You’re wearing my favorite outfit . . . and look particularly ravishing today.
Another grin threatened to split my face. So, he’d taken the bait. I scribbled back: Flattery will get you nowhere in my fanciest scrawl, then tossed it back over my shoulder with nobody noticing but Ashley-Leigh, who looked like she’d just popped a Sour Patch candy in her mouth. Pete coughed out a laugh before quickly stifling it with a cleared throat. Once again, I marveled at how much difference a day makes.
The bell rang, and we stood up, grinning at each other like a couple of goons . . . until I felt the pressure of Miguel’s eyes on my back. I turned to see him savagely stuffing books into his backpack. My easy smile faded, and when I turned back around, it was to find Pete zipping his backpack around his notebook while waiting for me. Miguel almost tripped over my backpack in his rush out the door. Pete continued to quietly observe me as I finished packing up. I had a sudden, sure feeling that he’d missed me almost as much as I’d missed him. My stomach took a plunge at that heady thought.
About that time Ashley-Leigh decided to make her exit, flouncing past us with a look-what-you’re-missing smile aimed at Pete. He returned a semblance of a smile before maneuvering me—hand to the small of my back—through the jam-packed hallway. Together, we exited out the door and into a blast of crisp autumnal air. As if in mutual appreciation of the moment, we paused to watch the flags snap and billow in the breeze. Then my backpack was confiscated from me, and we began ambling our way up the sidewalk behind the stragglers stringing behind the pack.
“You know . . . those jeans ought to be outlawed.” Pete’s icebreaker was followed by a lazy, lop-sided grin.
“It’s funny you say that. They’re on my father’s,” I paused to air quote, “‘forbidden list.’”
He barked out a laugh. “In this particular case, I can’t say that I blame him.”
“Well, maybe you two outta get together and go bowlin’—you do seem to have a lot in common,” I said way sharper than I intended.
“No offense, but I sincerely hope not.”
“Military background, dead-set on sendin’ my little brother away for strangers to raise, antiquated notions about what constitutes suitable attire for females,” I listed out for him, and then immediately regretted my momentary lapse; I hadn’t planned on busting up the good vibe so soon.
Pete pursed his lips. “Nah,” he disagreed lightly, “just antiquated notions about what constitutes suitable attire for one particular female.” He nudged my shoulder. “Sides . . . I’d rather go bowling with his daughter.”
Happiness surged through me. God, how I missed him! His gorgeous, heart-stopping smile, the flirty banter, the just plain ole basking in his golden presence.
“Well I hate to break it to you, but as far as I can tell from the conversation I had with my father last night, I’m already spoken for by another”—I cleared my throat—“and I used the term loosely here—man.”
Pete snort-laughed. “What’s one more hurdle?” I didn’t have time to decipher the edge in there because he said, “So . . . who’s the lucky guy?” He leaned over and put his mouth to my ear. “You’ll have to point him out, so I can kick his ass.”
“I think you can already check that off your to-do list,” I said with a grin.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Good to know—you’re way too good for any of these guys anyway.”
Almost to gym now, we paused before going our separate ways. A portion of his entourage was waiting for him inside, fiending for their allotted time with their hero. The dismal little P.E. class had been basking in Pete’s refracted popularity; their self-esteem suddenly bolstered by the esteem in which Pete was held. Most likely their whole day revolved around the glory of sharing a gym class with him. I hated to tell them their days with him were numbered . . . as were mine.
Pete acknowledged his fans with a chin lift, and we shared a conspiratorial smile over his instant, overwhelming popularity. I laughed out loud. I loved him being a good sport.
“Think I’m ready for my fifteen minutes to be up,” he said with a grimace.
An immediate jolt shook my system, my smile kind of imploding on me. I shifted my eyes to the flow of multi-colored hoodies ahead of us, bottlenecking to get in. Pete would soon need to go left while I went right—seemed like a metaphor for our life.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothin’.” I shook my head. The truthfulness of his statement stung like an insult. He was ready for his time here to be over. He wanted to get back to his real life—the privileged one he belonged to. Who could blame him? There was nothing remotely interesting in this small town to keep a guy like him interested. A heaviness seeped into my chest, dragging me back down to earth.
“Kate, did I say something to upset you?”
Oh Gah. I was doing it again—bringing him down, the mood down.
“I-I was just thinkin’ about that awful fight you got into on account of me,” I said, making something up on the spur of the moment.
“It wasn’t your fault—I was being an ass.”
I pulled a face. “No disagreement there, but you still didn’t deserve to be ganged up on like that.”
“It worked out okay. But I gotta say: two shiners in two weeks is a record for me . . . one I definitely don’t want to break anytime soon!”
“Right.” I forced a laugh. “I never apologized . . . sorry about that.”
“Sorry for not apologizing or sorry for the shiner?”
I laughed more naturally. “Both. . . . That reminds me of something Ashley said about you the first day of school.”
“Ashley Squared?” I nodded, and he rolled his eyes. “This outta be good.”
“Actually, it was good.”
He arched a brow. “Do tell.”
“She, uh, said—” I broke off, blushing. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not important.” I was heading off to the locker room, when a tug on my backpack snapped me back.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Pete scolded. “You don’t get to just laugh and say I remember what someone said about you and then just sally away like that . . . It’s just plain rude.”
“Is it?”
“It is,” he insisted.
I looked up at his face all lit up with humor, noticing how it softened the chiseled perfection. I must’ve been staring too long, because he cleared his throat.
“I’m waiting . . . ”
“Right. Um, she said that you looked like you’d be more of a . . . uh . . .”—I did my own hmmm-hmmm, mentally kicking myself for bringing it up—“lover than a fighter.”
His lips twitched. “And do you agree with her assessment?”
A sly smile spread my lips. “I would tell you . . . but then I’d have to kill you.”
My borrowed funny was followed by a burst of pleasant laughter. “Well, I agree with Ashley-Squared for once”—he brushed his thumb across my lips—“I’m definitely more of a lover.”
I swallowed and failed at speech.
The tardy bell did its thing, and I didn’t linger further, running to go change into my shortest shorts and tightest shirt. This I did in record time while Shelby relayed her hopes to me that Jake would ask her to homecoming. I smiled warmly and told her they’d look cute together. She beamed then hesitantly asked me about Pete. I gave her an abbreviated update. Couldn’t deny we were something; the intensity of our relationship was fairly obvious.