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

Conrad doesn’t think so.

He doesn’t offer my father a smile in return.

In fact it takes him a couple of seconds — seconds in which I wring and wring my hands in front of me — to accept my father’s handshake.

“Coach Thorne,” my dad says, pumping Conrad’s hand up and down, looking thoughtful.

Conrad throws my dad a short nod. “Mr. Littleton.”

Even though his tone was polite, I still swallow in nervousness. Because I can see the chill in his eyes. I can see how cold they appear right now.

My dad is none the wiser though as he says, “Thorne. Conrad Thorne, correct?”

“Yes.”

My dad’s smile grows. It actually becomes quite genuine. “Of course. Of course. I heard that you joined St. Mary’s. Such a pleasure to meet you. How are you enjoying the party?” He lifts his glass. “There’s champagne. And cake, of course.”

Conrad gives my dad’s champagne flute a look. “I think I’ll leave the champagne to you. And I don’t like cake.”

My dad’s eyes narrow slightly and I’m beginning to grimace but he lets it go and says, “Suit yourself. Although I do have to tell you that you’ve been quite the topic of conversation for the last few months. Actually you’ve always been a topic of conversation among people.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and why not?” My dad chuckles. “You’re the best soccer coach we’ve seen in years. Everybody wants you on their team. Every school in this town and for four towns around. In fact, every school in this state. And if that’s not enough, I hear pros are constantly knocking at your door.” My dad takes a sip of his champagne as he goes on, “People were really surprised when you accepted an offer from St. Mary’s.”

Conrad thrusts his hands down into his pockets. “Yeah, that’s me. I like to surprise people.”

My dad chuckles again. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying your time at St. Mary’s.” He looks at me then. He actually wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a side hug like a proud father would. “I hope my daughter here isn’t giving you too much of a hard time. She can be very hopeless at sports if I do say so myself.”

Anger flashes through Conrad’s features and he opens his mouth to say something — definitely something scathing — but I don’t let him. “Yeah, soccer isn’t my thing, sorry.”

My dad chuckles again, squeezing my shoulders before letting go. “Well, it doesn’t need to be. You should probably focus more on your grades than wasting your time kicking around a muddy ball.” He glances at Conrad at this. “No offense, of course.”

Conrad is seething.

I can see that. His jaw is clenched so tightly and his eyes are shooting fire. And it’s not because of my dad’s offhand comment about soccer, and I’m proven right in the next second when Conrad finally finds an opening and says, “From what I understand your daughter is into art. She’s an artist, isn’t she? So yes, she doesn’t need to focus on something she isn’t interested in.”

Irritation flashes through my father’s eyes but he manages to tone it down and say, “Yes, it was quite the phase, wasn’t it?”

He shoots me a glance and I duck my head, blushing with embarrassment.

“A phase,” Conrad politely murmurs.

My dad sighs before explaining, “Yes, unfortunately. Teenagers and their tantrums, right? What can you do?” He chuckles again. “But St. Mary’s has been a godsend, hasn’t it?”

My heart clenches but I smile nonetheless and nod. “Yes.”

I mean, it has.

But not in the way that my dad thinks.

Conrad hums. “I don’t know, Mr. Littleton, I think sometimes teenagers can surprise you.” I snap my eyes over to him to find that he’s looking at me before focusing on my dad. “It’s hard to grasp, the concept. In fact, up until recently I wasn’t even aware of it myself. But I’d like to say that I’ve grown. And now I think sometimes teenagers know exactly what they’re doing and their tantrums aren’t tantrums at all. Whether they are breaking curfew or vandalizing an expensive car.”

While my heart is beating, beating, beating in my chest, my dad doesn’t particularly care for Conrad’s comments. And this time his irritation isn’t easily gone. It seeps into his eyes a little and also into his voice. “That may be so. But I’d like to think that I know my daughter. That I know what’s best for her.”

Conrad’s eyes narrow slightly as he says, “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That you’d think so. That you know what’s best for your daughter.”

“I’m sorry but” – my dad sips champagne again – “is that supposed to mean something?”

“Well between the two of us, you’re the one who went to a law school,” Conrad says, his eyes lethal and cold while his tone is casual. “Harvard, I hear. I’m sure you can figure it out. What that was supposed to mean.”