They sigh, knowing I’m right, and we get to work, going over the debate topic for the week and then prepping for it.
By the time we’re done, I’m left to rush to class. As I move throughcampus, my fingers fumble with my phone. I try not to use it often, mainly because I hate what awaits me when I open it.
And just like I thought, a message from my father sits there. Looming.
jigodie de tata:
You’ve not responded to the email that was sent to you. I expect you to do so by tonight.
I step to the side of the walkway, my thumbs hovering over the screen, and let out a long breath.
Right. I do need to address that, but I don’t want to. I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend I’m living a different life. That I’m allowed to be who I am, to be loved for just me.
But my father isn’t a nice man, and I know what he expects of me.
What he expects me to be.
There’s an itch beneath my skin, and I scratch at my wrist, trying to calm the dread that’s always waiting just below the surface. Some days, the dread wins.
Not recently, but in the past, it has many times.
I don’t want to be that person anymore.
Me:
I’ll get to it tonight.
He doesn’t respond—not that I expected him to—and I stuff my phone in my pocket and jog the rest of the way to class. I’ll deal with it later.
Everything can be dealt with later.
CHAPTER TWO
I’m tucked up in my overstuffed chair, my Kindle in my hands, my eyes not at all peering over at Caleb.
Not at all.
But he’s peering over at me. Don’t ask me how I know, since I’m not looking. I just do. I can feel it. Those blue eyes are on me. Always watching, always assessing. What the fuck does he want?
“Hey, Whit,” he says, and my heart thumps in my throat. I glance over at him, trying like hell not to notice his biceps and the cut of his jeans today. I will not notice these things. I’m in recovery. “Going out with some people tonight.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Why is he telling me his plans?
“You wanna join?” he asks, and I swallow roughly. I shift slightly in my chair, my fingers gripping the Kindle tighter, almost like a safety net.
“No, thank you.”
I force my gaze back to my book, the words swimming before me.
“I mean, it’s trivia night, my man. You may like it.”
I can imagine a crowded bar, idiots shouting out answers that make no sense. It sounds like a terrible evening. “Doubtful,” I murmur.
He says nothing, and I don’t look to see what he’s doing. But I hearit. The click of his throat as he swallows, the moan he makes when he finishes it.
Heat wells up inside of me, my jaw clenching tightly. He really needs to stop drinking his beer like he’s sucking cock.
A small crash has me jumping slightly, and then I can’t help but peer over. He’s standing up and tossing the beer bottle into the trash can when I specifically have one for recycling.
