Page 15 of Dream with Me

When Troy finally looks at me, he avoids my gaze, but I don’t miss how his eyes trail from my high heels and then up my body. He freezes when he sees my hair. His pupils dilate, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the hand that’s not wrapped around our son reach toward me. My gaze shifts down to watch the motion, but he stops a few inches from my jaw and sharply pulls his hand back as if he’d been shocked. My body, which had tensed for a moment in anticipation, deflates, and I don’t like it.

Troy backs up and clears his throat. “So, um, I’ll drop him off with your parents about one. Is that okay?”

“Sure. That works.” As I reach down to pick up Chase’s to-go bag, my thin heel gets caught in a gap in a grout line between the foyer tiles. As I start to fall to the side, I see the wall charging at me and realize I’ll probably be sporting more than a fat lip on my first day. Ugh.

Instead of making an impact with the wall, my body stops about four inches from it when a strong arm wraps around my side, and a hand my body knows well splays across my back. Troy stops my fall while holding our son and makes it look like it was nothing.

We’re both squatting now, and I look in his eyes. His sad eyes.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I guess I need to get used to the hazards of wearing heels again.” I offer him a small smile, trying to break the tension.

I’ve got my balance back now and run my hands down my skirt to straighten it as I stand. That’s when I realized Troy hasn’t removed his hand from my back. We probably shouldn’t have lingering touches, given that we’re a few weeks into our “divorce practice,” as my sisters Shyley and Shayna have dubbed it. I look into his eyes. They’re dark and narrowed, focused on my lips.

His hand moves off my back, but only because he moves it to my face and barely grazes his thumb over the busted part.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is rough and almost dangerous sounding. He’s laser-focused on my mouth.

I’m stunned, not having seen this side of Troy for many years. It takes me back to high school when I first started tutoring Troy and was dating someone else. My boyfriend, at the time, was kind of a douchebag. I knew that before I ever went out with him, but I was just happy someone asked me on a date. So, I ignored the voice in the back of my head telling me to steer clear of him. Even though I was book smart, it didn’t mean I was socially smart, especially not since I was two years younger and a bit behind my peers emotionally and socially.

Up until that one day, the day I first experienced what a bad guy looked like, I had only seen the quiet but charming side of Troy. I would have been lying to myself if I said I wasn’t secretly crushing on the star quarterback I was tutoring—any girl with eyes and half a brain was—but I thought I was hiding it well.

Apparently, I wasn’t.

I don’t like this. It was stupid to let Anthony corner me in this nook near an infrequently traveled stairwell after school when there were fewer people around. He’s my boyfriend, so I didn’t think I had to worry about him, even if he has been acting weird—angry almost—for the last few weeks.

When he met me at my locker and insisted he needed to talk to me alone, I explained to him I couldn’t be late for my tutoring session. He rolled his eyes but followed me when I shut my locker and started walking. I was already cutting it close because of his interruption, so when he said he’d walk me with me, I didn’t object.

Then he came to a dead stop here. Still a good twenty yards from our destination. Fine by me. I’d rather not risk having to kiss him goodbye in front of... other people. So, when I quit walking and turned to kiss him on the cheek, I was shocked when he grabbed my arm tight enough that it hurt and pulled me six feet or so into the alcove.

“I said I need to talk to you, Shannon. The stupid jock can wait.”

I hate it when people tear someone else down because they’re jealous or insecure, worrying someone is better than them. There will always be someone smarter, thinner, more talented, prettier than each of us. It would be a crappy world if we went around tearing everyone down for it.

“Stop it! And he’s not stupid.” I used all my strength to pull my arm from his grip, and it worked, but his fingernail left a nasty scratch. It burns, and I hiss at the discomfort.

Anthony glances at the bleeding red streak on my arm. “That’s on you for pulling away.”

Incredulous, I step away from him, immediately recognizing my mistake. Without thinking, I had stepped another foot or so away from the main hall.

“What has gotten into you lately? You’re acting like a jerk. And don’t ever put your hands on me again.”

His entire expression changes, and he stalks toward me. The way he’s looking at me with beady eyes and a twisted smile is downright frightening. My heart races, and my mouth goes dry. Before I know it, he’s got me caged in, up against the wall.

“The problem isn’t what’s gotten into me. It’s what’s not gotten into you.” His creepy stare doesn’t divert from my eyes.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense. I’m acting norm?—”

“Jesus, for a book-smart girl, you really are naive. I’m talking about us taking our physical relationship to the next level.”

As understanding dawns on me, my belly clenches with that tightness I always get right before I throw up. I lower my eyes. “I’m not ready. You said you didn’t care about that... stuff.”

A sarcastic huff escapes him. “Yeah, well, I fucking lied. Any guy that tells you he’s dating a chick and sex isn’t his number one goal is a goddamn liar. I’ve been waiting for four months. It’s time.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. What are the chances I can knee this butt wipe in the balls and make it to the study area before he catches me?

He softens his facial expression, and I hope he will back off. Instead, he cups one hand over my jaw and neck and rubs my cheek with the tips of his fingers. I hate it, but I try to hide my response. If he weren’t touching me on the side near my escape route, I’d attempt a run for it, but I suspect he intentionally kept his arm up on that side to keep me trapped here.

“Look at me, babe.” He sounds contrite and leans his upper body in closer to me. I reluctantly peer up at him. “I’ll be eighteen in a month. Once that happens, I won’t be able to touch you without risking us getting in trouble. The time for us to show what we mean to each other is now.”

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