“Well, I’m a…contractor,” he says. “I mostly work from home. Ah, technical stuff. Very complicated.”
Something about his manner is off. I could almost believe he doesn’t want me to think he’s a nerd, but there’s hardly any danger of that. As soon as I look at him, my eyes trace along the sleeve of tattoos on his muscular arm from where his wrist rests on the steering wheel to his shoulder, stopping to stare at the bandage on his bicep.
“Law school, huh?”
“Not yet. I’m finishing my bachelor’s so I can apply. That’s going to be fun,” I sigh. “I’ll probably have to stop sleeping entirely. Maybe I’ll skip it if I can use the degree to get a better job, but…” I trail off.
Not likely, unless I move, which isn’t an option. I don’t think I could afford to rent a truck, much less put down a security deposit, and the girls like it here, or at least they like the town. God, I’m trapped in this place. A gilded cage.
“You shouldn’t let that asshole treat you that way,” he says, a little growl edging into his voice.
“What, exactly, am I supposed to do?”
“Stand up for yourself.”
“I stand up for myself, I get fired.”
“It shouldn’t be that way.”
“Lots of things shouldn’t be that way,” I say, a sad sigh dragging on my voice. “They are anyway.”
He nods. “Yeah. That’s true.”
Suddenly his gaze goes distant, like he’s staring through the world, to the other side. He looks hurt, and not whatever is under those bandages. I can’t help but reach across the bench seat and touch his shoulder. He jerks and the car swerves a little.
“Uh, sorry.”
“You were somewhere else for a while, there.”
“Yeah. Guess I was.”
I cock my head. “Where?”
“Long story,” he says curtly. “Not very interesting.”
I shrug. “If you say so. The turn is up here. Castlebrook College.”
He turns off. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s accredited,” I sigh. “If I could go to Harvard I wouldn’t be here, trust me.”
“You probably could.” He shrugs. “Go to Harvard, I mean. You seem pretty smart.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks. All I’ve done is yell at you since we’ve met.”
“Yeah. Well, maybe I like a challenge,” he says, a little edge in his voice.
I shrink in the seat as I feel heat on my face. Damn it. He openly gives me an appraising look. I’m not exactly dressed sexy, but I suddenly feel like I’m sitting here in my underwear, in a good way. I haven’t felt that way in a while.
“I’d better go. It’s that building there.”
“Pick you up at nine,” he says as the car slides to a gentle stop.
“Yeah, see you then.”
I rush out of the car without looking back, afraid he’ll see how red my face is. I take a moment to stop and compose myself in the mirror in the hallway before heading into the classroom.
It’s no huge lecture hall, just a room that would hold about fifty people, tops, at cheap tables with cheap chairs. The class is about thirty strong. Business math.
I hurry to my seat, glancing at the clock. It’s one minute after the official start of class.
The professor, Dr. Calvin Hevermeyer, PhD, turns, and looks straight at me as I slink into my seat.
“Mrs. Dawson. So glad you could join us,” he says drolly.
I hate my life.
5
Quentin
Rose strides into the little brick building, and once again I find myself admiring the view. I’d like to chase her down and rip that skirt off and get my hands on her ass.
Snap out of it, Quentin, what are you even doing here? You’re supposed to be lying low.
I growl at myself, and the Impala growls as I ease out the clutch and swing her around to leave the parking lot. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and lean forward to look up. The sky is growing ugly. Looks like rain.
Having nowhere else to go, I drive back to the house. The alleged pie sits in my stomach like a stone, and the thought of it twists my guts, but something about those kids made me cagey about hurting their feelings, so I choked it down. I still need real food.
The quest for real food ends up with heating a can of spaghetti in the microwave and eating it standing up in the kitchen. There’s not much of a point to this house. I’ve always been happy with a smaller space, but if I want to blend in, I’m stuck with it.
Doing a great job of blending in so far, aren’t I? I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Ever since I saw Rose soaking wet with hose water, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.
After stuffing my face with the last of the spaghetti, I head out into the backyard and make sure the kid, Karen, didn’t see anything amiss. All the windows have curtains and blinds, and even when I crouch and press my hand to the glass to see better, I can’t make anything out. Good.
Back inside, I lock up. I could get drunk. No, wait, I have to pick up Rose. No booze. I could crash out in the living room and try to amuse myself with television.