“Tracey,” I called as I saw her about to slip inside her office at the start of recess.
I wasn’t on duty, so I’d tried to prepare for our papier-mâché-filled afternoon but kept getting sidetracked.
I needed to know.
She raised her brows, coming to a stop outside her open door. “Jemima, how are you?”
“Good, thanks.” I motioned to the door. “Do you have two minutes I can steal?”
“Of course. I’ll even give you five,” she said, waving me inside and taking a seat behind her large steel and glass desk.
Traipsing over the plush rug, I tried not to collapse into one of the two comfortable red leather armchairs and gingerly adjusted my plaid skirt over my knees as I crossed my legs.
“What’s up?” Tracey asked, switching on her monitor. She plucked her glasses from her blouse and slid them on. Her hands moved deftly over the keyboard as she logged into the school’s server.
With the woman’s name sitting on the tip of my tongue, I thought to hell with it and asked the question as though I had every right to. “There was this woman who attended last night. Do you know her? Long red hair? She goes by the name of Amelia.”
When Tracey continued to look puzzled, I did my best to describe her dress, hairstyle, and asked if she was a parent perhaps.
She studied me over the rim of her glasses, hands poised above the keyboard, then slumped back into her seat and removed them. “I remember the woman you’re talking about.” She looked behind me to the closed door, then leaned forward, her voice quieting. “But between you and me, I had no earthly idea who she was.” Wrinkles bunched as she sniffed haughtily. “So I chalked it up to her being one of the fathers’ new girlfriends. There are a few single dads with kids here, after all.”
Not a parent then.
“Thank you,” I said, not sure what to say now that I’d gotten some confirmation. For what, I didn’t know. Something about the woman made me want to dig a little deeper.
Rising from my chair, I paused as Tracey asked, “Everything okay? Did you know her?”
Lie. I needed to lie, and so I did my best to sound like I was merely curious. “I could’ve sworn I’d met her before. Years ago. It was bugging me.”
Principle Crawley stared a full six seconds before nodding with a slight smile, her glasses returning to their perch on her nose. “Very well. I hate it when that happens.”
“It’s rather annoying,” I agreed, vacating her office with more questions than answers.
The darkening sky chased me on my drive home.
Thoughts of a shower, dinner, and bed with a book sounded all too appealing after the day I’d had. Something about impending rain seemed to make some kids hyperactive.
I parked in front of the garage, noticing Miles’s blue truck in the drive, then grabbed my bag and hopped out. In the doorway, I kicked off my glue-covered shoes, lamenting the fact I’d probably need to throw them out rather than try to save them. Craft glue was a bitch to peel off.
That’d teach me to spend more than thirty dollars on a pair of work shoes.
Tossing my keys on the entry table, I fished my phone from my bag and took it to the kitchen, plugging it in to charge just as Miles appeared, freshly showered and with a stony look in his caramel eyes.
“Well, hello.” I waggled my brows at his shirtless chest. “As much as it kills me to say it, I wouldn’t come near me. I’m covered in a layer of glue.”
He said nothing. Just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted apart as if he was bracing for a standoff.
We’d had plenty of fights over the course of our relationship, but I wouldn’t exactly call them fights. More like skirmishes or bickering and mainly over stupid things that annoyed me. The milk carton being used as a drink bottle. The mail being dumped on the counter everyday instead of opened. Dirty clothes sitting around the hamper rather than inside it. You know, the usual.
But now, well, he looked pissed. And not the quit be annoying kind of pissed. But pissed.
“What’s wrong.” I didn’t say it as a question even though it clearly was because it was evident I’d done something.
My mind skipped backward, then forward, rolling inside out in the span of one minute, trying to find what it was he could possibly look that angry—oh.
“Why did you keep your apartment?” His voice was deceptively calm but layered with the type of warning that meant he could possibly lose his shit, depending on my answer.
But no explanation was good enough, and I didn’t want to lie. So I settled on the truth. “Because the lease wasn’t up. I’d lose money, and I …” He waited, bare feet shifting slightly on the tiles as I blew out a breath and admitted, “I guess I like knowing it’s there.”
He stormed down the hall, headed for the front door.
Shit.
“Miles, it’s not a big”—the front door slammed shut—“deal.” I sighed.
I didn’t know how long I stood in the kitchen after the rumble of his truck faded away. It could’ve been two minutes, or it could’ve been thirty. The talk I’d had with Tracey and the questions that arose from it vanished. Nothing seemed more important than this hollowing feeling in my stomach.
Eventually, I forced my bottom lip and hands to quit trembling and went to shower.
By the time I’d gotten out, dried my hair, and dressed, he’d returned. The sound of his truck had never sounded so good, and I bounded down the hall, entering the kitchen just as he did with two pizza boxes in hand.
“Now,” he said, placing them on the counter, then grabbing two water bottles from the fridge. “Don’t mistake the food for forgiveness. I’m fucking pissed, Jemima.”
The use of my full name had me nodding slowly, my heart pattering harder as I watched him grab some paper towels, then take a seat beside me at the counter.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could say. I wouldn’t get rid of the apartment. The lease wasn’t up for another few months, and what I’d said was true. We’d gotten together so quickly that it seemed like a stupid idea not to have a safety net of some sort, and I couldn’t always rely on my dad for that.
A tiny part of me bloomed with pride even as a bigger part shriveled with guilt. It was what it was.
“Will you terminate the lease if I ask you to?”
I opened my box of pizza, forcing a smile as I picked up a slice of pepperoni with extra cheese, my favorite. “It’s up in a few months.”
Miles exhaled, running a hand through his still damp hair, then tore off a huge chunk of his Hawaiian pizza, chewing hard as if he wanted the pizza to suffer.
Tension rolled off him in hot waves, and it was all I could do to keep eating as I tried not to cower beneath it.
“Why?” he finally asked, then cursed. “I mean, I know why. But what can I do to make you feel more secure?”
I stared at the ring on my finger. “It’s not so much about you as it’s about me. But maybe …” I licked sauce from my lip, trying to ignore the way the heat in his gaze changed from anger to hunger. “We could set a date for the wedding.” We hadn’t really discussed it beyond the point of agreeing we wanted time together to enjoy one another before settling down even more.
His hand froze. The heat in his eyes dissipating.
He pushed his stool back and marched to the sink, his back hunching as he shook his head. “You want to set a date, but you don’t trust me? I don’t get it.”
I got up then, my patience starting to fray. Couldn’t a girl try to protect herself without getting ridiculed for it? I wouldn’t budge. I was keeping the damn apartment until I was ready to let it go.
I stopped beside him, carefully reaching out to brush the inked roses and thorns on his arm with my fingertips. They reached the leaves that scattered into twisting flames around his elbow when he recoiled a little.
He wouldn’t even look at me.
“Miles, I do trust you. It’s …” I couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding like a scared little girl, but I decided to do my best. “It’s life I don’t trust. We moved fast. I’m not saying I wasn’t okay with that. I’m just saying I was okay with it because I still had my own place.” Quiet stained the air between us. “Even though I prayed I would never need it.”
Finally, after a long two minutes, he ripped his gaze from the sink and gave it to me. “You want to set a date? Will that make you feel better?”
I stepped closer, my arms looping around his waist as I rested my chin on his chest, staring up into his face. He stared down, brows still etched with concern, but slowly, he relaxed and wound his arms behind my back, raising a hand to tangle in my hair.
“I want to set a date because it’s what you want, not because you feel backed into a corner about it.”
His eyes said so many things, yet all that left his mouth was, “Let me think about it.”
“’Kay,” I said, laying a kiss on his chest, his shirt carrying undertones of sweat. He must’ve grabbed a shirt from his truck before running in to pick up the pizza.
I went to step away, and he grabbed my hand. “Is there any other way to make you feel better about this? About us?”
“Miles.” God, this sucked. “If I didn’t feel like you’d taken ownership of my heart, then this ring wouldn’t be on my finger, and I wouldn’t be here.”
His eyes shuttered. “You fucking slay me, Jem-Jem.”
Relieved, I smiled at that and tugged him toward the bedroom.
There were no protests as I slid off his shirt. His eyes hooded as I stripped, then he got rid of his pants. He reached over to the nightstand, snatching a condom and rolling it on as he sat on the side of the bed.
Right before I impaled myself, I whispered against his lips, “Also, you could finally let me pay for some of the mortgage.” I knew it had to be expensive; this house was practically brand new when we’d moved in, and it sat outside a suburb that cost a fortune to live in.
Miles coughed, his grip on my hips burning as he blinked up at me. “No, babe. We’ve already been over this.”
Gripping him, I paused with the tip at my entrance. A shiver raced over my skin, raising hair and gooseflesh as he groaned in torment. “It would make me feel better.” I rocked my hips, and he slid over my center. “Much better.”
“Fuck,” he spewed, then grabbed my hips, slamming me down. He threaded his hands into my hair, tugging, and growled against my lips. “You can pay twenty-five percent.”
“Thirty.” I grinned, even as my eyes watered from the sting radiating over my scalp due to his rough hands.
“Deal.”