“I’ve made no plans here. I knew you were coming, but I was so…terrified and nervous and unprepared, and now I have no clue what I’m doing. Worst date ever.”
“Best date ever. You told me I’m not allowed to leave?”
“Did I?”
“Yeah? I’m moving in. Staying here forever. Remember?”
Fuck. Shit. What? He was laughing, though. Right in my face.
“Fox, I don’t fucking care. You have to do what you have to do here, and I’m having the best time. As long as I can be with you, I’m fine. I can even survive for a bit without food.”
“I’m getting food.” I felt like a truant child. What the hellhad I done here?
“I’ll get dressed.”
“I really want to fuck you.”Priorities, Fox.I needed to get those straight here.
“You can do that, anytime.”
“Food?”
“Food first. Fuck later.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me, and just that made me finally exhale the breath I’d been holding.
I took the hits, coming thick and fast, turning up at the canteen, better dressed this time. No robes on the weekend, but at least a shirt and tie. Blazer. Hair swept up. Boys everywhere. A dog. Two ducks being chased out the back door. Normal. All normal.
“You have a man?” Cook whispered, as I grabbed a container and started loading up food.
“I do.” I was blushing. Swallowing.
“Good for you. And you didn’t bring him down? Seriously, Riley? You going to make him eat out of a plastic box when we have perfectly good plates here?”
“Cook,” I said sternly.
She tutted. Loudly.
“Riley, you need to file the paperwork.”
“Done,” I snarled at Jones, who was now standing far too close to me.
“I can’t do my job unless you do.”
“It’s done,” I lied. Well. I fled again, half running across the courtyard, up the steps and kicked my door open, my arms loaded with containers, balancing a stack of toast on top.
“Have you got a valid criminal records check? Something like that?” I said, turning around and kicking the door shut.
“Yes. I can email it to you,” he said, looking a little confused. Fully dressed. Cutlery on the little table, the chairs neatly set up. Like we were civilly having breakfast. The kettle steaming on the kitchenette counter, making everything feel so domesticated that I wanted to cry.
“I should have filed paperwork to have you visit. I didn’t, because I’m an idiot, and now I need to do it before the entire school decides I’m incompetent and dangerous.”
“Oh stop it,” he said softly. “You’re overreacting. I’ll get you all the paperwork you want, but you have to stop panicking. It’s just me. And I’m not going to go out and get you into any trouble.”
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t,” he said, and then he took all the boxes from my arms. One by one. Put them gently on the table, and then he wrapped me up. Hugged me so tight that it felt like he was glueing me back together again. Healing all the little cracks. All my insecurities, stupidity and wildly irresponsible decisions? It was fine. I was fine. He was here.
