Isaiah smelled like the outdoors, and for some reason, that was comforting to me. “I know you’re confused, but just trust me.” He paused, and I swore I could feel his lips brush my skin. “Please.”
Uncertainty swept me off my feet, and just as my thoughts unmuddled, Isaiah whispered along my ear again. “I’m going to kiss your cheek.” My breath caught, and before I could react, he quickly moved his mouth from my ear, and he placed his soft lips on my high cheekbone in front of everyone.
My teeth clamped down over my plump bottom lip before I could allow myself to smile. It wasn’t a fake smile either. It was a real, ripped-from-the-deepest-parts-of-my-soul smile, which was exactly why irritation soon followed.
I wanted to ask what the hell he was doing and why he thought it was okay to touch me like I was his, but God, there was a secret part of me that liked it. I liked it too much, and liking it took away the fear of Richard somehow finding out that someone had touched me, kissed me—even if it was just my cheek.
But before I had the chance to clear my head and say anything, Isaiah quickly pulled back, whipping his hand out of my pocket and putting a safe distance between us. “Meet me outside of the locker room in twenty. We can walk to the library together for tutoring. Sound good?”
I blinked a few times, trying to steady the earth below my feet. “Ye—yeah,” I said, finally letting my lip plop from my teeth. What the hell was happening? I knew I was naive and completely uncertain in this situation, but everything about this encounter was confusing to me, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with my lack of social skills.
Isaiah shot me a nod just as someone began to walk behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that it was Mrs. Dunes. A tender smile graced her face as we locked onto one another, and I saw that she was wearing the same St. Mary’s lacrosse shirt that I had on but with dangling silver earrings that looked to be lacrosse sticks hanging from her ears. Her gaze briefly moved to Isaiah, and she gave him the strangest look before sighing and walking down to the side door of the school.
Then, someone shouted in the distance, taking all of our attention. The guys from the opposing school seemed to recognize the catcall, and they began saying their goodbyes to Sloane and Mercedes and a few other girls from Callie’s tight-knit group of friends—not before giving up their numbers—and they turned to leave. The one that had spoken to me before Isaiah swooped in and sliced the moment in half raised his angled chin to Is
aiah and chuckled. A moment passed between them, and then they all turned around and stalked down the wet grass to their teams.
My brows crowded with even more confusion as Sloane tipped her head over the fence to look down at me. “Did Isaiah just say you were tutoring him?”
I opened my mouth but was interrupted by MaryAnn, one of Callie’s closest friends, as she popped in between us. “Um. Did Isaiah Underwood just kiss your cheek? In front of everyone? Does that mean it’s true what the blog said? Are you two…a thing?”
“What? No! I’m…I’m just tutoring him. That’s all.” That didn’t explain the whole kissing-my-cheek thing, but I’d figure that out later when we were alone and I could ask what he was thinking.
Blonde ringlets bounced off MaryAnn’s shoulders as they fell with relief when she flipped around to lean her back on the fence. “That makes sense. You’re definitely not his type.”
A sting of annoyance pelted me just as Sloane scoffed. “What makes you think that Gemma isn’t good enough to be his type, MaryAnn?”
She shook her head. “No, no. That’s not wha—”
Mercedes leaned forward into my line of sight. “Yeah. Gemma is gorgeous, and she’s—"
“Late.” Headmaster Ellison appeared out of thin air, and I jumped in my spot, whipping around so hard I hit my back on the chainlink fence. The second our gazes collided, I was smacked face first with reality.
It was Monday.
It was Monday at 7 o’clock.
I was supposed to call home every Monday at the same exact time, and Richard did not like to be kept waiting. Shit. How could I have forgotten?
Dread slithered into my veins, making all the happiness I’d felt in the last few minutes turn to stone.
“Let’s go.” The headmaster’s voice wasn’t disciplinary or even angry, but it did hold a certain amount of caution to it, which told me that he’d likely already been graced with a phone call, demanding to know why I was late.
Richard was probably waiting by his phone, and the second it hit 7:01, he dialed up the headmaster and threatened something.
Probably his life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isaiah
Steam from the locker room surrounded me so thickly that I hoped I could duck away from the guys and snag my clothes before meeting up with Gemma outside in order to evade more questions. After dropping the “my father is the psycho they call the Huntsman” bomb on Shiner earlier, there wasn’t time left for me to fill them all in about the deal I’d made with Gemma. So, when I treated her like she was something more than what any girl here had ever been before, Cade nearly combusted with questions. It was the sight of Grayson from Washington High that threw me off course. There was a flame of jealousy that flickered through me when I saw the way he was looking at her, but a wave of protectiveness quickly dimmed that light, and I took control of the situation. Grayson had no business talking to anyone at this school, and he knew it. His father was just as much a rival as Bain’s was to my family, which meant that he and I were a conflict of interest. What was mine was mine, and he was not coming near anyone or anything at St. Mary’s. I already had Bain to deal with. I didn’t need Grayson fucking poking around too.
I fended Cade off long enough to shower the sweat and mud off my body before he was able to corner me again, and I reluctantly filled him in. Curfew was soon, and I didn’t have time to be chatting like little old bats at the hair salon on a brisk Saturday morning regarding my little show with Gemma.
Just as I slipped my black Vans on and stood up to leave the locker room, thankful that there were no more questions being thrown at me, Brantley’s palm came down on my shoulder, and he squeezed my sore trap muscle. I yelled out in agony and slapped my hand over his, peeling his firm fingers off my muscle. I bent it backward until he screamed out and flung forward, cradling his hand that I nearly snapped in half. “Don’t fucking touch me, Brantley. I’m sore as fuck.”
He stood up, red-faced, but then quickly recovered. “You gonna fill us in on you and Gemma? What was that about?”