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Shaking myself out of my trance, I race into Cove’s room and open the drawer that holds my things. All that greets me is a riot of bikinis, underwear, jean shorts and tank tops. If what I’m wearing isn’t appropriate for him, none of these variations will be either.
Shit. I really want to go with him. I need to find something I can wear.
Suddenly I remember the weekend bag full of things that the professor chose for me when we were staying at the hotel after my arrest, and I pull it from Cove’s closet, being careful not to touch and activate the weapons in there.The weapons that I’m not supposed to be able to see.
I push that thought aside. There’s no time for a meltdown.
I rummage through the bag until I find a dress I remember seeing at the bottom and pull it out. Thankfully it’s not creased. It’s floor length, navy and plain, but features pretty crisscross straps on the back. I quickly change into it and swap out my usual flip flops for my slightly nicer sandals. I add deodorant, a quick spritz of perfume, and then hastily run a brush through my hair. It’s weird that the colour doesn’t fade, no matter how much I surf and wash it. Not that I’m complaining. I love the vibrant colours that Summer talked me into, but I like holding on to this small piece of her, this reminder of our friendship, more.
Not wanting to keep the professor waiting – or give him time to change his mind – I rush down the stairs, lifting my dress so that I don’t fall and break my neck. All conversation stops when I round the corner into the kitchen, and four sets of eyes land on me.
I guess Cove decided to just bin the fliers then.
“You look lovely, Malia,” Reef says. Cove makes a noise of agreement and swallows hard. I start to blush even though I’m still mad at them.
“Shall we?” The professor asks. I bite my lip and nod, crossing the room with care. I’m so excited to be leaving that I want to run out of the door, but I force myself to keep my steps steady and even.
“It’s not fair,” Bhodi whines. “Why do you get to take her on a date and none of us do?”
I freeze at the door, unable to look back at Bhodi.
This isn’t a date!
“Because I’m in charge,” the professor replies.
Why didn’t he tell Bhodi it’s not a date?
“After you, Miss Van der Zee,” the professor says, opening the door with one hand and gesturing for me to go ahead with the other. I’m too embarrassed to turn around and say goodbye to the others, so I stare ahead and force my feet to keep moving.
A warm heat sears through the material of my dress at the base of my spine, and I realise that the professor has put his hand on the small of my back. My steps falter and he catches me gently by the elbow, steadying me. My pulse races.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. Swallow.Way too loud. Cringe.
“It’s a short walk to my car. I’m glad you have sensible shoes on.”
“Do I need a jacket or anything?” I probably should have asked that before we left the house.
“No. I won’t keep you out too late.”
Maybe it’s just me – I have almost zero experience with this sort of thing besides what I’ve read in books or seen in films – but his wordsdomake this seem like a date.
I need to get a grip of myself before I fall apart.
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, asking Malia to go out with me. But it’s too late to back out now, we’re already at the car. I couldn’t stand to see the crushed hope in her gaze if I said I changed my mind, it’s too dangerous, I made a mistake.
When I saw her at the top of the stairs almost in tears, I don’t know what came over me, but it was powerful. The need to protect her, even from the others who had clearly upset her, made my blood heat.
Bhodi was right to call me out about taking her on a date. Not that this is a date, but he doesn’t need to know that. It serves him right for upsetting her. A quick word with Reef while Malia got changed made everything clear. She must have overheard him being his usual dickish self and got hurt by something he said.
Which is why I helped Malia through the door, my hand on the small of her delicate back, the heat of her skin searing me through the soft caressable material of her dress. The smirk I levelled at Bhodi as I went was just the icing on the cake.
Except I shouldn’t have touched her like that. Because for a moment I forgot what a drug she is to me.
I open the car door for her, trying to keep my hand from touching her again as she slides into the passenger seat but I can’t help tracing the curves of her body, the way the fabric of her dress hugs her hips. My mind is racing with possibilities, fantasies of what could happen between us under different circumstances, but I push them aside. This isn’t about me, it’s about her.
“Are you alright?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
