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“No, I’m saying I’m not okay with hurting people even if they’ve hurt me.” It’s an honest answer. “I’ve seen the code. Even if I wanted to stop working on it, I can’t. My mind won’t stop turning over the possible solutions.”
I raise my fingers to my head and they flutter about like the movement can help him understand the organized chaos. “I don’t know how to describe it, but when my mind doesn’t have something to work on, I feel like someone’s peeling off my skin. My mom says I never relax, but how do I explain that crossword puzzles and those mind games on my phone are what help me unwind?”
I wish I would learn to shut up around him. I’ve spent too many years trying to keep this part of myself locked tight so no one can use it as ammunition against me and here I am handing it out freely.
“You’re the coolest damn person I’ve met,” he says.
On the inside, I’m smiling like an idiot. I may also be smiling like an idiot on the outside.
“If you’re working on my code,” he says, “then I’m still your bodyguard. Deal’s still in place, and if it makes you feel better, then I won’t involve the club.”
My happy moment withers. “You know the whole bodyguard thing was a sham.”
Razor’s mouth edges up and my breath catches. Good God, he’s gorgeous with a frown, but he’s perfection with a smile. “I thought you were trying to hire me last week.”
“Would you hate me if I told you that you scared the hell out of me last week and I said some stupid things I’m sorry for?”
“I’d like you more than I already do for being truthful. There’s not too many people who can do honesty.”
The way he stares at me, as if he likes who I am, causes me to become shy. I run my fingers through my hair and pretend I’m crazy interested in the ends, because I have no idea what to do with myself now.
Razor doesn’t propel the conversation along, so I do what any other self-respecting seventeen-year-old would do: change the subject. “Mr. Duncan told me about this class yesterday and he let me take the book home, so I read the syllabus and—”
“You memorized it,” Razor cuts me off with a grin.
I bob my head back and forth. “Maybe.” Yes. “Anyhow, there are projects and Mr. Duncan said we can do them together, but I’m not sure you’ll want to work with me, because—”
“I do.”
I blow out a frustrated sigh. “Razor—”
“We’re working together. You’re smart, I’m not.”
“You’re one of four people who tested into AP physics. I’m not buying what you’re selling. But anyhow, you need to remember how I explained I’m not good at math, and there is math in physics, so—”
He slices his hand across his throat, ending the discussion, and I snap my mouth shut. While me and big, bad hot biker guy may be forming some sort of strange friendship, I’m not pushing him into conversations he doesn’t want to have.
“Back to the deal.” There’s a glint to Razor’s eyes that’s a hundred percent mischief and I’m tempted to play along. “You crack my code and I’ll continue to watch your back, and I’ll even sweeten the pot. If you and your friends want to go out dancing, I’ll be DD, mop the floor with any boys that try to cop a second-base feel, then I’ll make sure you get safely home.”
I swallow at the thought of Razor being the guy stealing a second-base feel. I haven’t been that far before. Bet he has. I bet he’s full of all sorts of fun, fascinating moves. “Thank you for the offer, but my clubbing days are officially over.”
“That’s a shame.” His eyes wander the length of my body like he sees beyond my clothes. “I loved the blue dress.”
Um... I’ve lost the ability to speak or to think or to do anything, so I flip through our textbook. Words. Words would be good. Any word. Preferably words that make sense.
“If we’re working together, then you’ll need to read the syllabus today. The first video is tomorrow. Did you know that everything falls at the same rate? Like if someone was to chuck you and me off a building at the same time, we’d both fall at the same rate of motion because of gravity? It’s called acceleration of gravity. If you exclude wind resistance, everything, and I mean everything, falls at the same rate of 9.81 meters per second. You, me, cats, dogs, hedgehogs. We’ll be doing a project on that.”
Yep, words.
“We’re going to toss hedgehogs off a building?” he asks.
I try not to giggle at his bad joke and fail. “An egg.”
“Good on the hedgehog. That could get messy. Speaking of throwing people off buildings, we have two options of how to handle Hewitt.”
And the conversation was going so well... “What do you mean?”
“I can try scaring the hell out of him,” he says, like we’re discussing the weather.
