“Why do you want to know?” I ask, getting pissed. “I’m not a chatty girl, Bowman. And I’m private. So if you’ve got a question, don’t beat around the bush. Just ask, and if I want to answer, I will.”
“Is he taking care of her, Shannon? We had a meeting about you when you first registered. So everyone knows your situation. And I was asked today to find things out. I’m pretty sure you’re a girl who can take care of herself. But a three-month-old baby is something else entirely. If you need help in that area, I want you to come to me. Understand?”
I take another drag of my cigarette and blow rings. “He’s doing as well as any guy would if their wife OD’d and left them with an infant. She’s in daycare and he works his ass off to pay for it, so that’s why he can’t take off work to cart my ass around. And besides,” I say, suddenly feeling very tired, “as you pointed out this morning, I’m eighteen now. So I’m just lucky he lets me stay at the apartment.”
We pull into a parking lot and Bowman stops the car. “OK, just checking. I’ll wait and drive you home if you want.”
I grab my pack and open the door. “No, thanks. I can hitchhike.” And then I slam the door and walk off.
Nosy-ass bastard.
Please, God, I say, feeling my Catholic upbringing coming out. Just give me a break in here. It’s my birthday. I deserve at least one break.
Chapter Three
“Mr. Bowman called about you.”
“I bet he did,” I say dryly.
“We weren’t going to have any trig classes this semester, but he put in for a special request for you before Christmas.”
“He did?” Jesus Christ. The fucker’s been looking out for me.
“Yes,” the older woman says from across the counter. “Now here’s your official schedule.” She holds it out, pointing. “You owe three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“What?”
“Sorry, let me explain. Normally you would owe three hundred and fifty dollars, but Mr. Bowman got your fee waived this afternoon. It takes a few weeks for that to come in. So if you get a bill in the mail, just ignore it.” She smiles at me.
“OK, thank you,” I say, taking my schedule and exhaling a long breath. I guess if Bowman has anything to say about it, I’ll get that diploma after all. “I’ll be back—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” the secretary says, just as I’m about to make my big break. “Since the trig class is by special arrangement, you have to set up your schedule with Mr. Alesci. He’s down the hallway in room twenty-one. So go do that and then you’re free.”
She gives me this motherly smile and I wonder how much Bowman told her about me. It’s not like I give a shit if people know my sister was a loser who OD’d. I just hate the idea that people are discussing me. It feels like an invasion of privacy.
A crack of thunder scares the both of us and we jump, looking at each other with wide eyes.
“Rainy season,” she says.
“Great.” I get to look forward to waiting for the bus in the rain. “Which way is twenty-one?”
“Right down there, sweetheart.” She points to a grungy hallway off to the left.
“Thanks.” I hike my backpack over my shoulder and walk off.
Twenty-one is the last classroom on the left and the door is closed. There’s a small window, but all I see are empty desks.
I open the door and walk in to find a man in a suit looking down at some papers on the desk in the front of the room.
“Hey, I’m Shannon Drake. I’m here to set up a time for trig class.”
He looks up and all I see are those green eyes from the counseling office this morning. It takes my breath away for a moment. I’m shocked.
“I thought you were gonna ditch me, Shannon.”
Just hearing this gorgeous man say my name sends a tingle through my body. “Um…”
“We’ve met, remember? The counseling office this morning.”
“But you weren’t…”
“Looking very professional this morning. I know. Sorry. I didn’t expect to see my only student.” He gives me a small smile and then leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck like he hasn’t a care in the world.
His white dress shirt stretches across his muscled chest. And yes, it’s muscled because I can see the outline of his pecs through the fabric. He looks almost as delicious dressed up as a teacher as he did as a biker.
“So,” he says, releasing his relaxed pose and grabbing a pen from the desk. “Have a seat and let’s see how much work we have to do.”
I let out a long breath and he averts his eyes and pretends not to notice that I’m nervous and flustered.
I walk forward to the one chair pulled up to the opposite side of the table that acts as a desk. I set my backpack down and pull the chair out, taking a seat. But the table is not that wide and my foot bumps against his when I settle.
I quickly move my feet back and look down so he can’t see my blush. Jesus. Get a hold of yourself, Shannon.
“So how much do you remember?”
“What?”
“Geometry? I heard you this morning saying it’s not your thing. So how much of it was your thing?”
I swallow. “Um…”
“That much?”