The topics she chooses to discuss? Total snore fest.
“There’s a test at the end of this,” she joked as if realizing his mind had wandered.
“Sorry, I can only remember facts about things I’m interested in.” Oh, shit, did I just say that out loud? I mean, it’s true. And if she knew me, she would be laughing because she’d know I said it mostly as a joke aimed at myself because of my painfully short attention span.
She is not fucking smiling.
This is where I’d normally roll over and apologize—like a Labrador offering my belly up for a rub.
Because I’m nice.
Too nice.
Not today, lady. Today I’m badass.
It’s not my fault you think a forty-five-minute monologue about people no one has ever heard of is a good choice of how to spend our time together. I thought you might be the one, but my cock has been wrong before.
It once thought dating Mary Ellen was worth testing how well her father could shoot. Luckily he only took out the tires of my car.
There was also the time it convinced me a pro boxer would understand that his little sister was neither a virgin nor shy about what she wanted. All I did was say yes and give her a fun night. Did that really merit the ass-kicking he tried to give me?
So, sure, you’re incredible.
Sexy as all hell.
And pissed at me now.
You know what? Get in line. People need to relax. I’m not that bad.
You could have had an amazing time with me.
Possibly life . . . I mean, for a second there, I imagined the adorable kids we’d have together. But if you’re looking for an apology, you’re not getting one.
I’ve got a speech memorized, and you’ve just reminded me why that’s all that will come out of my mouth today.
Wow, what a dick.
A lot of what she did to fundraise for Reemsly involved interacting with wealthy people. Some of them were down-to-earth, no different than they would have been if they had much less money. Some thought what they had was due to divine intervention or proof that they were more deserving of it. Very few were crass enough to show how superior they felt.
Not Connor Sutton.
If the Barringtons were anything like him, no financial gift would be worth having them enroll. There has to be a better way to get the kind of funding Mr. Svete thinks we need.
She would have loved to tell him that, but she was working on very little sleep, and if she started to say what she was thinking she wasn’t sure she could stop.
On the drive home from school the day before, she’d asked Whitney about what had happened to him during PE class. He’d claimed nothing had happened. She’d told him she knew about the soccer game, his goal, and what Keaton had done.
“It won’t happen again,” Whitney had said in a quiet tone that had broken Angelina’s heart.
“I’m not saying you did anything wrong, Whitney. I’m saying I know what happened. You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”
“I know,” he’d said before taking out his tablet and popping in his earbuds.
She’d tried to talk to him one more time after dinner. He’d gone to his room to read. After knocking on his door, she’d walked in and sat on the edge of his bed. “No one should ever touch you. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
He’d shaken his head. “Don’t say anything, Mom. I already don’t fit in. You’ll just make it worse.”
His comment had rocked through her. “Make it worse? And what do you mean you don’t fit in? Your grades are excellent. Your test scores are some of the highest. There’s no reason you couldn’t be valedictorian if you apply yourself. That’s what all of your teachers tell me.”
Without meeting her gaze he said, “Stanford has an online high school. That’s my goal.”
“No, it’s not,” she’d said. She’d known he was having a rough year, but he had friends at Reemsly. Didn’t he? He used to. “You can’t want that. You love Reemsly.”
He’d turned away from her, pulling a blanket up and over him as he did. “Promise me you won’t say anything to my teachers, Mom. And don’t talk to the coach.”
When she hadn’t answered immediately, he’d lowered the blanket and glared at her.
“I always do what you say, Mom. Even when I don’t like it. When do I get a say in what I want?”
Her breath had caught in her throat then because what he wanted and what she wanted for him were directly at odds. She wanted to protect him. How could she promise not to?
She’d blinked back tears and given his leg a pat. “We’re both tired. We’ll talk about this again tomorrow, okay?”
He hadn’t answered.
She’d leaned down and given his head a kiss. “I love you.”
His expression had softened. “I love you too, Mom.”
“We’ll figure this out.”
He’d nodded and turned away again.
So, yeah, she hadn’t slept.
And, sure, she might have talked nonstop about the history of Reemsly because her nerves were shot, and she’d wanted to say something . . . anything that would change Connor Sutton’s mind about talking to the soccer team.
Why would I have thought for one minute that I could make this man care about anything beyond himself?
The longer they stood there without speaking, the more her temper rose. Just who did he think he was? Yes, he was good-looking. Not her type, but a lot of women found his square jaw, wide shoulders, and towering physique sexy.
Sadly, he’d only reinforced her opinion that the better looking a man was the less attractive his personality was. She wasn’t drawn to flash. Muscles? Flat abs? Overrated. His short blond hair and beard looked low maintenance, but he probably spent hours in front of a mirror admiring both.
If one was in doubt about what was important to him, all they had to do was look at the kind of car he drove. Total compensation vehicle. Sure, he looked amply endowed below the belt as well, but probably stuffed his tighty-whiteys with a sock.
And his watch? A six-figure vanity purchase. Not original, but it went with his overpriced suit and look-at-how-rich-I-am shoes.
A person could have money without shoving it down everyone’s throat.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn’t realize Mr. Svete had approached them until she heard his voice. “Mr. Sutton, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to Reemsly.”
Connor turned to face him, but neither smiled nor greeted him. He simply looked at him as if he had no idea who he was.
Mr. Svete seemed put off by it for a second, then held out his hand and introduced himself. “Mr. Svete. Headmaster.”
Connor shook his hand, and nodded once before pocketing his hands.
Mr. Svete cleared his throat. “I see you’re getting the grand tour. I hope Miss Kroll has shown you our state-of-the-art gymnasium. Not only have we added an indoor track, but the pool is up to Olympic standards.”
“Fascinating,” Connor said without emotion.
Watching Mr. Svete uncharacteristically at a loss for what to say would have been amusing if Angelina’s job couldn’t be terminated at his whim. She stepped in to say, “We were just about to make our way to the drama building.”
Just then a man caught Angelina’s attention. Dark suit. Mirrored glasses. Standing off by himself watching them from about a hundred feet away. “Is that your security detail, Mr. Sutton?”