Page 63 of Bedding Rose
Her cheeks color but my ability to shock her with teasing has faded over the month or so she and Gunnar have been together. “Actually, I do. Otherwise I’ll get spanked.” She winks when my jaw drops.
Dammit. She’s clearly won this round.
Waving goodbye to her and the other girls, who walked on ahead of us and are already in deep conversation about Vi’s failed date last night, I leave them behind. I figure I’ll talk to Lily later.
Striding over to Angelo, a wide smile stretches across my face. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing here?”
He pulls me into a hug immediately, wrapping his burly arms around my back. I sink into his warmth gratefully, nestling against his broad chest, realizing with a little bit of shock, just how comfortable I am with his public displays of affection—especially considering how I’ve been with past boyfriends. It always felt awkward. But with him, everything just feels right.
He clears his throat before he broaches a topic that’s clearly brought him all the way out here to the campus. “I made us an appointment.”
“Appointment?” My brow furrows and immediately, the alarm bells go off. “Doctor’s appointment?” Does he have STDs? Oh, God. Has he been sleeping with someone else? We’ve seen each other almost daily—so I just don’t know where he’d find the time but …
“No. No.”
Relief nearly makes me sag into him as all the worry drips right out of my system. When I see he’s serious and actually somewhat disturbed by the idea of going to a doctor, I’m finally able to joke about it. “You sure you’re not pregnant?” I tease.
He chuckles and pinches the side of my stomach in a spot he knows is highly ticklish. I squeal and grasp him tighter.
“Brat,” he murmurs in my ear as he leads me off on a sidewalk to our right, acting as if he knows exactly where he’s going. Of course he does.
When we stop walking in front of a familiar two-story, stucco building, I freeze and glance over at him.
“What is this?” I ask, with the smallest hint of trepidation, releasing the hold I’d had on his waist and grabbing onto my backpack straps as if they can support me. I try not to let my mouth gape open in shock but this is literally the last place I expected him to take me.
“I made you an appointment with the Chair of the History Department,” he responds calmly.
I glance between him and the building and back again. Disbelief and shock hold my feet in place as certainly as a glue trap. I feel a little like a creature caught in one, too—my heart races with anxiety … but also, maybe, possibly, with the tiniest hint of excitement.
Do I want to do this?
Do I want to go up there and hear what a stupid idea I’ve got, what a terrible life plan it is to want to become a writer?
Or worse … do I want to be given hope?
What if the Chair is sweet and grandfatherly? What if he’s supportive? What if he tells me he knows someone I can talk to who’s walked that same path?
I sway a tiny bit on my feet.
If I go up those steps and into that meeting, it will stop being just a dream.
If it’s not just a dream but a possible future, with a path and steps all laid out—just like the one my mother’s built for me … what will I do?
Angelo moves to watch me and positions himself in front of me, waiting patiently as I stand as still and silent as the grave. Inside, I’m anything but.
His hands come to cup my cheeks, as if he can hear the voice inside my head. "It's your life, Rose. Your life. And to be honest, I don't give a damn if you want to go to clown school and terrorize children for the rest of your life—I just want you to come home happy. To me."
Then his hands drop and he holds one out, palm up, offering to hold my hand.
Reacting unthinkingly, I take it.
And suddenly, I have the strength to take a step.
* * *
“You want to explain this?”Mom bursts into my room, the completed paperwork for my major clutched in her hand.
I turn off the classical violin music I was listening to while I outlined a paper for my English class and pull the earbuds from my ears. Night has fallen and my room glows bright and cheery, the windows reflecting everything inside—including her furious face.
