May Contain Wine (SWAT Generation 2.0 5)

Carruthers narrowed his eyes. “What’s this student’s name?”

I told him, surprised when Carruthers curled his lip.

“He was just as bad in middle school,” he said softly, looking behind him to make sure that there was no one in sight. “When he was in middle school, they had him evaluated. They held him overnight in a psych hold because he tried to stab his classmate’s sister.”

My gut clenched.

“I’m fairly sure I remember that he did kill his family pets. Used to stab them in the chest and watch them die,” he murmured.

I shivered.

“They got him help, and he got better over his seventh-grade year. But yeah, I can see how he would give you the attitude. He always had that when he was in my school, too.” He paused. “I’m actually quite disappointed that I have to deal with him once again.”

At that, I actually burst out laughing.

Carruthers rolled his eyes.

“Be careful when you’re around him,” he said. “When he comes into your office, make sure you never close the door. Leave it open…”

He left that last part hanging, but I understood.

Leave it open so someone could hear me scream.

“I don’t like this,” Louis said. “If he’s that bad, why is he here?”

That was the million-dollar question.

Why was he there if he was that bad, indeed.Chapter 4

You sound better with your mouth closed.

-Coffee Cup

Louis

I picked my hand up to knock right as the door flew open and Calloway came rushing out.

She had an overnight bag in her hand, and she was holding onto a laptop case as if her life depended on it.

I frowned when she didn’t even notice I was there. She turned hastily around, backed up, and hit me with her overnight bag before shutting and locking the door.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Calloway reacted as if I’d pinched her.

Screeching and whirling around, she stared at me with horror.

That horror quickly fell off her face, but a different, more usual expression filled her face after that. Anger.

“Why the hell would you scare me like that?” she asked, placing her hand over her heart.

“I was standing here about to knock when you came barreling out of the door and didn’t bother to look who was standing on your front porch,” I said.

If you could even call it a front porch.

The place was falling down around her.

The porch had more sagging and rotted boards than I’d ever seen in one place. And there was one part of her house, right beside the door, that I could actually see through.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she went around me and headed for her car.

I frowned and followed after her.

When she would’ve gotten into her car, I slammed the door back closed and leaned against the car door, waiting for her to acknowledge me.

When she didn’t, I sighed and walked around her car.

She used that time to get into hers and start it up.

She was nearly about to put her foot onto the accelerator when I came to the passenger side and dropped my ass into it.

“You owe me,” I said. “I came over here and picked up a dead kitten for you.” I paused. “Not to mention, I donate my blood to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I can get blood from anyone.”

“I donate blood to you at least every two months,” I said. “Because it’s safer, and you know where the blood is coming from.”

She didn’t argue with that.

“They screen the blood they use,” she countered.

I sighed. “That’s damn near ridiculous. You know you’d rather my blood than some random stranger’s.”

And I knew I was right.

She’d mentioned it a handful of times. That, and she really hated the idea of taking blood away from someone that might need it in the event of an emergency.

“Whatever,” she said. “Why does it matter, anyway?”

I reached for my seatbelt and locked it into place.

“I want you to go on a date with me,” I said simply. “I want another chance.”

She was silent for so long that I turned to look at her.

Her hand was clenched hard on the steering wheel, and she was now driving close to eighty—in a fifty mile an hour zone, might I add.

“You do realize that it’s a fifty mile an hour zone right here, right?” I asked curiously.

The needle started to creep back down to the seventy mark, but before she could get any further, red and blue lights lit up the back window.

My lips curled up in amusement as she started to curse.

The first place she found to turn into—the goddamn donut store might I add—she pulled over, put her car into park, took her foot off the brake and turned her car off before putting her keys into the cupholder.

Her father’s doing, I assumed.

Before I could tell her to roll down the windows, those went down, too, effectively allowing the cop doing the pulling over to see into her car.