Page 16 of Ward Willing
Still, this is the first time he’s asked for a receipt.
“If you insist.” I take the cash and pocket it, rolling my eyes.
“I do. I need to know that you didn’t spend it on another tattoo,” he drawls, his gaze lingering on my collarbone, where I’d recently gotten a tiny rose.
Oh.
“Fine.”
“I mean it, Zoe.”
“I know you do. I promise to bring you proof of purchase,” I tell him, not clarifyingwhatthe purchase will be.
“Also,” he starts, eyes flicking between mine, “You don’t always have to force yourself to be busy and take a million classes. Sometimes…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
His worried expression causes a crease to form between his brows. I want to reach out and smooth it down, to assure him that I’m fine.
To stop worrying, even though I kind of like that he worries about me.
“Sometimes I wonder if you keep busy to run away from your grief, Zoe.”
His words aren’t malicious. I know he means well. Looking down at my loafers, I swallow through the bubble of emotion in my throat.
“I’m not. I have a lot of goals and aspirations.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but fortunately, he changes the subject.
“What time are you done today?”
“Six,” I tell him, adjusting my heavy backpack again.
“Great. Meet me out front, and I’ll drive us home.”
I frown. “No, it’s okay. Scotty is picking me up.”
“You think I trust that rusty, old truck? Meet me at six,” he growls, his serious expression telling me it’s not up for debate.
This time, I really do roll my eyes. “His truck is fine.”
Liam grunts. “It makes a noise when it comes up the hill to the house. I don’t trust it. And I don’t trust him,” Liam adds, looking at me pointedly behind his glasses.
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he just nods once. “See you at six,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time, and a thrill goes up my spine as his expression darkens slightly.
A challenge.
“Fine,” I answer, knowing full well that I willnotbe meeting him at six. Why would I, when riling him up is my favorite thing to do? He, of all people, should know that.
“Have a good day, Zoe,” he drawls, not breaking eye contact for several seconds.
I turn and walk out, and I feel his eyes on my back the entire way.
My curled hand loosens as I get into the hallway, and I take a steadying breath. Despite me feeling like I have the upper hand most of the time, I sometimes wonder if Liam is really the one in control. Not that I need an upper hand. He’s extremely easy to be around. It’s just that sometimes it’s like he’s waiting for me to disobey him.
Like hewantsme to disobey.
