“Hey, Mom. How are you?” I asked, balancing the phone in the nook of my shoulder as I buttoned up my shirt.
“I’m good, honey. Just leaving work now. How’s the job going? Are you enjoying it? I hope everyone is being nice to you.”
“Work’s fine, Mom, and yes, everyone is great,” I chuckled. All she needed to know was I was fine and happy. She didn’t need the full, drawn-out story.
“Good. I told Layna to keep an eye on you, you know.”
“I’m aware of that, Mom,” I replied, amused.
“I worry about you. That will never stop, you know that. Especially when we don’t know—”
“Mom, I’m fine. Stop worrying about me,” I said, cutting her off. “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hung up.
Sighing, I picked up the photo of Mom and Dad I had sitting on the desk. It was taken before he’d started showing symptoms. At two, I was supposed to have been in the photo, but wouldn’t sit still. Every image came out the same: me running away, Mom with her hands on her head, and Dad screaming after me. This was one of my favorite pictures because it reminded me how important family was.
Chapter Eleven
––––––––
Wrenn
––––––––
I was beginning to notice things that I knew were not just in my head: the way he kept eye contact with me for half a second longer than he did everyone else, the fact that he would find any excuse to come over to the house. We could sit and talk for hours about nothing, and everything. He was still professional, he was still my teacher, but out of class he had become my friend.
Tonight, I was going to test this. He either felt something or he didn’t, and if he didn’t, then I’d be spending the rest of the semester embarrassed as hell every time I had to walk into that classroom.
“Anyone home?” I called out, dropping my books on the hall table.
Silence greeted me. My heart thumping, I made my way into Layna’s office. I walked over to her desk and sat down, with no idea where to start. The slightest noise made me jump, because I was so sure I was going to get caught. I’d make the worst burglar.
I flicked though some papers and found nothing. The filing cabinet; nothing. The desk drawers; nothing. I was losing hope of ever finding what I needed when I saw it.
Her phone. She was forever leaving it at home. This was perfect. Her phone was the best chance of finding what I was looking for.
Picking it up, I clicked my way to Contacts and scrolled down to Reid.
And there it was. My hands shook as I copied the number into my phone. A voice in the back of my mind was screaming at me. What the hell are you doing? I clicked out of Contacts and navigated my way back to the main screen, setting the phone down exactly where I’d found it, right down to the angle it had been at.
Even once upstairs in the safety of my room, my heart was still racing. I sat down cross-legged on my bed, staring at the number. His number. Was I really going to do this? What if he brushed me off? I took a breath and dialed before I could change my mind.
“Hello?”
Oh my God. His voice sent chills through my body. I nearly ended the call. My voice wouldn’t work, and I was beginning to sweat.
“Hello?” he repeated.
“Uh, hi,” I managed. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
“Who is this?” he asked, his voice curious.
I slapped my hand over my face. Oh God, kill me now. This was getting worse by the minute.
“It’s Wrenn.”
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. And guarded. “Can you hold for a moment?”
“Uh, sure,” I mumbled. This was going really bad. I heard the muffled sound of him talking to someone. A few seconds passed, and then the sound of a door shutting.
“Sorry. I was . . . in a meeting. Are you okay?” he sounded concerned.
I felt so embarrassed. In what stupid fantasy had this seemed like a good idea? He was my teacher, he was five years older than me, and more than that, he was hot, sexy, and capable of getting any girl he wanted. Why would he be interested in me?
“Wrenn?”
“Um, I’m sorry. This was stupid . . . ”
“What is it?” he pressed. Great. Now he sounded amused, like he thought this was funny.
Kill me now. I sighed. I already looked like a fool. How much worse could this get?
“Psycho is playing over in Hallbrook tonight, and I wondered if you wanted to go,” I practically shouted the words down the phone. I slapped my hand over my mouth, so completely embarrassed.
“With you?” he asked, astonished.
“No, with the gardener,” I retorted.
He chuckled, probably at the thought of grumpy old Mr. Landen enjoying anything in life, let alone a movie.
“Look, I just thought it might be something you’d like to do, you know, as friends, but it’s probably a really bad—”
“Okay,” he said, cutting me off.
Huh? Did I just hear correctly?
“Okay?” I repeated, stunned. Surely I must’ve heard him wrong.
“Yes. It’s probably best you meet me there, though,” he added awkwardly.
“Yeah, sure. So it starts at seven. I will meet you there ten minutes before?”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”