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He nods. “I’ll pick some up then. And twelve thirty.”
“Twelve thirty what?”
“I’ll pick you up Saturday at twelve thirty. Be ready.”
He’s said so many things in so few words that it takes me a few seconds to make sense of it all. And when I do, something moves in my chest again.
Something warm and cozy.
Like his sweater from the other night when I hugged him.
“Are you saying that you’ll pick up Mexican food for me on Saturday because it’s my favorite? And that you’ll also come pick me up at school at twelve thirty?” I ask to clarify.
“If you’re expecting me to cook for you at my house, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” he says, thrusting his hands inside his pockets. “In all my years of packing lunches and cooking dinners, I’m afraid I never really learned the skill. And yes, I’ll come pick you up at the school, because you don’t really know where I live, do you?”
That warm cozy feeling in my chest moves down to my stomach and I shake my head. “You don’t have to do any of that. I can just take the bus and I —”
“You’re not taking the bus.”
“But I —”
“End of discussion,” he clips in his most authoritative voice.
The voice that makes his name on my thighs sing. “End of discussion? Really? How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” he replies, in the most shocking turn of events. Or rather, the second shocking turn of events, because the first one was when he smiled. Before I can absorb the fact that he actually did tell me his age after refusing to for such a long time, he continues, “Twelve thirty Saturday. Don’t be late. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
He’s ready to leave after that but I take a step closer to him. “You can’t.”
“What?”
“You can’t come pick me up.”
“And why’s that?”
Because the whole reason I’m going to his house is to make his life… easier. I’m going to his house because I’m doing it.
I’m going to be that girl for him.
The girl who’s chosen him. Who has made him the center of her universe.
Which means I need to spend time with him – hence the house. So I can show him. That I already am. That girl.
And seduce him.
Yes, I’m going to seduce my new soccer coach.
Who also happens to be my best friend’s brother.
The best friend I’m betraying by doing this, and I hope to God that she understands when I tell her everything.
But anyway, if he comes to pick me up at school like he said he would, people will talk. There will be rumors, gossip. His reputation might come into question.
That is not making his life easier, and I’m not going to let that happen.
I crane my neck up and stretch my legs to get up in his face. “Because if you come pick me up, then people will see you. Girls will talk. You’re a teacher here. You can’t pick me up, put me in your truck and drive me away. Students here can be really vicious. You’ve seen how things are for Callie, right? You’ll go through the same thing. Your reputation will be a joke.”
In fact, just the other day, some girls were bothering Callie during lunch and Conrad caught them himself. In his usual scary fashion, he stared them down before taking their TV privileges.
Good.
He steps closer to me. “Has someone been bothering you?”
“What, no. Of course not. But you can’t —”
“I want you to tell me if they do,” he goes, his eyes grave. “Do you understand?”
“But that’s not the point. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re here, in this hellhole, because of me. And no matter how much you love it here, I want to know if anyone, a student, a teacher, a fucking security guard, is bothering you. I want to know if your parents are bothering you.”
“My parents.”
His jaw is clenched in anger. “Yeah. Your mom, your fucking dad, whoever. Someone bothers you, you’re going to tell me.”
My chest feels so tight then. And my heart too big for it as I breathe out. “Anyone in the world?”
“Fuck yes. Anyone in the world. Do you understand, Bronwyn?” His cheekbones are slashed with agitation. “If someone fucking bothers you, I want to hear about it.”
I duck my head then and catch my breath for a few seconds.
I even press a hand to my stomach because there’s a ruckus in the depths of it.
He’s causing a ruckus in my body.
Because he’s being exactly who he is: a thorn protecting his flower. And so I need to protect him too.
I need to protect my thorn.
At last, I look up and whisper, “I will. But only if you promise that you won’t come to pick me up. Please. You have to understand. For your own sake. I told you at the tree. I would never let anything happen to you.”
