Sawyer laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, relief flooding over her. “A soufflé, huh?”
“Hey, if you don’t believe me, come over sometime. I can make you a roasted potato frittata that will rock your world. All the girls in class were jealous.”
“Sounds like you’re going to make a lovely wife someday, Cooper.”
Cooper batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips. “Someday my prince will come along,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Hey, so, why the questions though? Is someone keeping tabs on me?”
Sawyer bit her bottom lip, the light playfulness slipping from her body. “Um, no. I was just wondering is all.”
Cooper nodded. “I see. So, that coffee?”
Sawyer’s mind tumbled. “I—” She glanced over her shoulder at Maggie’s closed door and could almost feel the hate and blame seeping through it. She looked at Cooper and warmed when she remembered his lips on hers, his kisses deep, sincere, and sweet. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to climb in his car and drive with him wherever he wanted to go—to drive away and never come back.
Sawyer’s cell phone vibrated and she snatched it up, semi-thankful for the break. “That’s Chloe,” she said, looking at the readout and then looking at Cooper. “I can’t go for coffee,” she said suddenly, pressed back into her normal Sawyer-stance. “But not because of the home ec thing. No, that’s—I’m a modern woman. Just—maybe some other time for the coffee.”
Disappointment flittered across Cooper’s face and tugged at Sawyer’s heart. He tried to hide it with that easy smile. “Sure, yeah. Another time. Totally.”
They stood in a beat of awkward silence before Sawyer started to turn.
“Um, I guess I’ll see you around later?”
He nodded. “Not unless I see you first.”
It was an old and cheesy joke, but Sawyer had a hard time laughing.
THIRTEEN
Sawyer gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles going white as she sped past the police station, then made a U-turn around it. She wanted to go to the police, to talk to Detective Biggs or Stephen Haas, but somehow her admirer knew she was there once.
He would know again.
She sighed and drove away, aimless. Though when she found herself pulling into the Hawthorne High student lot, she wasn’t surprised.
A slow drizzle started to fall, and Sawyer wrestled a zip-up hoodie that lived in her backseat. She slid it over her goose-pimpled flesh and zipped it up to her neck. When she slid the hood up over her hair, Kevin’s scent—cologne and a football field’s worth of cut grass—enveloped her. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, the weight of remembering heavy on her chest.
Kevin’s fingers slid down her bare arm and laced with hers. She turned to him, startled—they were still a brand-new couple, and the topic of PDA hadn’t been broached yet—but Kevin’s eyes were warm, held that playful crinkle that she loved so much.
“What are you so nervous about?” he asked, squeezing her hand and pulling her closer. “You’re with me now.”
Sawyer caved to the gentle pull and snuggled into Kevin, who brushed a soft kiss over her lips. The fire that started in her belly ran through her bloodstream, warming every limb. I want to feel this way all the time, she told herself.
They broke their embrace—too soon, in Sawyer’s opinion—and turned the corner toward the cafeteria. They were still hand in hand, shoulders pressed together, heads bent as they whispered and giggled and breathed in the comforting scent of one another.
They nearly ran headlong into Maggie, whose gasp was sharp, her cold eyes more so as they shot daggers at Sawyer. She and Libby stood in the hallway directly in front of them, blocking the cafeteria doors.
“Bitch,” Maggie whispered between pursed lips.
Sawyer stiffened, tried to shake Kevin’s hand from hers, but he held tight. Sawyer went from fear to guilt as she noticed Maggie working to look hard, angry—but the glossy sheen on her eyes gave her grief away.
“We broke up months ago,” Kevin muttered. Whether it was a reminder to him or to Maggie, Sawyer couldn’t be sure, but the sweet, warm feeling she reveled in was gone, replaced by something else—something wanting and steel-cold.
“Maggie, I’m really sorry—”
“Shut it,” Libby spat at her, linking arms with Maggie. “The least you could do is not flaunt your new relationship”—she cut the word, hard—“right in front of her face. You’re trash, Sawyer Dodd. You two deserve each other. You two and your trailer trash third wheel, Chloe.”