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“Hey, Rachel,” I said, turning and trying to tug my hand out of Jake’s grasp. “What’s up?”
She was solo. Where had her posse gone? Cheryl and the others were by the pool with Maria. Sharon was standing right amidst the other football players, dead in front of Ian, but his arms were folded, and he stared across the pool to where we were. Coop wasn’t on my lounger, he’d moved to the patio and looked to be arguing with Archie.
What were they fighting about?
You know, no, I focused on Rachel, and finally Jake let me go, because I think he got the point that I wasn’t going to stop. His sigh spoke volumes, though.
“Just thought I’d see if you had a minute. I know it’s a party—but you think you have time to go over some poetry with me?”
Seriously? Homework help?
“It’s a party, Manning,” Jake said, scowling. “She’s not your private tutor.”
“I don’t think I was talking to you, dickhead,” Rachel retaliated. “And since she was trying to get away from you, maybe you should take a hint.”
And okay… “Sure, I can give it a few minutes, but it’s a party, and everyone else looks like they’re having fun.”
Rachel shrugged. “You’re not, and I think you could use the break.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
“Frankie…”
“I’m going to talk to Rachel,” I told him firmly and tried not to drown in those pale eyes. Jake never let me get away with anything, and he had to know I was bolting. It was written all over his face.
“Don’t leave,” he said, then added. “Please. Just don’t take off?”
“No promises.” It was the best I could do. I folded my arms again and faced Rachel. “Want to take a walk out in the garden? It’s quieter. Probably be able to hear ourselves think.” Because someone had cranked the music louder.
Jake loomed over us both, but Rachel ignored him. “Sure, sounds good. See you, dickhead.”
“Bitch,” Jake muttered under his breath as we walked away, and I shot him a look over my shoulder. Seriously? The impatient look he gave Rachel before he met my gaze answered that question. I wanted to reassure him, but Rachel bumped me, and I glanced at her.
“He’s cranky. Sulking will do him some good. Besides, you really do look miserable.”
I really was miserable.
Didn’t mean I wanted to talk to her about it.
“Thanks,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “This is my best hair shirt look.”
She grinned as she pushed open the gate. “Huh, maybe you need more Elizabeth Barrett Browning in your life,” she said as I followed her into the low-lit garden, and the music faded behind us.
I needed something.
Chapter Two
Help Wanted
The garden was really just a collection of shrubbery with some seasonal flowering plants, crepe myrtles—and they were already giving up their flowers—along with a pair of dogwoods, one in each far corner so their flowers didn’t end up in the pool. But the ground lighting and the tall shrubs with the mismatched stone pavers and mulch gave it a kind of fantasy element.
If nothing else, the tall shrubs—particularly those lining the pool area—muted the sound. But you could still catch some of the lyrics. Arms folded, we walked several feet in silence. There were a couple of benches out here. The garden itself wasn’t huge, but it was long, and you could meander like it was a maze.
“Did you really want to talk about poetry?” I asked Rachel.
“No. I mean, we can. You just looked like you needed an excuse to get away from Jake.”
I had plenty of excuses to get away.
