We’re nose to nose and she’s holding the book in her lap. I push it to the side. “I don’t want to read this morning, Starlee.”
“I don’t either.”
“But I really, really, want to kiss you.”
If I’m waiting for an invitation, it’s not going to happen. She’s too impatient, leaning over the rock to kiss me first. Her mouth is warm, her breath minty, and I don’t hesitate to pull her closer, all the way over my legs and in my lap.
Her hands cup my cheeks and mine grip her waist. She’s tiny in my hands but powerful, god, she holds so much power over me and my brothers. The sky breaks behind her, bathing us in pink, and I pull away and point to the horizon.
“Every morning I thought of you,” she says, laying her cheek against my chest, well aware she can hear the thrum of my heart. “I couldn’t see the sunrise from my room—we have too many trees—but I was awake, knowing you were getting up early to do your reading.” She lifts up her chin. “How are your grades?”
“Pretty good. I’ve got a high C in Lit and my history grade is crap, but not too low to keep me off the team.”
She touches my cheek. “We’ll work on it.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her again, softly. I could do this all day but the sun is rising higher. I groan and press my forehead against hers. “I’ve got to head back. As amazing as this is, I really don’t feel like running an extra mile today for being late.”
I hop off the rock and help her down, relishing the feel of her in my hands. When we part at the fence, the knowledge that we’ll see each other again kicks me into gear, banging on George’s door on the way back down the hall. I thought this year was about football and securing a scholarship. Suddenly something amazing got added to the mix, and I can’t wait to start the day.
15
Starlee
The first full day of school is a mess of me getting lost in the hallways, forgetting my locker combination, and alternating between meticulously taking notes and being completely distracted by the Wayward Sons.
Despite being a freshman-level elective, George is in my art class. He works independently on projects designed by him and our teacher. His face lights up when I walk in the room and he introduces me to Ms. Peterman.
“This is Starlee,” he says, as I hand over my schedule for her to confirm.
“Welcome to Art 101. Do you have any experience?”
“Uh, not much. I took basic-level class in sixth grade but nothing since. I was home schooled,” I explain, “and we focused a bit more on museums and art history.”
She gives me a smile. “That’s better than half of these kids. We’re starting a unit on collage. Take a seat at one of the tables and George can help you find all your supplies.”
George grabs my arm. “Sit next to me?”
“You think that’s okay?”
“Ms. Peterman doesn’t dictate where we sit in the class. As long as we get our work done.” He points to his workspace. “I’ve taken this class and can help you catch up.”
“That’d be awesome.” I follow him over and leave my bag on the table. He gestures for me to follow and we move into the supply closet beh
ind Ms. Peterman’s desk. I don’t miss the heat of the eyes of the lower classmen watching our every move. Once we’re out of sight, I say, “I can’t tell if they’re looking at you or me.”
“Both. New kids get a lot of attention, but…”
“But what?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “We get a lot of attention, too.”
“Because you’re a goofball?” I kid. I know it’s because the guys are handsome and mysterious—a little dangerous. I didn’t get how much so until I saw them amongst their peers.
“I think you know why.”
He’s leaned against the cabinet, holding a thick piece of paper. His eyes are zeroed in on my lips but there’s no way in hell I’m kissing him in here.
Zero chance.