“Is there anything you need to tell me?” he sighs when he asks this question. He moves, slowly, toward the stool in the corner. He’s acting as if I’ve committed a crime. Maybe I have. Is kissing an underage boy a crime? Probably is, knowing my luck.
“No.”
Alex shifts closer, her elbows resting on her knees. She’s watching Ian, waiting for him to do or say something.
He clears his throat. It’s rough, like he’s getting sick or had too much to drink last night. I’m thinking it’s probably the latter. He pulls the stool into the center of the small room. He sits down, resting his feet on the pegs.
I cross my legs, staring at him, waiting.
“Are you sure?”
What kind of question is that? My parents used to do that to me when I’d bring home a bad grade or forget to turn in an assignment. Am I sure? Of course I am. If I was in trouble I’d think I’d know. Or at least have some sort of idea that I’ve done something wrong.
Ian looks at me as if he’s my father. His brows are furrowed, his eyes slanted. Really? If I weren’t trying to be respectful of his “managerial duties” I’d start swinging my feet just to piss him off. He pulls out a newspaper, one that he’s had tucked inside his coat. His antics are starting to bore me. I roll my eyes at Alex, who shakes her head.
I sit up a bit straighter and look at her. Her eyes, boring into mine, are telling me to behave and that this is serious. All I can think about is Ryan and that maybe he told the wrong person about us and I’m about to be sent to the county jail for child endangerment or something harsher.
Ian shakes the paper. The only thing missing is his orange juice and toast and I’d think this is a common morning at my parents’ house. By the look on his face, I know this is anything but. Something is in that paper, causing him more stress than usual.
“What’s going on, Ian?” I’m tired of waiting and of this beating-around-the-bush.
Ian stands and paces, one hand stuffed deep into his coat pocket, the other clutching the newspaper. He stops in front of me, hovering over me. “You made the paper the other day.”
“Okay.” I draw out the word. “I’m in the paper all t
he time.”
Ian shakes his head. He looks at Alex, who I swear slinks back into the sofa. What the hell? I stand up, my hands planted firmly on my hips.
“What is going on with you two? I’m starting to get pissed.”
Ian hands me the paper, his eyebrow cocked in defiance. He’s testing me. I know this. I open the paper carefully, my eyes slowly traveling up the page. I want to cry out when I see not only my shoes, but the shoes of the boy I was with when this picture was taken. My legs are pressing against his bent legs, his hands resting on my hips – that is what I’m looking at. Except I know in this moment that his fingers are digging into my flesh as his lips work against mine in nothing but pure temptation.
The memory of his tongue moving against mine overcomes my senses. I can feel every touch, every movement of his hands on my back, as if he’s holding me now.
“Explain yourself.”
Ian’s voice knocks me for six. Someone caught me… us. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re a secret, a dirty, forbidden tryst. Alex pulls the paper from my hands. Her hand rubs circles on my back as she directs me back to the chair. Ian huffs, shuffling back to the stool. His throat clears again as he prepares to lecture me on the do’s and don’ts of a public relationship. The problem isn’t that there’s a public picture, but his age.
“The last time you had a relationship that the public was aware of, it ended badly.”
Alex scoffs. “If a relationship is ending, obviously it’s bad, Ian. People don’t break-up when they’re happy.”
I want to hug her for standing up to him, but he’s right. My last relationship, the break-up was very public and nasty. I thought he, Coleman Hollister, was the one. I took the break-up hard and the press had a field day. We were two famous kids in love, destined for greatness.
“Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like?”
That would be the easy thing to do. Just brush it off as some Photoshopped image, but that would be as if I’m denying Ryan and I can’t… I won’t do that. I don’t care if it saves my image or keeps my face out of the press. I’ll just have to be more careful.
I shake my head. “It’s exactly what it looks like.” I want my voice to be confident, but it’s not. It falls flat, weak.
“Who is he?”
This time I clear my throat. I have to tell Ian everything; if I don’t, he won’t be able to protect Ryan and me. “His name is Ryan Stone and I met him in Jackson.”
“And?”
I look up at Ian. He’s leaning forward as if I’m about to tell him a story, like one he hasn’t heard in years, the type my grandma used to tell me when I was little.