On the way back to the school, I spent the time restoring my phone’s settings. I’d never had so many social media notifications in my life. Camryn sent me a few messages, as did Mom and Jenn, along with people whose faces I recognized.
Serenade me anytime you want, a guy named Chris sent, along with his selfie.
“Thanks, Dad,” I told him as he got out to get my door and give me a hug.
“Thanks for calling me,” Dad said with a smile. “Today was just what I needed.”
“Me too,” I told him.
“Laurel’s cameo for On the Block was a hit from what I understand. Now that it’s over, maybe she can tell you all about it at dinner this Sunday.”
Dinner. I didn’t want to hear about her appearance on TV. I didn’t want to meet for any more uncomfortable dinners again. How could I tell him no after the heartfelt afternoon we’d had?
“Sure,” I said.
Dad waved again as he drove away. Kids waved to me on my way to the dorm. Even though I was getting more attention than I’d had in my life, I went back to my room feeling more alone than ever.
Chapter Twelve
I managed to make it through the rest of the week without any other distractions. True to my request, Tate kept his distance. I made it through my reading and other homework assignments, and even got adequate amounts of practicing done. Professor Granger posted signups for the feature, and though I signed my name on the list, I returned the next day to find it crossed out.
Something told me Charly would stop at nothing to keep me down. Gritting my teeth, I signed my name on the roster again.
Sunday arrived with the weight of a thousand tons. I wasn’t ready for Laurel’s hurt expression that I wouldn’t sing for her when I sang for the entire student body. Mostly, I wasn’t sure I was ready for another evening with Tate. So far, the whole fake boyfriend ploy had completely backfired—which was probably for the best. Who knew what people would say if they found out we were semi-related and dating? Tate hadn’t thought that was a big deal, but I was sure people might think it was weird. Wrong, even.
He texted me around lunchtime. Want a ride tonight? I’m going. You’re going. Might as well go together.
Sure, I agreed.
Around four-thirty, I checked my hair, dabbed on some lip gloss, exhaled and answered the knock on my door.
Tate’s hair was trimmed, spiking upward with delicious ease. Seeing all of his face at once, instead of having hair masking half of his forehead like before, made him handsome, boyish, and vulnerable all at once. My stomach gave a little flutter.
“You cut your hair,” I said.
He swooped a hand through it, leaving his hair even more attractively rumpled. “It was time,” he said before adding, “You look great.”
I gazed down at my skinny jeans and the Seattle shirt Dad had bought for me during our shopping trip last weekend. My cheeks warmed under Tate’s praise. “Thanks.”
We strolled down the hall. I felt the briefest ghost of Tate’s hand on the small of my back but found I didn’t mind the possessive gesture. A pair of girls giggled at the sight of us together. I dipped my chin and pushed through the door out into the brisk autumn air.
I inhaled a chilled breath. “Sheesh. I should have brought a jacket.”
“Here,” Tate said. Before I could protest, he slipped out of his letterman jacket and placed it over my shoulders in an intimate gesture. Instantly, I inhaled his cologne and boy smell in the fabric, feeling warmed not only by its hug but by the heat in Tate’s gaze.
“Hi, Bailey,” a girl named Molly said in passing.
“Hey,” I squeaked, startled to be caught wearing Tate’s jacket. This was a symbol all on its own. A girl wearing a guy’s letterman jacket spoke highly of their relationship, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it off.
“This is all your fault,” I said once we continued our way to his truck.
“What is?” Tate said, getting to my door first and opening it for me. “You have friends. I told you you’d have attention.”
“From Carson, but he’s barely looked twice at me.”
Tate gave me a shrewd look. “Yet, you don’t seem that upset about it.”
I inhaled, waiting for us both to be settled in the cab before responding. “I’m actually not.”
Tate cranked his truck to life. “Then what’s the problem?”
“I just...feel out of my element. I’m a wallflower. I don’t know how to talk to all these people. I’ve lived my life in the background, keeping my head low and focusing on school because it’s what I was good at. I don’t know how to talk to people.” I knew I’d already said that. Point proven.
“No better time to learn,” Tate said. He pulled out to the street. The drive to Dad and Laurel’s went by faster than I remembered and before I knew it, we’d pulled through security and parked in Dad’s driveway. Conversation between us flowed like a breeze, and even though we were here, neither of us seemed to want to move.
Tate relayed his conversation with the school dean, as well as Coach Derek. “Carson was cool about the fight. He admitted he was partially at fault for it, so we’re both still on the team, though we’ve been given detention.”
“Could’ve been worse,” I said. Then I stared at my hands and swallowed before adding, “I never thanked you for standing up for me.”
Tate’s smile dawned slowly, like a sunrise. With his haircut, the rugged look of the bruise on his jaw, he was fresh off the grill—we’re talking smoking hot. I may have drooled just a bit.
“I’d do it all over again,” he said. The moment seized between us. I scooted closer to him on the seat, gravitating toward him without fully understanding why. Heat built up between us. Tate grazed my chin with his hand.
“We’d better get inside before they come looking for us,” he said, stroking my skin.
Embarrassment flushed through me. Had I been hoping for a kiss? What was wrong with me? I lowered my chin. “Yeah. That would be bad.”
Dinner passed with pleasant conversation. To her credit, Laurel complimented my singing at the game with sincerity and said nothing about my negligence in informing them I’d be singing in the first place. I was getting used to her kindness and the youthful, blushing gazes she slipped to Dad. More than anything though, was my awareness of Tate.
I noticed the way his hand folded around his pop can. I noticed the shape of his mouth as he tipped it to his lips. I noticed the easy way he carried himself, the way he rested an arm on the back of the empty chair beside him and stared across the table at me like I was something special.
Several times I glanced in his direction to find his gaze intent on me. The first time set fire to my cheeks.
“Want to see what I found the other day?” he asked as we cleared our plates from the table. Dad and Laurel were in the kitchen while their maid placed dishes in the cupboards where they belonged.
Not wanting their attention, I agreed and followed Tate to a spacious game room downstairs. A pool table and air hockey were among the arcade-style offerings in the space, but Tate didn’t stop at either of them. Instead, he made his way for the bookshelf at the back of the room, behind a pair of cushy couches.
Arms full of two fat binders, Tate placed them on the coffee table and settled himself on the carpet. I knelt beside him, thrilling at being so close to him and at whatever mysteries these books held.
“How often do you come here?” I asked. He seemed to know his way around much better than I did.
“I live here when I’m not in school. But I had an appointment yesterday. Mom brought me here afterward, and after talking about you, she showed me these.”
“You...you talked about me?”
“Guilty,” he said with a grin.
The idea made my entire body tremble. He opened the flap of the first. Pictures of me filled the plastic sleeves.
I slammed it shut. “Don’t tell me you looked through this,” I said, horrified.
“Nope
.” Tate grinned. “I waited for you.”
I yanked it toward me, pressing my hands on the cover as though that would keep him from opening it again. “We are not looking at this.”
“Why not? Look, here’s mine.” He slammed it on the table next to mine and opened it. His was fatter. The first page was chock-full of images of a chubby baby boy with huge eyes and scrumptious arm and leg rolls.
“Oh my gosh, look at you!” Pushing my book aside, I dragged his closer to me for a better look.
“Go ahead. Laugh at my expense.”
“Oh, you bet I will. You were so cute. Look at those cheeks!”
“You say that like you’re surprised. I mean look at me.” He opened his impressive arms. “How could I not be cute back then?”
I laughed, flipping through pictures, watching Tate grow in stages. From a crawling towhead to his first steps across a room to a younger version of him with his mom. Swimming lessons, parkour, T-ball, and... “You did gymnastics?”
“Sure. That’s how I got beefier than other kids my age.”
“Because that’s what matters.”
The images shifted. Smiles changed from youthful and touching to more relaxed and careful expressions. Basketball teams, Little League, so many images with Tate’s mom or Tate by himself, or with a girl slightly older than him.
“How come your dad isn’t in any of these?” I asked. “Where is your dad, anyway?”
Tate leaned against the couch behind him. “He lives in Seattle. He left us when I was in kindergarten. My older sister had Down syndrome and Dad decided he didn’t want to deal with her needs. I also needed heart surgery as a baby, and it just got to be too much for him, I guess.”
I gaped at him, flipping back through the pictures. Sure enough, there was a little girl in the pictures, sometimes off to the side, sometimes standing by Tate. One of her being hugged by Laurel. My heart softened toward Tate’s mom in that moment. How would that be to have your husband leave because he didn’t want to help take care of your disabled daughter?
“Where is your sister now?” Please don’t say she died.
“She lives in a home with others like her,” Tate said.
“Was that hard?” I asked. “To have your dad leave?”
“I don’t know,” Tate said with a shrug, shifting. “I was so young when it happened, I’m used to him being an afterthought.”
My brain backtracked to another part of our conversation. He’d mentioned something else—something serious. I placed a hand on his arm. “Tate, you’re a miracle baby. You had heart surgery?”
“Yeah, I was born with a faulty valve. They operated when I was just a few months old. I really am a miracle.” He lifted his shirt, catching me completely by surprise. Sure enough, right down the center of his defined chest, the scar was visible. I was tempted to trail my finger along it, but under the circumstances, that was probably not super appropriate, not with the way my body reacted to his washboard abs.
Tate lowered his shirt again, his mouth working. “Sports are my life. I’m lucky I get to run, to play, to do what I love.”
“Bash into other guys,” I said, a strand of hair spilling into my face.
He chuckled again, but the sound was gentle, fitting the intimate moment between us. “Exactly.” Leaning forward, he brushed the hair away.
I trembled under his touch, my body pulsing as we gravitated closer to one another on the floor in front of Dad’s coffee table. “Do you—does your heart still give you problems?” I asked.
His legs brushed mine. His fingers stroked the tips of mine, making my skin tingle. “I get it checked regularly. Sometimes I have what my mom calls heart hiccups. It skips beats here and there.”
That sounded serious. “Why do you risk that then? Football, sports?”
His fingers twined with mine and he elevated our hands so we could stare at our joined fingers. The sensation was so surreal to me, having his attention, his touch. I quivered but couldn’t bring myself to draw away.
“Keeps me healthy,” he said. “Sports are why I breathe. Plenty of exercise, the exhilaration of scoring a point for my entire team, it’s everything to me.” His voice lowered the more he spoke. His eyes trapped mine and my heart lumped in my throat.
Our last kiss—our first kiss—had been a fluke. Unplanned and unexpected, the reality of it had washed over me and then trickled away under the rush of attention I’d received from it.
This kiss, though. This wasn’t about to be one-sided, taken by surprise. I lifted my chin toward him. His hands cradled my face, eyes calculating my reaction, my desire. When I didn’t pull away, he used his hands to guide me closer. I was ready to sink into the sensation, to let him lead me to a world where only the two of us existed, to give him a piece of my heart in the process.
“You’re kind of adorable,” he said.
I shifted. “You said you didn’t look at my baby pictures yet.”
His fingers lingered on my chin. The corner of his mouth curved. “I wasn’t talking about your pictures. I mean you. The way you move, the way you speak. You know I’m going to kiss you right now, right?”
Tate had a way of making my blood burn as it ran its course through me, of making my heart hammer against my ribs. “I think I got that vibe,” I said.
His hand slid to my waist. “And?”
I couldn’t look anywhere but into his burning gaze. My hands slid up his sinewy arms, my breath heaving and escalating with every reaction. “And what are you waiting for?” I whispered.
His lips curled into a crooked grin. I held my breath, aching, waiting. It burned with anticipation in my lungs. Tate leaned in and moved his lips gently across mine.
Where our last kiss had been rushed and vigorous, cheered on by a surrounding crowd, this was deliberate, slow, and careful. His hand trailed up my spine, sending shivers in its wake. Slow and tantalizing, his lips moved again, soft but steady like a press. My heart pounded. Pulling me closer, Tate angled his head, deepening the kiss.
I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, but they traveled up across his firm shoulders to nestle in his hair. Breath rushed in my ears. I was consumed by his every motion, by the blaze in my lungs, by the way Tate buried both of his hands into my hair and guided me to him. Heat hummed through me like a song, a melody I’d never heard before but would never forget.
I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted or who pulled away first, but Tate glanced at me with tenderness and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “Are you ready?” he asked. His face was flushed, his eyes bright.
I attempted to speak. After that, I was completely bewildered, not ready to move for fear my body would collapse under itself. I didn’t even know kisses could be like that. So overpowering. So disorienting.
“For what?” I managed.
Smirking as if he knew exactly the effect he had over me, he tilted in for another kiss that had a similar fiery effect. “To look at your book,” he said against my lips. “I can’t wait to see you as a baby.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything else but to spend the afternoon just like this, but I shook myself and chuckled. Brimming with heat, we peeled away from each other’s embrace to open my baby book.
Some I recognized from my album at home—something I’d scrapbooked myself very poorly. Cutting the pictures’ edges too close to the people in them, using cheesy stickers and journaling the pages with my beginner handwriting.
“I can’t believe my dad has all these pictures of me,” I said. This album didn’t stop when he left. Mom must have continued sending him pictures of me, because there were pictures from Reno and Rexburg too. Maybe he didn’t abandon me as much as I thought.
“You look so miserable in these,” Tate said with a sad chuckle.
“I was. My parents had broken up. I was angry at my dad, and I kept getting moved from school to school while my mom tried to keep it together. To keep us together. She was fraying at the seams and it made me resent my dad so much.”
/>
“I’m sorry.”
The words weren’t Tate’s. I whipped around to find Dad and Laurel standing at the base of the stairs with sadness in their expressions. They traded a sorrowful look before Dad walked in to sit down across from me. Laurel took the opposite armchair. My heart burst in my chest and everything inside me retreated. I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t mean for him to overhear. Needing the support, my hand stole Tate’s beneath the table.
“It’ll be okay,” Tate whispered beside me.
I shook my head in small, quick motions and leaned closer to Tate. Dad bowed forward, his gaze direct and pegged right on me with the energy of a sunburn. Constant, raging, and impossible to ignore. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
“I never meant my actions to have the effect they did, but your mom and I had our own set of problems,” Dad said. “I know from your perspective you didn’t fully comprehend everything. You didn’t see everything.”
“That means you work on it, Dad. That doesn’t mean you break our family apart. You broke my heart right along with hers.” My lower lip jittered. I didn’t want to cry in front of Tate—especially not after that kiss—but I couldn’t help it.
Dad lowered his head. To her credit, Laurel didn’t say anything. She didn’t touch him or offer any kind of words of condolence. She only stared at her hands.
“I wish I was a better man,” Dad said. “You and your mom didn’t deserve for me to handle things the way I did. I made a huge mistake, Bailey, in doing things the way I did.”
Laurel swallowed. How did she feel about being called a mistake? Tate shifted, but he didn’t let go of my hand.
“But I fell in love with Laurel. I don’t know if you’ve been in love.” His gaze shifted to Tate, and my stomach turned rock hard. “I’m not justifying my actions. I should have ended things with your mom first. We got married so young, and she was...”
Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5 Page 10