Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy #1)(72)

“Huh. You know you’ll be calling me every night to help you with Cal.”

“One can only hope,” he murmured, giving me a heated glance.

I stared down at my food, thinking a little about Leo and his song.

Drew cleared his throat. “You know, you’re not fooling me. You’ve got something on your mind.”

I blushed. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head at me with a wry grin. “You’ve looked out that window a lot tonight. And you’ve got that faraway look in your eyes you get after you’ve read some of that sappy poetry in class.” He pointed his fork at me and said, “I’ve been in almost every class with you since seventh grade. I know you.”

I sat my fork down and studied him. His wavy brown hair was a tad overlong, but I liked it. He’d worn snug jeans, a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of Converse on his big feet. My eyes lingered over his lean but muscled chest. He was a handsome guy. Lots of girls at BA wanted him. Could I fall for him if I tried? Did I want to?

“Let me ask you something,” I said.

“Shoot.”

“When I was in seventh grade, do you remember what I looked like? Chubby with silver braces?” I asked.

“Yep, and you were pretty too, especially when you’d get that little wrinkle right here, every time you took a test,” he said, running his finger across my forehead.

He added, “And we all had a weird stage. Remember I was tall and gangly with no muscle to speak of. Telephone pole with arms was what they called me.”

“I was crazy about you for a long time,” I said wryly.

“I never knew,” he said sadly. “Until January, I’d never dreamed you’d give me the time of day. You were kinda quiet and did your own thing. Never came to parties or hung out. You just studied and did school stuff. I’ve always liked you too, Nora. But, you . . . I don’t know . . . it’s like you had this force field around you, and no one could get in to the real you.”

I took a sip of soda, not sure what to say.

“We had something once in New York. Maybe it was because we were both out of Highland Park, and you loosened up. You became this whole other person there, and I think I fell for you a little that weekend. But I messed up and got scared. I kept remembering how distant you could be and I . . . I went back to Lori. Did I ruin what we had?” he asked, his face earnest.

I sighed. “They say timing is everything.”

“Is it Sebastian you’ve been thinking about tonight?”

“No,” I said in surprise.

He shook his head thoughtfully. “You know what, forget I asked. It doesn’t matter who it is. All I want to know is can we try again?”

I blinked.

He continued, “We’ve liked each other a long time, and New York was amazing,” he said with a little groan, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “We had something that night, and it was more than sex. I burned for you, and you burned for me. But I screwed up.”

“Yes.”

He exhaled heavily. “Will you give me another shot?”

“I don’t want to get my heart broken again, Drew. It’s been stomped on a lot, and I can’t take much more. And don’t get me started on Lori. She’s not here anymore, and I can’t help but think that’s the only reason you want me now.”

He shook his head. “Even when I was with her, I watched you and wanted you. This has nothing to do with her. It’s about us. About starting all over again and giving us a chance. Let me make those shadows in your eyes go away, Nora.”

I gazed into his eyes, and they were warm and soft. I thought about our night together, how sweet it had been, how his body had worshipped mine.

If I wanted a chance at being happy, why not see where this might go?

“Do you think you can make me happy?” I teased, but I meant it.

“Hell, yes. Just give me a chance.”

I smiled slowly. “You got it.”





Chapter 27


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Nora

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“You never stop loving someone; you just learn to live without them.” –Nora Blakely

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The days marched on, turning into weeks. Drew and I had gone out on a few more dates, and he’d come to the shop on some nights, and we’d do our Cal homework after band practice. We liked the same books and shows; we knew the same people; we laughed at the same jokes. We suited each other in every way.

I’d gotten my tattoo. I’d gone in one day and described to Shayla what I wanted, and a week later I went back to see what she’d come up with. When I saw her design, I knew it was exactly what I’d envisioned. She’d drawn a set of delicately feathered angel wings with the phrase She Flies With Her Own Wings in the middle. Since the wings were life-sized, it had taken me three visits to get the entire tat.

On the day she finished it, I sat there in her shop, staring in the mirror at the ink gracing me from my shoulder blade all the way to the back of my waist. The phrase was written in a pretty scripted font and sat between the wings and near the top of my neck. It was exotic and perfect. I laughed at the irony in that word.