Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

“Yeah.” He gives me a once over, his gaze lingering at my low neckline. “I have late classes tonight, so this was my only chance.” He drops his hands, but jiggles the bag he’s holding. “You know when you have a gift for someone, it burns a hole in your pocket until you hand it over?”

“That’s for me?” Charlie nods and the sidewalk turns into ocean waves under my feet. “Oh.” I love presents. Everyone loves presents. I’ve just never accepted them from men, because it was against the rules. No gifts was one of mine and Charlie’s ground rules, too, but technically that was before we stopped hooking up and became friends. So it’s okay to accept, right? Man, this situation is confusing.

“Don’t think about it too hard. Please?” He’s watching me with a hopeful expression. One that makes my palms sweat, my mouth dry right up. Cautiously, he hands me the bag and we step into the shadow of my building, allowing cranky Villagers to pass on the sidewalk. There is so much tissue paper in the bag, and none of it was placed there skillfully. It’s a manmade mess. “Go ahead and laugh.”

“Somewhere in Connecticut, Martha Stewart is rocking in a corner.”

“Smart ass,” Charlie murmurs, propping an elbow on the building. “We wrapped presents in newspaper growing up, and it worked just fine.”

“It would have worked fine for me, too—” I stop talking when I finally reach the actual gift and remove it from the bag, a couple pieces of tissue paper flying away on the wind. It takes me a moment to realize what I’m holding, but when I do, my heart jerks and stutters, like a stalling car engine. I’m holding a metal tree, welded to a stand, with big branches poking out in different directions. At the end of each branch, there is a little spiral. “It’s for holding my notecards when I cook.”

“Yeah.” He looks relieved that I figured it out, but he’s trying to hide it by gesturing and not meeting my eyes. “I noticed you had them all over the counter that night in the kitchen . . . they kept falling down.”

“Charlie.” I press the notecard tree to my chest. I’m horrified to feel little pinpricks at the backs of my eyelids, but there’s no help for it. I can’t recall a time someone has bought me a gift this thoughtful. “I’m going to use this all the time. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He’s suddenly serious. “I found it because you needed it, and I thought you should have it. Your job is hard, and I hope this makes it easier.” We’re standing closer now. Who moved? “But I also wanted you to know it hasn’t stopped bothering me. How you thought of yourself as some kind of mistress. I should have been a better friend. I can be.”

There it was. The F-word. And yet it wasn’t nearly enough to ruin the gift. Or the moment. “Do you want to come to the farmer’s market with me?”

His shoulders lose tension, but his eyes stay sharp. “I thought you had plans.”

“I’m making dinner for Nina later. That’s the plan.” I shouldn’t be telling him this. I know. But the way he’s looking at me is so earnest. And I’m holding his thoughtful gift in my hands, and I don’t want him to leave just yet. “I’ll just run this upstairs and be back down. I-If you want to go—”

“I’m going.”





Chapter 14





Charlie


The Union Square farmer’s market has changed. I have fuzzy memories of my mother bringing me here when I was a child, before she split, but they don’t match up with the huge production I’m walking into with Ever. There are so many stands set up, I can’t see the end of them. As with every major park in the city, there are sightseers and slow movers, so the market is twice as packed as it needs to be. Normally, an overcrowded sea of people makes me extra vigilant, because my father and Greer have trained me to be suspicious and careful.

Every ounce of my vigilance, however, is being occupied. It’s a good thing I came with Ever to the market, because unlike the times my mother brought me here? There are no little old ladies selling carrots from their gardens. No, it’s like bridges and tunnels of Manhattan vomited a bunch of oversized, bearded farmers into Union fucking Square and every one of them knows Ever by name. Not to mention, they all have food in common with her, which is brilliant. Just brilliant.

Oh, they don’t like seeing me there with her, either.

Good.

Because I’m in a perfect mood to dissuade every single one of them from sniffing around Ever. She sent Reve a knock-knock joke this morning, through the dating site.

What did the alien say to the garden? Take me to your weeder.

Sure, the joke was cute as hell like everything else she does, but I could read between the lines. Could see our text conversation made her even more determined to move on. I’d already had her present sitting on my desk, but the gut-sick intuition that she was fighting to put me behind her got me moving even faster.

Her message to Reve also served as a reminder to Charlie. I have less than a week to convince Ever that her dating mission is ill-fated. Less than a week to prove that this better, friendlier version of what we had before can make her happy. Sure, it’s not the kind of commitment she thinks she wants. But I know it’s better than opening herself up to strangers who could cause her pain.

We stop at a booth beneath a big sign proclaiming the best produce in Vermont. “What do you have today, Oscar?”

Oscar. Fuck this guy.

“Hey there, Ever.” His hairy-knuckled hand digs through a bunch of greenery. “We’ve got some Swiss chard. Some baby bok choy.”

“Ooh. I’ll take some bok choy, if you please.” She hands over her tote bag and tugs some bills from some magical, secret pocket on her dress. “How’s your day going so far?”

“Great. Thanks for asking.” Oscar the Friendly Knuckle Dragger is quickly becoming Oscar the Grouch. Probably because while Ever has been counting out her bills, I’ve been giving him a don’t even think about it look over her shoulder. “You brought a friend today.”

“Yes.” She turns those sparkling eyes on me. “This is Charlie. If you have any problems with vegetable thieves, he’s your man.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, guiding Ever away with a hand on her hip. Low enough to warn off Oscar. High enough not to raise Ever’s suspicion. Not that I don’t throw Knuckle Dragger the side eye for good measure. “What else is on your list?” I ask Ever, when we’re out of ear shot.

“I don’t have one.” She lifts her shoulders and lets them drop. “I’m winging it.”

“Such a wild woman.” I scan the booths. “My mom used to buy the pulpy apple juice. We hated it, but she kept bringing it home.” A dull ache forms behind my jugular. One I’ve lived with so long, I’m not even sure what it means anymore. “It was just one of the things we complained about.” After a minute, I realize Ever is looking at me funny. “What?”

“Nothing.” She looks down quickly, adjusting the straps of her bag. “You’ve just never mentioned your mother before. I wasn’t sure she was in the picture.”

“No, she’s been gone since I was six.” Feeling jumpy, I take Ever’s hand and head for a fresh-baked-pie booth. “I don’t know where she went.”