“It’s actually my first day.”
“That’s wonderful! He needs someone, and if you work together, well, that’s progress. I mean, you’re going to be spending lots of time together. How serious is your relationship?”
Holy shit. She’s one of those moms . . .
“Um . . .” I stop when I see the closet door to the right is open and Ronan is unbuttoning his dress shirt. His head is bent, his finger working down his shirt, one slow button at a time. He tosses it on a small table in the closet. Pulling by the neck, he tugs off the white T-shirt underneath. His broad shoulders flex, his six-pack rippling, the V of his hips clear from his low-slung slacks. He reaches up to a rack and pulls down a polo, then eases his muscled arms inside. His pants are next. I swallow as he unzips them and bends over and pushes them off. His legs are massive, toned, and hard. He slips on a pair of blue shorts, then sticks his feet in sneakers. He slides his fingers through his messy-pretty hair—oh, wow—then settles a cap on.
He turns his head and sees me.
I start, then send up a wave and point to the phone and mouth, It’s your mother.
He stalks out and takes the phone from me, our bodies close. He smells divine, and I don’t move away. Plus, the electricity is addictive.
He looks up at the ceiling. “Mom . . . stop . . . no, it’s not serious . . . no, she’s a girl I met here in town . . .”
He keeps chatting as I move away to one of the chairs.
Not serious. A girl I met in town.
We’re playing pretend. Just pretend.
Chapter 13
NOVA
I settle myself in a chair, twirling the yellow rose between my fingers before tucking the stem back inside one of the outside pockets of my satchel.
I glance up, and Ronan’s eyes glitter.
“From Andrew,” I murmur.
“Really.”
“He always gave them to me. When I won homecoming queen—he was king—he sent me four dozen, for the four years I’d been in high school.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “You’re keeping it, then?”
“It’s a flower. I like it.”
“Huh.” He dips his head and shuffles around the papers on his desk. “I didn’t see you at lunch. How was your first day?”
I chew on my lips. “No one threw spitballs at me. There was a paper airplane, though. Do you know a student, Caleb Carson?”
“No.”
“His parents were killed in a car wreck back in April.” I shake my head. “Before that, he was a solid B and C student, and he wasn’t getting truant notices.” I chew on my lips. “Something about the way he left my room got to me.”
“Maybe life put him in front of you. You lost your mom; he lost his parents. I believe things can be interconnected.”
“You mean like destiny?” I capture his gaze.
“Mm-hmm.”
How absolutely fascinating.
“Do you mean like Tuck showing up at my bar, me being Leia, then us meeting again being in Blue Belle?”
He looks away from me, grabs one of the notebooks, and walks to the door. “There’s a list of things for you on the desk. I wrote down the passwords to the social media accounts. My cell number is there. You good?”
I nod. “Sure.”
Without looking at me, he walks out the door.
Well. Talk about avoidance . . .
After answering calls and jotting down messages, I dust the filing cabinets and the TVs and straighten up his closet. I clean the helmets and the benches with a disinfectant, then let the laundry guy in when he shows up to collect last week’s uniforms and Ronan’s dress shirts. Feet aching from my shoes, I walk out to the field and take pics of them practicing, careful to not post any of their plays or formations.
By the time the bell rings, I’m exhausted. Sabine is going to soccer with Lacey, so I point the Caddy to a house near the entrance of the stone gate that leads to our neighborhood. I stop at Caleb’s house, a rambling two-story colonial, a bit newer than some, but weeds have taken over the yard and landscaping. I slip my shoes back on and walk up the sidewalk.
An older lady, maybe seventy, answers the door warily.
Caleb appears in the foyer, a scowl on his thin face. “I’ve got it, Granny,” he tells her, then steps outside.
I wave. “Hi. Remember me?”
Dressed in dark jeans and a Rolling Stones shirt, he crosses his arms and glowers at me. “What do you want?”
“I was hoping we could talk.”
“Nope.” He flips around to head back in the house.