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“Maybe later. That’s probably a good plan. I’ll just run up and get my bag and get out of your hair.”
He waves his coffee cup at me. “No, you don’t have to do that! I’ve gotta get to work, but there’s no reason for you to hurry. I’m sure your dad won’t be up at—” He looks at his watch. “Oh, crap, it’s seven forty! I gotta run.” He dumps the last of his coffee in the sink and puts the cup into the washer. “Let me get you the extra key, and you can just let yourself out.” After pulling a green insulated bag from the fridge, he rummages in a desk drawer. “You’ll have to use the button in the garage to open the door, then come back in—wait, I’ll just give you the clicker from my car.”
“No, this is fine. I’ll lock the door and leave the key under the mat. Isn’t that what people in the country do?” I hold out a hand.
“Just hold on to it.” He puts the key in my palm, his fingers brushing my skin, sending a sizzle through my hand. I try not to react. I don’t want to encourage his crush.
He turns away, then swings back. “You don’t have to leave. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. In case he’s not—” He breaks off, making a vague motion with his free hand. “Or if everything goes well, you can come back for dinner. Tonight or tomorrow—any time. You said you want to try my chicken alfredo, remember?”
I smile. “I did say that. Thanks, Matt. You’re a good friend.”
His jaw clenches then relaxes. He nods, once. “See you later. I hope.” He disappears down the short hallway to the garage, then turns around and comes back. “I forgot—my car is out front.” With a wave, he heads for the front door.
The click of it closing is loud. I listen for Subie Doo’s engine. When the sounds of the car fade, I pull out my phone and call my brother. He should be awake by now, and if he isn’t, tough.
Chapter 14
MATT
I fling myself down on the saggy couch in the teachers’ lounge. The frame groans, and my hip comes in violent contact with a rogue spring. “Ow!” Shifting to find a better position, I stare across the room.
“Someone is in a cranky mood.” Rachel looks up from scrubbing the coffee pot. “Does it have anything to do with the yellow sports car I saw in front of your house last night?”
I rub my hip. “You saw that?”
“The whole neighborhood saw it. Hopefully, I’m the only one who saw it drive into your garage.”
“Who are you, Mrs. Kravitz?”
She gives me a blank look.
I roll my eyes. “Come on, you used to watch Bewitched reruns with us all the time.”
A sly smile slides across her lips and away. “I guess I’m too young to remember that. You’re so much older.”
“Two years, Foster, and you remember it perfectly well.” I glare.
She puts the coffee pot into the drainer and dries her hands. “Kitty and I were at the mailbox when you did the automobile do-si-do. But that car is louder than a jet engine and visible from space. It’s not exactly a stealth vehicle.”
“She borrowed it from her dad. She said she likes it better than the brand new one. Which is red, by the way, so probably not any stealthier.”
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” She sits beside me on the couch.
I look around the room—as if someone might have snuck in unnoticed. It’s four o’clock, and most of the teachers have headed home. I stayed late—one of the kids was having trouble with his tuning pegs—and I’m not in the mood to go back to my empty house anyway.
“It’s complicated. And there’s all this secrecy—you know how things get when there’s a celebrity involved.”
She raises a hand. “All too well. But I’m concerned my best friend is getting involved in something that’s not going to work out in his favor.”
I sit up. “I’m not getting involved. She spent the night in my guest room. Some kind of confusion with her father. But she’s going to stay with him now, so I won’t see her again.”
Rachel puts a hand on my arm. “That’s probably for the best.”
I launch to my feet, pulling away from her. “Yeah, I know.” The words come out angry. I wipe a hand over my face. “Sorry. It’s not your fault.”
She stands. “If you want to vent, I’m here. Well, not here—I’m heading home. But you can always be cranky at my house, you know. If it gets really bad, we can break out the Weed.”
I give a dramatic shudder. “No. If I feel like drinking, I’m bringing my own bottle.” Rachel learned to drink Jeremiah Weed when she was on active duty. She claims it’s part of Fighter Pilot Culture, but she has not converted me. I’ll stick with my Glenfarclas. “And you gotta be careful about saying that in a high school. The kids are gonna think we’re smoking.” Checking my watch, I head for the door. “Why are you still here, anyway?”
