Page 25 of The Torment of Two

She wants to interview my dads.

Is she insane?

As soon as class was over, I had to get the hell away from that maddening girl. It’s already dangerous enough having to interact with her in class, having been forced to pair up with her.

But to bring her home?

To the same house she almost got instead of me?

Fuck no.

I’m low-key looking forward to talking to Tate today. Not that I’m anywhere near confessing this shit to him, but it’ll be nice to distract myself.

When I arrive, I’m somehow not surprised that his Jeep isn’t there. Within seconds, though, he whips into the spot beside my car. I climb out and make my way over to the driver’s side to assist.

“Oh, hey,” Tate says, thrusting two to-go coffee mugs my way. “Can you carry these?”

Chuckling, I take them from him and wait by the doors going into the building. Once he’s grabbed his bag and keys, he rushes over to me to open the door. I follow after him, hardly noticing the intense smell of paint because the scent of heavenly butterscotch billows from the small opening on one of the lids.

“Grab a seat,” Tate instructs. “And for the love of God, get some heat going in here.”

I find my usual seat—the thought oddly comforting—and set our cups down to fiddle with the fireplace. Once heat is blazing, I hand him his cup and bring my own to my nose so I can inhale it.

“I hope you love it,” Tate says, watching me eagerly. “Making people love coffee is kind of my thing. My future brother-in-law was totally against coffee, but I converted him.” He beams at me. “Go on. If this one isn’t right for you, I’ll find an even better one.”

I blow into the hole and then take a tentative sip. Delicious, rich butterscotch and smooth coffee dance along my taste buds. Like Tate did the day we met, I can’t help but do a little appreciative wiggle because it’s that good.

“I knew it!” Tate cheers, offering me a hand to slap. “I’m really good at this.”

I give him a high five and take another sip. This shit is amazing.

“Now that the important part is out of the way,” he says, grinning at me, “tell me how your week’s going.”

“I got hit by a car in the school parking lot.”

His eyes widen. “What? Is the Rover okay?”

“The Rover is fine,” I say with a grumble. “My shoulder…not so much.”

“Wait? Someone hit you with their car? How are you here and not at the hospital?”

“It was just a bump. Knocked me on my ass, though.”

Concern etches over his features. “You should have gotten it looked at. What if you injured yourself internally or something?”

“I really am fine.”

Tate’s eyes narrow. “Are you, though? That must have been terrifying. Even if you just got bruised or scraped up. Getting hit by a car isn’t a small thing.”

“It was just a dumb girl not paying attention.”

“The same girl who called your car a hunk of junk?” he asks, head tilting to the side.

I blink at him in shock. He said he was good at reading people and pressing issues, but damn. Am I really that transparent?

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“You got the same exact tortured expression as you did on Monday when mentioning her.”

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