Page 38 of The Thought of You

He responds with an all-knowing narrowed gaze. “Hand it over.”

“I don’t know to what you are referring.” I hold my head high.

Nathan tsks. “You are so fucking drunk, you probably already have a hangover.” He continues gesturing with his hand. “I know you’re hiding a flask somewhere in this jacket. Give it to me.”

“This is not Mr. Mitchell’s history class. You don’t have the right to confiscate my contraband.”

“Don’t make me go in there.”

“I dare you.”

Nate yanks on my lapels, and I hook my arm around his neck. I’ve always been bigger than him, and this wouldn’t be the first time my superior strength is tested against his.

I don’t suspect it’ll be the last, either.

“Just tap out,” I goad him.

“Aren’t we a little too dressed up for this?” he sputters as his palm smacks my nose.

“I’m thinking you might be too old for this,” Austin grumbles from our side.

“Never,” I toss back on a laugh and raise my arm to take him under too, but a new voice stops me.

“Why am I not surprised to find you guys fighting like two monkeys after a single banana?” Addie appears next to us, hands on her hips.

My spine jerks into an upright position like a seat on a plane for landing. Nate pries the flask from me and raises it over his head, his wide grin victorious, but it was a cheap shot.

Had we not been interrupted, I would’ve made sure he saw stars.

But Addie’s more than an interruption. She’s a fucking meteor crashing into my nice and easy life.

Her hair… that dress… the blue eyes glaring at me…

I nearly swallow my tongue.

“What’s with this music? I had arranged for a violin soundtrack.” She swipes her loose hair off her shoulder, creamy skin momentarily distracting me.

“This is more fun than boring violin music.” I point up to the ceiling as if that’s where the music is coming from.

“Of course, it was your doing.” She shakes her head and marches past everyone, a woman on a mission.

I’m right on her heel. “People love it,” I insist. “Look at their happy damn faces.”

“Happy damn faces is hardly a good argument—or even an argument at all.”

I wave my arm over the guests bobbing their heads along to the electric tunes of my favorite techno song. “Exhibits A-Z and beyond.”

She snatches the phone hooked up to the speaker and shoves it into my chest, then hooks her own phone up.

“Where have you even been?” I ask.

“I stopped by the homecoming dance. Everything looked really good, and the kids were having a good time.”

Something warm and fuzzy encompasses my body at the thought of our students enjoying themselves and making unforgettable memories. “I like what you said at float the other night, about these kids growing up and having nice memories of high school.”

She taps at her phone one last time and sets it onto the stool next to the speaker. “I look back on high school with a smile because of my friends and all the fun we had. For people like me, school was our safe and happy place.”

The same feeling from last night takes hold of my heart like a dog with a chew toy, and the top question on the tip of my tongue is—why did she not think of her home as a safe and happy place?

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