“Okay, wise guy, you can drop the cute act now that you’ve got your way.”
I moved to set Mikey down.
“No carrwy me,” he whined, wrapping his arms around my neck.
“Honey, you’re gettin’ so big now . . . and you’re chokin’ me.” I stumbled
towards my car.
“I gotcha,” Pete said, reaching over to pry Mikey from my arms. Mikey
started a protest that ended in the air as Pete tossed him up and caught him.
Mikey yelped with pleasure, eyes bulging. “Do it again!”
Pete immediately tossed Mikey up again then threw him over his shoulder
so that his giggles spilled down his back. He was squealing and laughing so
hard I thought he might be choking. That finally prompted Andrew to exit
out the passenger side, where he’d been busy inspecting the complex-looking
navigational system.
“Hey! My turn next!” he called, hurtling towards Pete, arms wide. Pete
exaggeratedly wiped his brow with the back of his hand. I had to laugh—
Andrew was getting pretty big.
Something was happening to me inside, a loosening. He was just so, so . . .
dang charismatic. And nice. And witty. And drop-dead gorgeous. I found
myself almost helpless against his charms.
Why- oh-why does he have to be the bad guy?
I busied myself unnecessarily buckling Mikey into his booster seat with
Pete eyeing me with blatant interest. This facilitated the slow burn creeping
up my face. When I went to get in, Pete intervened by wrenching the door
• 145 •
open for me. “Thanks,” I murmured, trying very hard not to feel the sting of embarrassment at my pathetic wheels.
“You’re welcome,” he said, continuing to look down on me with eyes that
were melting me faster than the afternoon sun. I got in and rolled down the
windows in the over-heated car. Looked up to find him still staring at me.
Maybe if I roll over his foot?
Shaking my head, I started the car and put it in reverse. But he still hadn’t
moved except to slide a pair of dark aviators on. I cleared my throat. “Excuse
me. I don’t mean to be rude but I really do have to go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m very sure,” I said tartly. “I have a lot to do this afternoon.”
“No, I mean are you sure you don’t mean to be rude?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I sniffed, easing the car back.
“So you’re not trying to be rude then?” Pete persisted, still hanging out
in my window.
He was playing a good game. I glanced in the rearview mirror at the two
little pitchers with big ears in the backseat. “No!”
Lips quirking up at my little outburst, he tossed his hair back and leaned
in, his forearms resting on the windowsill. I noticed some hair sparkling gold
against his tan in the sunlight. “Good,” he said, I’m relieved.”
“Okay, now that that’s all settled.” Exasperated, I began backing up again,
forcing him to move out of the way. Then got the car turned around and had
to endure an enthusiastic round of goodbyes from the boys all around. I finally
started to drive off when a sharp whistle automatically caused my foot to hit
brake. I distinctly recalled hearing that same exact whistle Saturday night.
“Wow!” Andrew rubbernecked out the window. “Did you hear that?”
“How’d he do that?” Mikey asked in an awed voice as though a piercingly
loud whistle was akin to flying.
Pete came trotting up to my window and leaned back in. “So . . . since
you’ve established you’re not trying to be rude, I thought I’d push my luck and ask you to have lunch with me tomorrow.” He followed that bit of boldness
up with a lopsided grin.
My heart did a little backflip in my chest, and I just stared for a second,
debating how I could squirm out of this one (and if I even wanted to).
“It’s just, I’m all alone . . . and lonely,” he threw unnecessarily to the
backseat. I snorted at this bit, but he just continued playing the violin for his
rapt audience. “I don’t have one single friend yet . . . except for you, Kate.”
“Of course she will, Pete!” Mikey spoke up, unable to take it another
• 146 •
“Come on, Katie! You don’t want him to have to sit all alone at lunch do you?” Andrew threw in, despite my strict warnings about his academy.
I remained resolutely quiet, boiling over with anger and heat.
“You can come have lunch with me tomo’wow, Pete!” Mikey happily
solved his problem for his new favorite person.
Pete acknowledged him with a high-five. “Thanks, bro. I wish I could,
but I’m in high school with your sister, so she’s the only one in this car I can sit with tomorrow.”
“Pwease, Kadee! Tell him you’ll sit with him. Wemembuh the golden
rule?”
Called out by my little brother. I ground my teeth.
“Show me how it goes again, Mikey.” Pete mimicked the “irresistible”
face. “Like this? I need to get it just right—I’m not as good at it as you yet.”
Mikey seriously demonstrated the technique again while Andrew rolled
his eyes at the proceedings. Pete immediately winked at Andrew to let him
know he was in on the charade . You had to hand it to the guy—he had people skills.“Pretty please, Kate?” Pete clasped his hands in prayer again.
“Pwetty pwease with a chewry on top,” Mikey added helpfully.
Pete laughed again, a sound so natural and pure, it sent little shivers of
pleasure running down my spine. “Pretty please with a cherry on top,” he
added with a sexy pout. “I’ll even get down on one knee.” He’d just folded
one knee when I finally caved by reaching out to pull him up.
“Fine,” I snapped, reminding myself of Mikey when he agreed to apologize
to Mrs. Reyes.
Pete stood back up and leaned in again. Even closer than before, so I had
a chance to inhale his healthy male scent. “Fine what?”
“Fine . . . I’ll have lunch with you tomorrow,” I mumbled out with the
requisite eye-roll.
“Promise?”
“I promise, okay.” I glared at his smug smile. “Happy now?”
“Elated.” He chuckled a little at my expense. “I’ll wait for you after class.”
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth, then squealed out of the parking lot
with mocking laughter trailing after me through the open window.
I left feeling very much like round one went to the elite cadet.
• 147 •
15
LUNCH DATE
The next day I was on pins and needles from the moment I rolled onto
campus. Every time I thought about sitting across from the world’s
most desirable guy for forty-five minutes—alone—a feeling akin to
stage fright hit me. Butterflies stirred my stomach (not an entirely unpleasant
sensation).
To avoid seeing him just yet I’d arrived as late as possible so only laid eyes
on him briefly across the main hall while I dashed to class. While everyone
bustled with their backpacks and banter to first-hour, I caught a glimpse of
his golden head gliding along with two senior girls, who were bookending and
bombarding him with questions as they headed for class. Looked like he’d
already accumulated qu
ite a horde of followers, and they were trailing behind
him like paparazzi after a good story.
Furtively, I watched him for a few seconds, feeling vaguely like a stalker
myself. I noticed I wasn’t the only one scoping him out—Ashley-Leigh and
her lackeys were busy strategizing around her locker and looking at him like
a particularly juicy piece of meat they’d like to devour.
He seemed oblivious to all the attention, sauntering along answering one
of the bouncy girl’s questions. He spoke down out of one side of his mouth in
a manner I found extremely sexy. She laughed out loud at whatever he said,
beaming up at him with admiration mingled with lust.
A pang hit my stomach now that was far less pleasant than the butterflies.
I heaved a sigh and forced myself to turn the corner to the library. That pang
could only mean one thing—jealousy . Ugh! I instantly hated the feeling, always believing I was above petty jealousies about boys.
Not that he was even remotely an ordinary boy. Is he real y even a boy at al ?
I had my suspicions. He just seemed so sophisticated compared to everyone
• 148 •
else. Probably due in large part to the elite life he’s led. Self-doubt started gnawing at me. Why would such an extraordinary person find me remotely
interesting?
I mentally shook myself again. Pete wasn’t interested in me personally. He
was here to do a job. I was just part of the mission I’d overheard him talking
about. He probably thought he could pull the ole razzle-dazzle on me like
everyone else and then just sally on out of here—with my kid brother—while
he watched me blow kisses at him in the rearview mirror.
Well I ain’t gonna be no easy country bimbo! I stomped around the library
in my cowboy boots, stirring up dust and shoving books in a huff. And feeling
stupid because I’d dressed in my cute birthday outfit today, the one Ashley-
Leigh made me take off to put on those ridiculous shorts.
I was getting sucked into the guy’s vortex of charisma. I mean . . . he
obviously had some kind of hidden agenda, and my gut told me there was
something fishy about this transfer-mentoring program. And why all the secrecy
surrounding the school? It was downright scary how little we actually knew about the boarding school—all the way out in California—that Andrew
might be attending in just four short months.
My stomach clenched; I wasn’t even sure I could eat today. Maybe he
wouldn’t show up? I mean, I didn’t recall even telling him what class I have third-hour, so how’s he gonna find me? Something told me that if Pete Davenport
wanted something, he’d get it. An image of Andrew flashed in my mind.
We’ll see about that.
A plan. That’s what I needed, “Operation Derail.” Phase One: redouble
my efforts to avoid Pete. Phase Two: have Andrew recommit to not performing
well on his tests (easier said than done for an overachiever like my brother).
Also, there was the little problem of him being smitten with his “mentor.”
Andrew dropped “so cool” about a half-dozen times during the ride home
alone, followed by a “I might want to go to boarding school” in the brief
exchange we had before bed. After I almost went into cardiac arrest, he
quickly changed his tune, but you could tell it was only to appease me.
Daddy, of course, was pleased as punch by the glowing report. He shot
me a gloating look that made me start itching for a pie. Arrgh! It all made me want to punch something—maybe even a very good-looking, smug cadet.
The morning rolled by quickly and predictably. Before I knew it third-
hour bell rang, signaling the last class that stood between me and my lunch
date. Between the clenching and the butterflies, I could barely even sit upright.
Miguel and Ashley-Leigh slid into the same seats as yesterday, both staring
expectantly at me while I studiously perused the contents of my notebook. I
• 149 •
was actually going over a list of questions I had for Pete regarding his school, in case he miraculously showed up.
Midway through class, Mrs. Jenkins told us to get together in groups of
twos or threes to discuss the Walt Whitman poem we’d just read. Uh- oh. I was barely paying attention, so probably couldn’t contribute much more than
a yawn.
Miguel leaned over. “Wanna partner up?”
“Sure.” I smiled, and we lifted and turned our desks to face each other the
same time Ashley-Leigh bumped hers up against the side of mine.
“Uh!” she huffed dramatically, pretending not to see one of her “besties”
waving her down in the middle of the room. “What the hell, Miguel?”
“You snooze, you lose,” he replied calmly.
“You know I always partner up with Katie.”
Miguel and I exchanged looks. “Since when?”
“Since, like, forever,” she insisted.
“Why don’t you go partner up with BFF over there?” He nodded toward
Madison, who was still frantically waving like an aircraft was heading in the
wrong direction.
“Why don’t you?” she replied churlishly. “. . . Sides, Katie’s my real BFF.”
Miguel started to argue, but I interrupted quickly, having lots of experience
refereeing squabbling children. “We can all partner up,” I said diplomatically.
“Mrs. Jenkins said groups of two or three.”
Ashley-Leigh poked her tongue out at Miguel before plopping into her
seat. He glowered back at her. I inwardly smiled. This is working out great.
They both obviously wanted to ask me something but neither one wanted to
do it in the presence of the other . . . I couldn’t have planned this better.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), the hour had almost run its course. We
were all busy cramming the desks back into rows and packing to leave when
I caught Ashley-Leigh eyeing my outfit. I did a swift one-eighty to talk to
Miguel, who caught me off guard by asking what I was doing for lunch. I
stammered my way through some loose interpretation of already having plans.
“Isn’t that, like, the outfit you wore Saturday night for your birthday?”
Ashley-Leigh interrupted, tact not being her strong suit. I confirmed that it
was and caught myself squirming under her scrutiny. She narrowed her eyes
at me. “Why are you so dressed up today?”
“Why you always gotta be so nosey?” Miguel answered for me. “Don’t
listen to her, Katie. I think you look real pretty today.”
“Thanks, Miguel.” I rummaged around in my backpack, but before I
could hide my face in there, Ashley-Leigh peeled it away from my hands.
• 150 •
“So are you gonna hang with us today at lunch?” she demanded.
“She’s already got plans.” Miguel plucked my backpack from Ashley-Leigh
and handed it back to me. “Plans that don’t include you. Right, Katie?”
“Uh . . .” Thankfully the bell rang and everyone began pooling to the
door. “Saved by the bell ” may never have been a more apt expression. My
imminent lunch plans flew a fresh migration of butterflies to my stomach.
It felt a lot like I was stepping from behind the velvet curtain and into the
spotlight—naked. I sank back to my desk to get my bearings.
“You comin’?” Miguel called, wading against the current to
wait for me.
“You go ahead, Miguel . . . I want to, ah, ask Mrs. Jenkins somethin’. I’ll
see you in Spanish.”
“Okey-dokey. Hasta luego!” With a wave, he allowed himself to be drained
out the door with the rest of the school.
I lingered a moment longer, lubing my lips and brushing out my hair.
(I hated myself so much then, you don’t even know.) Mrs. Jenkins eyed me
inquiringly. I gave her an apologetic smile, shrugged my backpack on, and
headed the short distance to the door, hoping the crowds had sufficiently
thinned because I was feeling sorta like the girl who was about to be stood
up . . . and didn’t want a crowd of witnesses.
But I needn’t have worried because I saw him almost immediately (he was
kind of hard to miss). Everyone within a hundred-foot radius was staring at
him, for one thing. For another, he was absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous.
My heart did an immediate cannonball to my stomach. Breathe.
Leaning casually—in vintage T-shirt and jeans—across the hallway, he
was occupying his time pecking on his phone. As if sensing I was staring at
him, he looked up and broke into a delighted smile so dazzling, it literally
stunned me. I hovered in the doorway, watching Pete shrug off the wall and
stride toward me. He slipped his phone into his back pocket and politely
brushed someone off, who had finally worked up enough nerve to talk to him.
He did this while keeping his eyes on mine the whole time. I swallowed, the
butterflies swarming like bees. As he walked, he grinned over at me like he
was coming to collect a winning lotto ticket. If he was acting (which I believed
he was), he could make a fortune selling refrigerators to Eskimos.
It took me a moment to get my feet to moving again, and we finally met
somewhere in the middle of the hall, standing face-to-chest, because he was
more than a head taller than me. We just stood there for a moment, absorbing
each other’s chemistry, until I finally tipped my head up to look at him.
He was the first to break the silence: “Whew! You had me worried there
for a couple of seconds—thought you were going to stand me up.”
• 151 •
I laughed out loud. I doubted that anyone had ever or would ever stand him up. “Thought about hidin’,” I admitted, a little sheepishly.