Page 47 of Forever We Fall

Unlike last night, I have zero reservations about it. I lick my lips and absolutely gawk at his mouth. Everything I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on him is within my reach.

An unfamiliar sound blasts through the layer of our lust, shattering the trance.

His eyes go wide, and his smile vanishes.

The sharpness of his gaze slices toward his room.

It’s his phone. He doesn’t have a cell phone, though he’s been talking about getting one so we can communicate in class. The landline in his room is ringing. It’s never done that before.

Unease turns my joy to dread in an instant.

I push it aside and grab his cheek, trying to tug his eyes back to me. “You don’t have to answer it. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maintenance or a wrong number.”

The hand on my nape shakes. “It’s not maintenance.”

“You don’t know that.”

His gaze narrows. “Nothing is broken.”

The pitch of his already reedy voice hits a squeak that tells me all I need to know. He’s petrified.

“It’s okay.” The faucet squeaks between two defining rings as I turn it off. I grab his towel, drape it over his shoulders, and grab my own. “I’ll answer it. Find out what’s up, and then we’ll get breakfast.”

He doesn’t answer.

I dry enough so I don’t leave puddles where I step, then dart for the phone. When I reach it, I just stare. It’s as if my marrow knows this call is an omen.

The ancient phone weighs more than it should as I lift it to my ear. “Mr. Judge’s room.”

“Who is this?” Miss Booth’s high pitch melts through the line.

My shoulders settle. The knot in my gut loosens.

“It’s your favorite student, Miss Booth.” A haughty smirk takes over my face. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize my voice from your dreams.”

Arlo appears in the doorway, wary like a street cat. A very hot street cat with a towel slung low on his waist.

“Mr. Kido,” she admonishes. “You little flirt.” The last is a whisper.

“Nothing little about me, Miss Booth.”

That earns me an eye roll from Arlo but not a smile. Not yet. I’ll get it. I’m naked after all, and a very good flirt.

“You’re so bad.” She laughs. Someone says something in the background. I can’t make out the words. The tone is harried and harsh. “Yes, sir.” Her voice flattens. “Listen, I need to speak with Mr. Judge.”

My spine stiffens.

“He can’t come to the phone right now. I’ll give him a message.” I grab the back of his desk chair, intuition telling me I’ll need it.

“His uncle is here to pick him up for the holiday break.”

Her words are bombs. They land in my heart and discharge.

“No,” I snap.

“Excuse me?” she gasps.

“He didn’t register Arlo for the break. He can’t take him.”

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