Don’t know why.
Don’t want to think about it.
Don’t want to tell her either.
I only wish I hadn’t mooned Campos so things could go back to the way they were.
Easy.
Normal.
Comfortable.
When I find my voice, I say, “Are you suggesting you’re not comfortable with me? If that’s the case, I can help with that.”
She levels me with a dark-eyed gaze.
Again, it’s as though she knows the exact thoughts that intruded earlier. Talk about rude.
I never considered myself a man of strong faith, but Declan and Chase have rubbed off on me over the years. On top of that, with every fiber of my being, I’m certain that something other than grit helped me survive my childhood. I’m also certain Cateline can’t read my mind, yet she somehow sees my gears turning and gets the gist from all the grist in my internal mill.
“Mr. Wolfe, I’m suggesting you’re uncomfortable with emotions.”
“Is this some kind of therapy session?” I blurt.
“Not at all, but I’ve been studying your behavior for the last two hours. You know how to conduct yourself. But I don’t understand why you don’t choose to do so consistently.”
“Because I don’t want to.” My tone is all brat, no brawn.
She’s gotten under my skin and she’s right. It makes me feel—exposed and vulnerable.
I shove up from the table, rattling the flatware and plates. “I’m done here.”
“No, we’re not done just yet. I ordered dessert. I think you will enjoy it.” The way she says it so simply is like a promise. One I don’t want her to keep.
I toss my napkin down in response.
Cateline rises to her feet and squares off in front of me, toe to toe. She has to crane her neck to meet my eyes, but she does so fearlessly.
I roll my shoulders.
“Do I need to get a whistle? Train you like a dog? This is my turf. You will listen. You will be tested and I only produce winning results.”
My jaw twitches. “You’re already testing me.”
“I have never had a failure leave through the doors at Blancbourg during my time as headmistress. It’s up to me to inform Coach Hammer that you passed and I intend to do so in thirty days.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest, meaning to put some space between us, but she doesn’t shuffle back. As slender as she is, Cateline holds her ground.
And I’m suddenly warm in this hoodie. I tear it off, pushing it into her hands. The hem of my shirt catches and she glances at my abs. Her cheeks are the color of raspberries and she sucks in a breath.
Looking at her is like gazing into a mirror, only the reflection isn’t of appearance, but everything beneath. She’s as stubborn and determined as me.
“What if I don’t care?” I ask.
“In order for you to avoid the penalties from your commissioner, you’d better find it in yourself to care.”
She’s right and I should back off, but I lean down, my face hovering over hers—eyebrows crossed, nostrils flared, lips pinched. She wears an identical expression but on a smaller scale.
