“I was at that party.”
“But . . . how did I miss you?”
“How did I miss you?” he says softly.
Oh. I look down at my lap and chew on my lip. “Huh.”
“I was with Tuck.”
“You weren’t with Whitney?”
He shakes his head. “I hadn’t met her yet.”
My heart dips, my mind racing. What if . . . what if I had seen him that night? Would he have noticed me? I stop that train of thought. He met Whitney later and loved her.
“Why do you keep Leia in a closet?” I ask.
He stills, frowning. “I bought her last year, and when I got her in the house . . . she didn’t look right. Something . . .” He shrugs. “Anyway, I figured she might be too sexy looking if the players came over to swim on the weekends.”
“Is it because she reminds you of a night you’d rather forget?”
He gazes at me searchingly. “I don’t want to forget that night. It opened my eyes.”
Oh.
His forehead puckers in a frown. “Nova . . .” Emotion flits over his face, and his hands tighten as they rest on his thighs. “Earlier . . . in my office. You’re beautiful and incredible, and we have this past between us, but we should keep things light.”
I stiffen, a curl of anger rising. Got it. Don’t develop feelings for the baller. Which is totally fine! I’d already decided that myself.
He looks up at me. “After Whitney, I swore I’d just chill—you know, not catch any feelings for a while—and . . .”
“You don’t have to worry about me getting the wrong idea.” Rode that roller coaster in New York. It crashed and burned.
“Are you okay with what I said?”
He’s afraid I’m going to just roll over and fall in love? Pfft. I frown. “I’m not Jenny, Ronan. I’m not the kind of girl who chases you down and demands we ‘determine the relationship.’ We don’t have a relationship—and hello, I like the guy to chase me, so there.”
“Wait . . . you’re nothing like her, okay. It’s just I want this—”
“To be light! Message received.” Jeez.
“I’m sorry about earlier—”
“It’s forgotten! Let it go, okay?”
That furrow on his forehead grows, as if he wants to say more.
“We can pretend in public and be done with it. Check.” I stand up and stretch and yawn, needing some distance from him. “It’s late, and I’m ready for bed.”
He studies my face for several moments, then stands, thanks me again for helping with the sheriff and the goat, and walks out my door.
I drape myself back down on the couch, and Sparky curls up in my lap, a soft meow coming from him. I give his ears a scratch, my throat tightening, part hurt, part I should’ve known better than to kiss him!
Ronan doesn’t want to get involved with anyone. He’s emotionally unavailable. I get it. It’s an understandable feeling after losing someone like he did.
We’ll keep things easy and fun with no attachments.
I swear.
Chapter 12
NOVA
My first day at Blue Belle High begins with me dressed in a cream leather pencil skirt, a sleeveless white silk blouse, and three-inch black stilettos, with my hair up. I’m going for the angelic look. Me. Nova Morgan back at BBHS. I push down my anxiety and smile at Sabine as I walk through the double doors. Adjusting the lanyard with my name on it, I head to the teachers’ lounge while Sabine leaves to find Lacey before class. In my leather satchel are the school-issued laptop and a bundle of materials Principal Lancaster gave me. I crammed this weekend. Me and Julius Caesar are now best pals.
I’m staring down at the floor when I bump into someone, a tall, thin, gaunt-faced boy with caramel-colored hair. He’s maybe fifteen or sixteen, and his pinched face gives me pause.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling. “Are you okay? I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
He reels back, grimacing. “Whatever. Be careful, will ya?” He turns around to stalk off.
“Hey!” I call. “What’s your name?”
He flips me off over his shoulder and keeps trucking.
I squint. Well. Good start.
I enter the staff lounge and introduce myself around. I say hi to Miss Burns, the current art teacher, someone I don’t know. She’s older, maybe sixty, and I wonder if she’ll retire soon. Please.
Melinda flits around the room, dressed in a killer blue pantsuit—how many does she have?—her diamond headband in her hair. She studiously ignores me.
I head to a coffee bar, get a large cup, and pour in a liberal amount of creamer.
Someone comes up next to me, and by smell alone, Ralph Lauren’s Polo, I know exactly who. My entire body prepares for war.
Fortifying myself, I plaster on a fake smile and turn.
“Nova, oh my God,” he says as he takes me in, his golden, warm eyes eating me up. “I tried to find you Friday but missed you in the hall. I can’t believe it’s you!” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I drove past your house this weekend, but you weren’t home.”