The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

By the time I put myself back together, he’s standing at ease, his ankles crossed with his thumbs hooked into his pockets as he leans into the adjacent bookshelf.

He smirks when I look him in the eye. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he muses, biting at his lip and checking me out up and down. “This is just the best Valentine’s Day on record for me.”

I giggle a little, admitting, “Me too.”

In the past, they’ve always been so fussy. So much pressure—not enough pleasure. I think this is going to be my tactic for the holiday from now on, to be honest.

He shoves off the shelf and walks toward me, placing a soft kiss on my lips that’s completely unexpected. I search his blue eyes for some kind of reason, but all I can find in them is complete and utter satisfaction.

“Tomorrow?” I ask simply, hoping he doesn’t make me tap-dance too hard to get a real answer out of him.

“We could go to dinner if you want? Have another round today?”

Out of nowhere, panic seizes my chest, and I have to look away to gather myself for a moment. I’ve settled into our routine of once a day easily enough, but ramping it up? I’m not sure if that’s the right direction to go. If Ty notices, he doesn’t mention it, and for that, I’m thankful.

I couldn’t explain if I tried. But dinner sounds…serious…scary.

And I’m not ready for those things.

“Sorry, I have a paper due tomorrow that I have to put the finishing touches on,” I offer and bump my hip playfully into his side. “If I stick around you any longer today, I’m afraid I’ll never get it done.”

“Some other time, then,” he offers, and I turn to gather my belongings in an effort to deflect the emotions running rampant on my face.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking directly at the carpeted floor and nowhere else. “Some other time.”

He grabs me by the waist and spins me around before laying the kind of kiss on me that makes me forget everything else. It’s expansive and mind-erasing, and before I know it, I’m leaning into it so hard his back bumps into the shelf behind him.

I might be scared at the idea of more, but there’s no denying I’m one hundred percent on board with the sex. That’s for sure.

“Tomorrow,” Ty remarks at the shell of my ear, squeezes my ass, and then disappears into the maze of shelves again.

I take a moment to gather myself, sinking to the floor and pulling my panties and tights back on.

Fully dressed once more, I let my head fall back into the shelf behind me and free up my brain for a tiny sliver of a moment.

Lydia’s words and my dad’s voice and Ty’s invitation all swirl into view and fight for dominance so quickly, I barely manage to shove them back behind the door to the hidden area of my brain and stand.

Nope. Those aren’t the things to think about now.

Right now, all I want to think about is tomorrow.

Friday, February 15th

Ty

Justin, a kid who does very little talking in class, places his test facedown on my desk, and I make a show of kicking my feet up onto the surface and leaning back into my hands behind my head.

“That easy, huh?”

He shrugs one shoulder without saying anything, heads back to where his seat is, hikes his backpack up on his shoulder, and proceeds to exit the room.

I know teachers on exam day aren’t exactly best-friend material, but I normally get at least an awkward smile.

Sliding my feet off the old, wooden surface and sitting straight up, I pick up his test as soon as he leaves the room and start flipping through it. It’s all pretty normal-looking—not that I have the answer key on me to check how many he’s gotten wrong—but the essay section is as bare as a newborn baby’s ass.

Curious, I turn his test facedown in a second stack and pick up another from beneath it. My scan is short-lived and cloaked in the same results. Answered questions and then at the essay, nothing.

I move on to the final test in the pile from the early finishers, and when that one comes up the same way, I snatch my phone off the surface of the desk and start typing furiously.

This is strange. So much so, that I’m starting to wonder if I’m hallucinating.

Me: Rach, do me a favor and go double-check that people aren’t leaving the essay section blank. I’ve gotten three exams turned in with nothing. I’m starting to think I’m the only one who can see it. Like, WTF, did we use invisible ink?

I watch closely for the moment the text hits her phone, and she pulls it out from a spot tucked between her breasts. I shake my head like a wet dog. Holy shit, I’ve got to be hallucinating.