“No,” I say, just as I gently pat Rip’s chest.
He throws an arm across my shoulders and kisses my temple. Pam knocks down a container of paper clips, and Oscar’s mouth opens like a fish.
“Everyone,” I say to the office, “this is Rip.”
Rip gives them a curt nod of the head, and my co-workers remain frozen.
“Are you ready to go?” Rip asks.
After a few more tense moments, I log out of the system and go back to get my purse. Everyone is still in the same position when I return. He pulls me into his side, and I throw my arm around his waist.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to call your dad?” Oscar says to our retreating backs.
Rip stops walking, and I’m forced to do the same. He slowly turns around and glares at Oscar.
“What?” he asks, his voice low.
Oscar steps back.
“What did you say?”
“I’m fine, Oscar.” I look up at Rip. “Let’s go.” My words come out as a warning.
We walk out without another word, and he guides me to his bike.
“I thought we agreed I’d call you when I got home,” I say.
“Mmhmm.” He bends down and nuzzles the side of my neck.
Glancing at the door, I see that all of my colleagues are staring at me.
“Get on the bike.” He lifts my helmet, and I put my hand up.
“I need some time to tell my parents, but everyone will be talking about us. Shit,” I say once the reality of the situation hits. “I bet Oscar is calling my dad now. He went to school with Sylvie, and—”
“Fuck Oscar. Come home with me.”
“I have to tell them before they hear it from someone else.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” He climbs on the bike and puts on his helmet. Then he revs the engine, and I climb behind him, wrapping my arms around him.
“Park at the library.”
To both my shock and relief, he zips past my house and parks at the back of the library. He helps me with my helmet and lays it on the seat.
“So, I’ll—”
He takes my hand and heads to the path we’ve always taken.
“Let’s go. If your parents have a problem with us, then they will deal with both of us.” He stops and faces me. “I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t care what they think.”
“Well, I care,” I say. “This is my family, and they—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m in your life, and they need to accept that.”
My nostrils flare, but he takes my hand in his. My heart pounds with each step. On a normal day, I go to my apartment, shower, and change before I go to my parents’ house in search of food. Or Mom will bring dinner for me, and we’ll chat for a few minutes. But I’m not so lucky tonight. Tonight, all the lights are on downstairs, including the porch light. Worse thanthat, their front door is open, and I notice my dad’s silhouette at the door.
Mom is behind him, and she pushes the door open.
