“I think I prefer you telling me you know better about boys,” I muttered. He looked at me for a moment like he didn't know what to say to that.
“Idoknow better.” He shook his head slightly, like he was also uncomfortable with the conversation, but plowed onanyway. “You’re intelligent, Savannah. You have a future. Don’t let a boy who throws a ball for a living drag you down with him.”
“Dad, I’ve tutored him for what, two or three weeks?” I rolled my eyes. “What exactly do you think could have happened?”
The flat look I received made my insides squirm with embarrassment. “I was twenty years old once too, remember, Savannah.”
“Ick.”
He actually chuckled before becoming serious again. “I saw the way he looked at you at the Benefactors Booster.”
I stared down at my lap. What did I say? It wasn’t like that? Because I think it might beexactlylike that. Or, what I wanted to say:You don’t know him, you don’t really know me, but that stuck in my throat.
“Well, this has been hideous, and on my list of things never to do again,” I said instead, and this time my dad did laugh.
“I’m going back to my office, where Roberta actually knows how to make tea,” he said, pulling his coat back on. “Will you think about it?”
“What?” I looked up at him, feeling rebellious. “Think about not doing the quarterback?”
He closed his eyes as he let out a loud sigh. “Fine. I deserved that.” He bent and kissed my head. “I know that’s because I mentioned your mother, but please, think about what I said.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Thursday,” he confirmed. “A gallery showing in the arts building. Finally, one of the events you might enjoy.” He squeezed my shoulder as he spoke, and then he headed out the door.
Might enjoy? The gallery showing, in the arts building, where my work would never hang. I'd be there as the dean's daughter, same as everywhere else.
I finished my coffee and contemplated another as the rain got heavier outside. I picked my phone up when it dinged.
QB10: You look like you want out of here
My head snapped up, and he was there, in the doorway, his eyes on me. He didn’t give a damn that people were staring at him or his bruises.
Dante jerked his head to the door, and I grabbed my backpack and went and joined him at the door.
His hoodie was up, ballcap pulled low, but still unmistakably Dante. His jeans were wet from the rain, and his boots were causing puddles.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked me, pushing the door open without waiting for an answer.
“Yeah.” I looked up at him. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk?” he asked, looking down at me, hardly moving as someone came through the open door, muttering about idiots blocking doorways. “Your shed?” I licked my lips uncertainly and saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s closest,” he reasoned.
I hesitated, he noticed. “Okay, but don’t touch anything.”
Dante leaned down to speak in my ear. “What if the only thing I want to touch is you?”
The air between us crackled like a live wire. I looked up at him, eyes wide, and was greeted by that killer smile. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the coffee shop, and we ran through the rain toward my art shed.
Chapter 19
Savannah
The shed was supposed to be my escape, not a cage.
But with Dante leaning against my workbench, arms crossed, shoulders broad enough to block the light from the single window, it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen left in the place.
“So this is your top-secret lair,” he said, scanning the shelves stacked with broken glass, twisted steel, and the covered unfinished skeleton of a sculpture I’d been working on for weeks. His voice was too casual, but his eyes weren’t.
