I give her a moment to collect herself, but her demeanor changes rapidly from light-hearted to serious. Finishing my plate, I shove back from the counter. “What’s the deal with that?”
“Ayan used to leave them on my desks in class.”
My grip on the counter tightens. I don’t like that. “And you…put one in the freezer?”
Flames heat her cheeks. “No! I didn’t put it there! I thoughtyoudid.”
I blink rapidly, astounded by her fiery reaction and also relieved she’s not keeping mementos from her ex. “Nope. Maybe one of my brothers shoved it in there when they helped us move?” Probably Nico. I’ll have to remember to ask him about it later.
She nods. “Yeah… Okay.”
After setting down her fork, I gather up the plates, but she stops me. “You cook, and I’ll clean.”
My eyebrows raise. “I’m very okay with that rule.”
I stretch tall, then flip on the TV, hunting out the football games for the day.
“What’s this?”
She saunters in as I laze back on our sofa, the poetry book held open as she reads it.
I smirk. “Wanting to share how I was feeling about you.”
“You, um, underlined: ‘It is funny, you will be dead some day.By you, the mouth, hair, eyes. The unique and nervously obscene need. It’s funny. They will all be dead.’”
I freeze, my eyes widening. “Yeah. That one…felt right.”
Her lips form a solid line. “Do you often underline passages in books?”
My mouth parts as I try to form an answer, when my phone buzzes on the table. Loud enough to startle us both, and for me to feel a moment’s relief from her piercing gaze.
I press the button on my voice activator, and it calls out an incoming email from the president, scheduling an appointment with me for tomorrow. My back immediately beads with sweat.
What now?
“You’re going to watch the games?” Scout asks after I settle in, belly full and brain now buzzing with worry.
“Yeah. You have plans?”
She glances at the dining room. “I was going to study, but, um. Do you think you could help me with some flashcards?”
I hesitate, heartbeat rising into my throat.
“Just between commercials. Not to interrupt!” she assures me.
A mountain of guilt and want pushes on my shoulders. “Yep. I can do that. I can help.”
And I try. I do. She sits cross-legged in front of me. Sweats loose. Hair tossed on her head in a messy bun, and her glasses perched low on her nose. It’s all so fucking hot. But every time she hands me a card, the letters blur the longer I stare at them.
I hold them up. Fingers shaking. She answers something while I nod absently. And the longer it goes on, the more the petrifying fear of being uncovered hits me.
I turn toward the game again and again, hoping to escape this moment. That the torture will end soon. But my mind’son anything but what’s on the screen. It’s not even on the letters on the cards.
It’s focused on the burning humiliation rising in my chest.
“If you can’t pay attention and want to watch the commercials instead, that’sfine. I’ll just call someone else and go to the library.”
“Scout, I, uh…”
