Page 24 of Read With Your Heart

“Want kids of your own?” It’s kind of an intrusive question, but one that people ask all the time. When are you and Trent going to have some babies? Trent loved to joke we were working on it, but it was a lie. He didn’t want them, and it wasn’t work. It was torture. I’d begun to hate sex with him after a while.

“Sorry,” Leon mutters, seeing I’d fallen into my thoughts. “That’s none of my business.”

“Yes, I do,” I blurt, ignoring his apology and squinting up at the rim. “I want lots of them, but Trent never promised me we’d have any, and now I’m not certain it will ever happen.” Trent liked to remind me—too late, I might add—that our wedding vows did not include procreation. He promised love, honor, and respect, which he also didn’t uphold.

“‘He was ever precise in promise-keeping,’” I state, and Leon stares at me. “Shakespeare,” I clarify, thinking he’ll understand as he quoted Shakespeare to me on the night of the stolen notebook. “Never mind. For now, I do have lots of children. They just happen to belong to other people.” It’s my standard, flippant answer.

He watches me a second longer. The silvery gaze digs under my skin. It’s strange that such a cool color lights me on fire. My body heats everywhere. I wonder what a baby with him would be like? It’s such a strange thought that I almost slap my forehead but resist.

“Can we get back to playing?” I stress, taking his words and making them my own.

Leon breaks his assessing glare and turns for his shot. We play on again in rapid succession. I make every basket while he suspiciously misses his. He’s too good to have missed so many in a row.

Eventually, I’m in the lead, and then we go head-to-head again, sharing easier topics like our mutual love of basketball. He thinks by default he’s the greatest fan because, as he puts it, “Hello, Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls.”

I scoff, reminding him Magic Johnson came from the state of Michigan.

“He’s an old guy,” he teases.

“Well, we all grow up some time,” I mock, although some boys never become men. Leon laughs.

We come down to the end of our game, and I have the final shot.

She shoots. She scores. She wins.

I’m no fool, though. I know he let me win, and now I just need to make certain he follows through on the challenge.

“You win,” he says, falsely defeated. His head shakes in mockery. “Guess I lose out on dinner.”

“I’ll make it double or nothing. You really follow through on this, and I’ll make you dinner.”

His brows lift as he claps a hand on the basketball balanced by one palm. “You really want to see me again, don’t you?”

I falter for words.

“I’m teasing. Relax, pretty lady. Got your phone?”

I don’t. It’s up in my classroom, and when I tell him as much, he walks over to a motorcycle. After reaching into the satchel, he pulls out a phone and takes my number instead. I don’t like this turn of events, but I nod when we part ways, hoping he keeps his promises, at least with regard to his sister.

Once I return to my room, I find a text from an unknown caller on my phone.

Vows are but breath and breath a vapor is.

Shakespeare? I’ve no doubt it’s Leon, but I don’t have any idea what he means. I find it curious how he seems to have these lines memorized, and I wonder where he read so much Shakespeare.

Prison, I realize and shake the eerie sensation rippling over my skin. While Leon Ramirez might be dangerous to my body, he’s not menacing. Somehow, I think he’s a man of his word. He’d keep a promise, and I can’t help but smile to myself at the thought.

Lesson 11

Everybody needs help sometimes.

[Leon]

Damn that fucker Trent. He hurt her in more ways than one, and I saw it in her expression when I asked her about kids.

He never promised me children. What does that even mean? When a man marries a woman, that’s a vow of family unless you both agree against it, which clearly isn’t what happened between her and her man. Her perseverance with my sister proves her love of kids, and her soon-to-be ex is a fucking douche for not giving them to her.

Before I leave the parking lot, I scan the area. For some reason, I feel like I’m being watched. I spin in a slow circle, assessing my surroundings, and note the minimal number of cars still parked on the asphalt. Teachers and students park in the same location, and I’m thinking I’ll hang here until I see Tricia leave. Something feels off-kilter to me, and I don’t like it.