Beauty and the Baller

“Hey,” I say to him.

“That wanker wants to shag you,” Sonia says under her breath as she grabs her bag, then leans in. “I have a class, but I can wait a few if you want?”

“No, I’ve got this,” I murmur. “Go on.”

She sashays past him, nodding a hello.

“I’ve been missing you for lunch,” he says as he comes closer. He rakes a hand through his blond hair, his dimples popping as he smiles at me.

“Yeah, we’ve been busy.” I catch my reflection in the glass. No lipstick, my hair is a tornado, my royal-blue dress has a mustard stain on it from my sandwich, and I’m shoeless. I pad over to behind my desk and slip my heels on. I quickly brush some gloss over my lips. I turn back.

“Is everything okay?” I ask with a benign smile as I grab my satchel. We keep things light and easy. We talk about school and sports. I’ve clocked the smoldering looks he sends me, the way his hands linger . . . I’ve ignored it.

He gives a pointed look to a few of the kids who dawdle, looking over the posters we’ve made.

“Can we talk in private?” he asks. “This is my planning period, so . . .”

I frown. “I’m supposed to be at the field house.”

“Just a few moments. Please.”

I debate. There’s nothing pressing in Ronan’s office except answering his phones . . .

Andrew and I are always surrounded by other people, even at the fundraiser, and maybe I’ve been wondering what we’d say if we were alone . . . “Sure.”

We walk out together, and he leads me to the same closet Sonia and I use. He opens the door and clicks on the light while I reach up to the top shelf and grab one of the e-cigarettes. I offer him one, and he says no while I suck on one, willing myself not to choke. My goal is to appear to be a nonchalant badass.

Vapor billows in the small space. “What’s up?” I ask.

He leans against the door, a pensive look on his face.

I hold his gaze until he blinks and glances away from me.

“Andrew? We’re here to talk.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Just three words . . .

Several tense moments pass, then . . .

My carefully constructed walls crumble. Anger flares in my chest. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around him for several weeks, unsaid words brimming in my head. “You have no right to say that.”

A slow blush rises on his face. “I know, Nova. I—I’m sorry I hurt you. Paisley and I . . . if it’s any comfort . . . we weren’t happy. We tried, we really did, but once she realized I wasn’t . . .” He sucks in a breath. “We stayed in the same house for years, getting along, living our own lives, but now that Brandy is older, we both realized—”

“I don’t want to hear about you and Paisley. I don’t care,” I say sharply, banked emotion rising higher. “You came to me. You flew to New York to beg me back; you got on your knees and looked in my eyes. You promised it would work. And when I woke up the next morning, you were gone—like a coward.”

His face falls. “I know . . . you said we could try again, but you saw me and Paisley. I knew you’d never forget it.”

“You wanted your daddy’s money,” I mutter.

“And I’ve been unhappy ever since!” he shouts, then sobers, breathing rapidly. “God. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t regret the time I’ve had with Brandy—I love my little girl—but if I could have had you both, I would have, Nova. I loved you.”

I look away from him.

I’m glad he left. Marrying him would have been a horrible mistake.

“Seeing you here at school that first day . . . it was like the sunshine came back. Nova, I still love you. I never stopped.” He moves to take my hands, and I’m so shocked by his words that I let him.

I frown as I take him in—the earnest face, the burning intensity in his topaz eyes. I recall that first day I walked in the school, how devastated I was to see him . . . I’ve wondered over the past weeks if maybe I still carry a torch for him in my heart . . .

“I don’t feel that way about you, Andrew. That part of my life is over.”

“You cared about me once. Just . . . forgive me. If you could let it all go, then maybe, I don’t know, there might be a chance . . .” He searches for words. “I know it’s crazy, but . . . you came back home. That means something. What if it was always meant to be us?”