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“Cleo?”
I jump so high, I spill coffee on my shawl. I jerk my gaze to Kellan’s. “Yes?”
“I asked you if Milasy’s the only one who knows, who’s not your client.”
I glance around, trying to get my bearings, and find we’re on the south east side of town. We pass a police precinct, and my stomach twists uncomfortably.
“Yeah, she is. I think she is. Actually—” I huff—“she probably told Steph.” I rub my eyes, which really do feel puffy.
Kellan nods, and I chew the inside of my cheek. My gaze tugs to the mirror on my side of the car. I watch the police precinct shrink behind us. How weird that Kellan is a law-breaker. I can’t seem to reconcile that with his day-to-day existence: SGA president; frat boy. Why masquerade like that? Doesn’t it get tiring? I look over at him. With his beautiful, blank face pointed toward the road and one long-fingered hand draped around the wheel, he looks more politico than kingpin. I picture myself unbuttoning that dress shirt. I lick my lips and blow my breath out. “Have you ever had any trouble with the cops?”
He makes a right onto a bumpy county road that takes us out into the country. His mouth tightens fractionally. “They know the alias I use, but they don’t know it’s me. There’ve been a few close calls.”
“What’s your alias?”
He shakes his head.
“Aw, c’mon.”
He slides his eyes from the road to mine. “Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“I’ll whisper it between your legs.”
My cheeks and neck burn. It takes effort to avoid squirming in my seat. He makes me so hot. So flustered. A thousand things line up to spill out of my mouth. I swallow hard and pick the most concrete one. “You still want me to help you deal?”
“I can handle Milasy, Cleo. Nothing will get out.” He turns onto a highway that runs south of town.
“So... same offer?” I’m kind of surprised. Surprised and relieved as hell. I guess he can tell, because he lifts one eyebrow.
“You are what I want. And you haven’t changed.”
I grab a fistful of my shawl and squeeze it in my right hand. Why does he want me? Sex. But it isn’t just for sex. It’s business, too. He doesn’t want me stealing any more of his clients. But I told him my supply has dried up. So... it can’t be that. Right?
I look out the window, struggling to keep my questions off my face. This is just another reason not to warm up to him, not even a little. I don’t trust him.
We’re surrounded by verdant, green peanut fields; I imagine myself small, a child, running through them. I look down the red-dirt plow lines streaked between tufts of crop, trying to feel hypnotized by the subtle shifting of the lines as our road curves.
“Is it because I’m a pain in your ass?” I murmur.
“What?”
I move my gaze from the peanut fields to the winding road ahead of us. It’s framed by tall pines. “Is that why you want me?” I ask. “Because... I’m not overly impressed with you—like everyone else is?”
I wonder at his face, but I refuse to look at it. I just sit there, acting self-contained: the kind of girl that kicks guys in the balls. I’m her, too, after all. She just tends to go away when he says certain things.
With my eyes on the thick trees, his voice comes as a shock. “I watched you for a while before I found you in the union that day.”
This... is a surprise. A troubling surprise.
He must notice my tension, because he hastens to add, “I wasn’t creeping on you. I was keeping track of the competition. To start with. But I liked you pretty quickly. I think it’s... the way you moved. From class to class. I noticed that you stop a lot. You stop to look at things. I think you’re forgetful,” he says, his lips quirking, “because you pause a lot and kneel down and open up your bag to get things—like that glossy shit girls put on their lips. And you’ll put it on right there. When you lean down, your hair falls in your eyes. You push it away, and it’s hilarious because I can see as you bat it away that you’re pissed off that it dared to get in your eyes in the first place.
“You’d throw your book bag back on, and sometimes you would run if you were late. One time I saw you smoke a cigarette. I don’t know why you did it that day, but I could tell you were
enjoying yourself, because you let your head hang back. You were standing under a tree—that willow, by the south quad pond. You sat under it and pulled your knees up, and I could see what you were thinking almost. You’re what you seem to be, Cleo.”
Unlike him.
