I turn, scanning the gym for Sawyer. For a moment, I think I missed him, that he’s already left. But then I see himdown on one knee in front of a little boy, a kindergartener by my guess.
Edging closer, I hear him tell Sawyer why he plans to bring his stuffed giraffe to show-and-tell instead of his pet cat.
Sawyer gives the boy his undivided attention. His face is serious and he’s nodding along like there’s nothing more important to him as the boy stumbles through his reasons.
Watching the exchange does funny, annoying things to my insides.
Mercifully, an older teacher calls to the boy. He runs off, comes to a squeaky stop on the gym floor, then runs back for a jumping high-five with Sawyer before running toward his teacher again.
Sawyer stands, planting his hands on his hips as he surveys the students filing out the doors. His eyes land on me as I step toward him. A flash of surprise and something I can’t read crosses his face.
Then, like turning the page of a book, his expression turns bland.
“Can I help you, Ms. Casey?”
I hesitate at his curt tone. It’s not just professional, but cold.
Swallowing, I say, “I think the login you gave me for the computer expired. I’m locked out.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “And that’s why I usually stay away from the computers.” His gaze lands on me for a nanosecond before darting away again. “I’ll send Señora Martinez to your classroom.”
Before I can saythankshe turns on his heel and leaves me in the middle of the gym to pick my jaw up off the floor.
Sure, I might have said something about being politeand professional at school, but I never said anything about treating me like a complete stranger.
A burst of anger surges through me as I remind myselfagainthat this is what he does. It’s psychological warfare. He intentionally tries to mess with my head. Even after fourteen years, he’s still the same person. He’s still the mayor’s son who blithely walks all over everyone else.
But I’m not that girl from the wrong side of town anymore, no matter what he or the rest of Blue Ridge thinks.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take a quick peek before turning to my class. It’s from Dev. I’ve been so embarrassed about how drunk I got that night, all I’ve texted him since then is cat memes.
Still wanna come on that date to Angelica’s? It’s happening this Saturday.
A date. WithDev.
I take in a sharp breath and motion for my class to follow me out of the gym.
Dev couldn’t be more different from Sawyer. With Dev, I know exactly what to expect. Easy. Reliable. Friendly.
The way he worded the message was a little weird, but that’s Dev. Not concerned by much, and definitely not the kind of person who reads over his texts before hittingsend.
I grin. Of course I want to grab dinner. Of course I want to go on adate.
Dev and I get along so well—always have. He doesn’t ask a lot of questions, and neither do I. Our friendship has always rested on a firm respect for boundaries. An escapist friendship, in a way. He knew I wouldn’t ask him about his parents’ expectations or school. I knew he wouldn’t ask about my dad or money.
We could be great together.
That’s the dream, isn’t it? To be married to your best friend?
And Gia was right, he went from a lanky kid with too-big facial features to a man with movie-star looks, and his voiceislike drowning in silky molasses, or whatever she said.
Before stuffing my phone into my back pocket, I glance at the text once more, arching an eyebrow at the last line.
It’s happening this Saturday.
It’s commanding and dominant.
Maybe that’s what Dev is like in bed.
