Page 42 of Connectio
“You don’t happen to have a spare pair of shoes, do you, like you did the T-shirt? Size 6? Maybe they’re tap shoes that say Tap That?”
Will laughs. “No, but there’s an idea.”
“This is all Carly’s fault, you know.” I lift my heels out of the cart and drop them at my feet. “Apparently, I looked like a hillbilly this morning, so she gave me a makeover.”
He rubs his chin with his thumb and finger, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe. And for the first time, I don’t feel the need to cover myself with my arms.
“While I like Carly’s handiwork, if you want to look like a hillbilly, you should look like a hillbilly.”
“I don’t want to look like a hillbilly,” I grouch.
“My point is you should look the way you want to look.” He holds out his elbow so I can balance while putting my heels back on.
“Thanks.” I steady myself. “In the future, I will. But that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Carly is holding her car keys as ransom; otherwise, I’d go home right now and grab a different pair of shoes.”
I walk in the direction of the equipment room, Will pushing the cart beside me.
“You don’t have a car?”
“No, I do. Carls and I live together, so it makes sense if we ride-share during the week. She drove today.”
“So why’s she holdin’ the keys as ransom?”
“Because she wants me to suffer. She’s a villain.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take you home if you want.”
I stop at the equipment room and unlock the door. “Uh…”
“I’m not going to kidnap you,” he says, a devious grin creeping onto his face.
I squeak out a laugh. “I know that. It’s just I don’t want to put you out.”
He winks. “I like putting out.”
I keep my face stoic.
“Do you want to change your shoes or not?” Will pushes the cart into the corner of the room.
“I do. It would make my life much easier.”
“Then I’ll take you. End of story. Does now suit?”
“Actually, now is perfect. The students are at lunch for an hour.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“It is not a date.”
He smiles, all teeth, then holds the door open for me as we exit. “Your chariot awaits.”
I roll my eyes but stifle a giggle; I’ve always wanted to ride in a chariot.
* * *
Will’struck is indeed no chariot. Instead, it’s a white Toyota Hilux utility that smokes more than a dragon and rattles louder than a charity tin.
“Just on your left,” I say, pointing at our house through the windscreen. “Number 12.”
