These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

“Your dad’s alma mater.”

I jerk out a nod. “Yes.”

“How’s the art program there?”

I bite my lip at his casual tone, which completely belies his dark features. “They don’t have one.”

“They don’t have one.”

“No, but —”

“So it was a complete waste of time.” Then, “For you.”

I grimace. “It wasn’t a waste of time. It was a good campus. It’s just that I’m not going there.”

“They know that yet? Your parents.”

I grimace harder. “Not really.” When his chest moves sharply, I put both my hands up. “I told you. I’m waiting for the right time. I’m waiting for my acceptance letter, okay? And until I get one there’s just no point telling them about it and upsetting them. Especially when I don’t even know if I’m going to get one and —”

“Of course you’ll get a fucking acceptance letter,” he interrupts in a lashing voice.

And my heart soars in my chest. At his utter belief in me.

In my dream.

“You think so?” I can’t help but ask.

I mean, I know this is what I want to do and I know I can do it but what if…

What if I can’t?

What if it’s all in my head?

What if I’m not good enough to go to art school?

“Do I think so,” he asks, his voice as lashing as before — actually more so now. “Fuck yeah, I think so. I think so because you work hard for it. And you’re talented as fuck.” He steps closer to me, his head bent, his eyes full of fire and belief. “Do you know how rare that is? To be talented at something and also be disciplined enough to make something out of it? It’s fucking rare. So rare that I can count on one hand all the players I’ve coached who’re not only talented but are also smart enough to recognize that. The rest of them are just little shitheads who don’t know what to do with the talent they were born with.”

I open my mouth to say something to him then.

Something like I love you.

Or like why can’t you love me back? Why do you love someone else?

And it’s so huge, that urge, that I have to clench my teeth to keep the words inside.

Because if I don’t, he’ll leave.

And he’ll never come back. And I’ll never get a chance to show him all the things I want to.

I’ll never get the chance to be his.

Not even for a little bit.

“Where are your parents?” he asks abruptly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“If they took you to New York today and you’re just getting back, where are they?”

“What, why?”

“Because the right time is now.”

“What?” I squeal almost, completely horrified.

“Come on,” he says, looking up at the house. “Let’s go tell them. Let’s tell them that you’re going to art school. And so they should stop pulling you out of school like this and wasting everyone’s time.”

Oh my God.

Oh God.

He’s crazy.

He’s absolutely crazy.

I’m not telling my parents right now.

I can’t.

They were so happy today. Well, as happy as they can be with me, but still. This was the first time my dad introduced me to people and didn’t grimace in a year. Since I vandalized his car.

I can’t tell them right now and ruin everything.

I already did once.

I need time.

I need to gently break the news to them.

And this is not gentle. This man here, breathing wildly, glaring at the house I grew up in.

“No,” I tell him and he focuses on me. “Absolutely not. You’re not talking to my parents about anything. It doesn’t matter. It was one campus tour and now it’s over. I won’t have to do it again.”

When he opens his mouth I stop him again. But this time I do it with both my words and my hands. I put them both on his chest and splay my fingers. “They’re my parents, Conrad, and I can handle them myself. I’ve done it for eighteen years. It’s going to be fine. Once I have my acceptance letter, I’ll tell them then. You don’t get to make this decision for me, okay? So back off.”

Now he’s glaring at me.

His chest all big and hard under my palms. Scary.

But I don’t care.

He absolutely does not get to make this decision for me.

I will make it myself. I will choose the time and the place to do this.

He finally loses the stubborn look on his face and takes a deep breath. Which makes me take a deep, relieved breath too.

“You’re coming with me.”

I’m confused by his command. “What?”

“I’m assuming since you got out of the car all alone, your parents aren’t here,” he explains. “Are they?”

“No.”

My dad’s in DC because he got a call last minute about a meeting that he had to attend. In reality, I think he’s flown over to meet his girlfriend or mistress or whoever she is. And when my mother realized that, she booked herself a spa for the weekend and didn’t return from New York at all.