed. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I told her she needs to tell people about Sarah’s condition whenever she interviews them. But she insists it takes her five times longer to find a willing sitter when she does.”

Nodding, Reese picked out another crouton and chewed. “I don’t see how I’m allowed to watch Sarah at all,” she went on. “Not that I’m complaining, because your sister is absolutely the sweetest thing ever, but… Doesn’t she need, like, a trained medical professional watching her or something?”

I shrugged. “No. I watch her all the time, and I have no medical training. It’s not like you have to give her any of her prescriptions or treatments when you watch her either. That all lands on the day sitter, who, okay, ~is~ a retired nurse, but government programs pay ~her~ wages, whereas your job is off the records since you only work part-time every couple of evenings. Mom and I pay ~you~ cash out of pocket.”

“Oh.” She paused eating to frown thoughtfully. When she glanced my way, I caught sight of some crouton crumbs at the corner of her mouth. The urge to wipe them away for her—or, hell, to lick them away—was strong. I could so easily just picture myself leaning in and lapping everything up, then grinning into her eyes as she laughed over it all. It was such a warm, comfortable vision I felt a little sad that it couldn’t come true.

But then she unconsciously licked at the crumbs, cleaning them before I could even tell her they were there, and she pushed a strand of hair out of her face that the breeze had fluttered into her eyes. “You know,” she went on with no clue how much she affected me. “I kind of freaked out when I saw her picture board. I thought she couldn’t talk at all.”

I laughed. “The ~picture~ board?” ~No~. “Mom didn’t really show you that, did she? God, Sarah hasn’t used that stupid thing in over a year, and she only needed it in extreme situations when she was too excited or distressed to talk properly.” I growled in aggravation. “I swear, I love my mother to death, but sometimes the woman is way too overprotective.” And at other times, she was way too ~under~ protective. “She can treat Sarah as if she’s still two.”

Reese nodded. “Yeah, I figured the board was unnecessary about one-point-eight seconds after your mom left when I touched a picture of the TV and Sarah ~rolled~ her eyes at me.”

I had to laugh. “Sounds like Sarah.”

“And the whole blended supper thing…” Reese went on.

“Also unnecessary,” I admitted, growing a little embarrassed about how useless Mom had made poor Sarah look.

Reese only snorted. “Well, I should hope so. When she took a cookie off the table, I almost had a heart attack, trying to remember the steps to CPR in case she choked.” She leaned toward me, making my breath stall as her scent filled my nostrils. “Actually, after seeing that, I made us some s’mores for our campfire later on.”

I leaned in too, because how could I not? I think I could sit here and just smell her for the rest of my life. “I know,” I murmured, grinning. “She told me.”

She shivered as if my nearness affected her the same way it affected me. My mind spun with possibilities. I considered nothing but the fact that she might like me the same way I liked her. And fuck, what an addictive thought that was. I started to lean just a little closer, test the waters, when she suddenly pulled away and returned to her meal as if nothing had happened.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

~Christ. ~What the hell had I been thinking? I could have nothing with this girl. Just sitting here talking to her was probably more forbidden than I should’ve dared. Why had my mind been going ~there~?

Forcing myself to remain chill, I answered, “She is.”

Reese opened a packet of ranch dressing and poured it over her salad. “It’s a shame she wasn’t invited to that slumber party.”

Gritting my teeth over the reminder, I muttered, “Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I ~know~.” Watching her stab a piece of lettuce, I had to ask, “Do you always eat rabbit food?”

“Hmm?” She looked at her salad as if just then realizing what she was eating. Then she rolled her eyes my way. “Uh, you ate what I was going to have for breakfast. What do ~you~ think?”

“Aha!” I cried, pointing. “I knew that was ~your~ breakfast you gave me.”

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to deny it, but then her shoulders slumped as she stabbed more lettuce. “Whatever,” she mumbled. “I bet you didn’t.”

“Oh, I ~knew~,” I insisted, smug about the fact I’d been able to read her so well and had actually pegged the situation right. “You think a drink bought for a ~guy~ would be a white chocolate mocha espresso? ~Really~?”

She frowned. “Hey, I thought you said you liked it.”

“I did,” I assured her. “It was way too sweet though. Like girly sweet.” I grinned and lowered my voice. “Must be your lucky day. I just so happen to like it extra sweet.”

Instead of looking amused, her scowl only grew. “You are so…”

Falling prey to the playfulness of the moment, I teased, “Charming? Handsome? Intriguing?”

She sent me a dry glance. “I was going to say confusing.” But something in her eyes glittered with agreement over the other terms.

Pleased with myself, I nodded. “We’ll slot that under intriguing.”

With a sniff, she rolled her eyes. “Actually, I think it really deserves its own classification.”

“Fine. Whatever you like.” I shrugged, letting her have her way.

“I ~do~ like,” she sassed back, removing the tomatoes from her salad and piling them onto a nearby napkin.

“Aren’t you going to eat those?” I asked, not sure why I was so interested in her food. I wanted to learn more about ~her~. But I couldn’t just come right out and ask those kinds of questions, so I guessed I was trying the old “~what’s your fantasy~?” tactic, asking about food instead, so I could glean her personality from whatever response she gave.

And she was simply adorable when she wrinkled her nose. “What? My tomatoes? ~Eww~.”

“How can you not like tomatoes?” I demanded, blinking.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s nothing personal against them. I’m sure they’re very pleasant in a social setting, and they’re fine in, like, ketchup and spaghetti and stuff. I just don’t want them on my salad.”

I loved that answer. It was cute and fun and original. I stared at her tomatoes, trying not to think about how much more this made me like ~her~, when she said, “Do…~you~ want them?”

I wasn’t going to turn down anything she offered me, be it cast-off tomato chunks or sex right here on this bench in front of everyone. This girl had me ~that~ fascinated.

So I took the tomatoes and plunked one into my mouth, because I really was hungry.

“Thanks,” I said, appreciating the gift. “Mmm. These are perfect. Nice and juicy. Do you have any salt?”

She looked dazed as she watched me eat. It took her a moment to blink herself back to reality, glance around, and say, “Uh… You’re in luck. I ~do~.”

She tossed a miniature packet of salt at me, and I caught it with a smile. “Thanks. Again.”

Catching her watching me as I sprinkled my tomatoes, I said, “What? Don’t you put salt on your tomatoes?”

I swear, this was the strangest conversation I’d ever had with anyone. I was talking about tomatoes, for crying out loud. But it was also the most fun I’d had chatting with anyone in quite a while, so I didn’t even care what we were discussing. Just as long as she kept talking to me, I was ready to discuss freaking salted tomatoes.

Reese sent me a get-real glance. “Seeing as I don’t even ~eat~ tomatoes, no. I was just…sorry.” She blushed suddenly and glanced away. “I seem to have a slight staring problem today.”

My guts twisted with need when I realized she hadn’t been staring at me because she thought my salted tomatoes were strange; she’d just liked looking at me. I ordered myself to calm the fuck down, and I pretended to act as if I’d known this all along.

“I noticed,” I said before popping a tomato chunk into my mouth.

She wrinkled her nose as if annoyed by my answer, which strangely only made me happier.

“Not only do you ~eat~ rabbit food,” I said, pointing at her, “but I swear you must ~be~ one.”

“Huh?” She tipped her head to the side and frowned.

“That’s the second time you’ve wrinkled your nose at me,” I explained. “Total bunny move.”

She looked momentarily caught off guard, as if looking like a rabbit was something to be guilty about, but then something caught her eye over my shoulder and her expression brightened.

“Oh! Hey, Dr. Janison,” she called, waving. “Good morning. Those are some kick-ass shoes.”

I glanced over, my gaze down, since Reese had mentioned shoes. And wow, they were definitely ~some~ shoes.

Four-inch heels, easily a fancy name brand, I’m sure, and way too ostentatious for a mere community college setting.

I was mentally rolling my eyes at them when the woman Reese had just called Dr. Janison spoke. “Good morning,” she said in a voice that was way too familiar. “And thank you.”

I looked up, already knowing what I would see, and dreading it just as much.

Dr. Janison looked only vaguely the same as she had last night when she’d been naked on her bed, glaring at me for saying the name ~Reese~ while I’d been inside her. Now, she was decked out in a form-fitting dress, makeup on thick, and hair styled to the nines.

Reese might know her as Dr. Janison, and Patricia had called her Monica. But to me, she was 318 Willowbrook Terrace.

Fuck, I’d been hoping to God I would never see her again.

Then I realized I was not only seeing her again, but I was seeing her with Reese next to me.

Oh, shit. ~Reese~.

“I’m Ree—” Reese was beginning to say, introducing herself and causing my heart to plummet as everything hit the fan.

But then Monica finally glanced my way, and the shock in her expression caused Reese to fall mute. The teacher physically jerked backward away from me before gasping a hoarse, “Mr. Lowe.”

Reese whipped her attention to me, but I’d already glanced away from Monica. “Dr. Janison,” I returned, since that’s what Reese had called her.

I wasn’t sure what to do. If she found out this was Reese, the very Reese I’d shouted about last night, she’d no doubt run and tell Patricia before I could stop her.

I had to protect Reese and keep her identity a secret.

Before I could come up with a plan, however, Reese did the most insane thing ever. She reached out and set her hand on my forearm that I had resting on the table. Her fingers were soft and warm and felt really good, but holy shit! What was she ~doing~?

I glanced at her face, only to see her scowling slightly at Monica.

Holy fuck. I think she was trying to protect me, like she thought the professor was being all censorious because of my reputation, and she was either trying to reassure me that not everyone thought I was a shit stain piece of trash, or she wanted to show ~Dr. Janison~ that I wasn’t. Either way, it was sweet. Totally misguided, but so damn sweet.

And it ruined everything. Monica zeroed in on Reese’s hand and immediately glanced between us, connecting dots I never wanted her to know even existed.

“I found a pair of knock-off Jimmy Choos similar to that style online one time,” Reese went on, patting my arm in reassurance. “In a silver pump, and I wanted them so bad. But even the replicas were more than I could afford.”

Monica smirked, her expression so superior and smug I wanted to shove her away from us for even polluting the same air as Reese. “I do have expensive taste,” she said, glancing knowingly at me.

Jesus. Could this moment get any worse?

Yes, apparently, it could.

“Is our meeting to discuss your class schedule still on for next ~Thursday~, Mr. Lowe?” Monica glanced toward Reese as she asked, with a glint in her eyes that chilled my skin.

That’s when I knew. She’d figured out ~this~ was the girl whose name I had cried out the night before. And she would use it to extort me into doing whatever she wanted.

If anything bad happened to Reese because of this, it would be my fault.

She was innocent, completely unaware of the danger I’d gotten her into. She didn’t deserve to be put into this situation.

I had to fix it.

So, I muttered, “Of course,” as I sent Monica a hard stare, unable to believe she was threatening an innocent girl just to get her selfish needs met.

“Good,” she said, beginning to smile. She flickered another glance at Reese. I wanted to snarl at her for looking anywhere near my friend. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

With that, she turned away and strutted off, making me loathe her with almost as much intensity as I hated her friend, Patricia.