He reached toward my chest and I flinched.
Give me a break was written all over his face. “I’m not trying to feel you up.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, covering the buttons with both hands.
“Trust me.” He reached again before I could object, unfastening the top two buttons and drawing the collar wide across my chest. Blood rushed to my cheeks and I held perfectly still, too freaked out to move. He gave the fabric around my waist a few quick tugs, then reached lower. I swatted his hands but he’d already unfastened the bottom two buttons, the stretchy material pulling apart to reveal a triangle of pasty-white belly.
“What are you doing?” I covered my stomach with my hands, then shot them up, missing his as he mussed my hair with his fingers. I muttered something about all the corners of hell where he could shove himself while he unclasped the thick chain behind his neck and fastened it around mine. It was still warm from his body, as warm as his fingers when they brushed my skin.
Feelings bloomed under his touch, stealing my breath. I closed my eyes against a tender ache, an emptiness beneath the shallow rise and fall of my chest. The pendant ignited a heartache inside him, the same way my father’s wedding ring did. He let it go slowly as if it were difficult to part with, making me curious about who he might be missing.
I captured the pendant between my fingers. A class ring. Class of 2013. North Hampton’s mascot, the hornet, was carved on one side. I turned it over and saw an odd, thornylooking flower that matched Reece’s tattoo.
“What is it?”
“It’s a thistle,” he answered, still frowning over my ensemble.
“A thistle?”
“Yeah, you know . . . little . . . prickly . . . pain in the ass. It suits you.”
I dropped it and scowled as his gaze climbed back up my body. “I know what a thistle is. What’s the story behind it? Why the tattoo?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“Maybe I don’t ask enough.”
His eyes found mine and his sly smile fell away. He looked broken, and I couldn’t tell if it was the fading bruises on his face, or the sadness beneath them that kept me from asking any more.
Slowly, he reached both hands toward my face. I caught him by the cuffs. I knew exactly what he wanted.
“No,” I said, determined to draw this line in the sand. “The glasses stay.”
“Fine,” he smirked half-heartedly. “Sexy librarian works for me. My job is done.”
He turned me toward the mirror. It was as bad as I’d feared. The shirt clung to me, the pendant hanging like a glaring focal point over my chest. I fidgeted with the collar, trying to tuck the thistle inside, but Reece stopped me.
“Leave it,” he said.
“I can’t go to school like this,” I protested. “People will notice. They’ll stare.”
“That’s the idea. Lonny will see me ride the new and improved Leigh Boswell to school, and by the end of the day everyone will believe we’re a couple. Besides, you can’t keep hiding from guys like Vince under big glasses and hoodies.”
“I’m not hiding from anyone.”
“Neither am I.” He surprised me, catching my chin on his finger. His resolve bled into me, cool and solid in my veins. “Leave the pendant where it is.”
He was invading me like a drug. I could feel him inside me, uninvited and pushing himself closer to my heart. But it was all a lie. I stepped out of reach. “Why?”
He stared at the pendant, worry pulling at the bandage over his eye. “The thistle is mine. There are people who will recognize it and know that you’re . . .” A flash of hesitation crossed his face. “They should see you wearing it. That’s all.”
“Are we talking about Lonny or Vince?” Looking at his face, I already knew. I had more than just Vince and Lonny to worry about. He wanted Nicholson to see me wearing it, but why? Was he trying to show Nicholson that he’d worn me down? That he’d done his job and made good on his end of the bargain?
“Why are you doing this?”
He let out a long slow breath before answering quietly. “Because it’s my turn to save you.” He grabbed his jacket from my bed and reached for the door.
He was so close. So close to saying something with a glimmer of truth in it, without me having to take it from him. Without me having to feel it. “Save me from who, Reece?”
He paused before twisting the doorknob. “From yourself.”
I watched him go, too dumbstruck to speak. The bike roared to life. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and went after him.
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