by Callie James
Least of all, Sam Guerra.
CHAPTER FIVE
Peyton
Standing at my locker earlier than usual Thursday morning, I sensed a simmering energy behind me.
“Peyton?” He’d kept his voice low as if someone might overhear us in the empty hall. “Got a minute?”
I braced myself for hormone overload as I turned to see Sam looking tough and gorgeous. He had two fresh marks on his face—a small, black bruise that resembled an ink smudge on the bridge of his nose, and another, much wider bruise along his jaw.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” I replied, feeling small and unworthy of a simple text. I pulled my Calculus book to my chest and slammed my locker closed. “What are you doing here this early?” The buses hadn’t even arrived yet.
“I could ask you the same.”
His hair looked damp. “Ryan wanted to study for a test and forgot a book. He’s in the commons. What’s your excuse?”
“To talk to you.”
“Really?” I smiled before remembering I was still mad.
“Really.” He pressed his palm to the locker next to mine and leaned over me with that cocky grin I remembered from our staring contest. “Actually, I have something to give you.”
I’d never understood the appeal of the bad boys who kept my girlfriends strung along and brokenhearted for months. Until now. I knew Ryan was right. Sam probably wasn’t good for me, yet I couldn’t make myself care. “I’m almost scared to ask what put a smile on your face this early,” I said. “Did you run over a fluffy squirrel on the way to school?”
He smirked and pulled a tight wad of bills from his pocket to hold up between us. “I snagged this from Vanna’s coat pocket last night. It’s fifty short but I wanted to give it back to you before she notices it’s gone.”
I frowned. “You know I can’t take it. The money is yours. Hers. Whoever you want to have it.”
He held the wad an inch from my nose. “That’s just it. I want you to have it.”
I pushed his hand away. “It would be different if I’d helped you study, but … you know. That didn’t happen. Please keep it. Give it to Savanna if you don’t want it. You care about her, so it’s like I’m paying you. Otherwise, I’ll still owe you.”
He lowered his hand. “I should apologize for the other night.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“Trying to.”
“Well, I’m sure you couldn’t get away,” I said, giving him an excuse like an idiot. I wanted to take it back. To add something snotty about the few seconds needed to call a person, but I kept my peacemaking self in check and leaned against my locker.
“Yeah,” he said. “I couldn’t get away.”
Without thinking, I brushed two fingertips along the bruise at his jaw. “Work looks painful. I hope your co-worker got the worst of it.”
His eyes flashed surprise and his hand brushed mine before I pulled it back. “Listen… Peyton, I don’t want to get into—”
“Obviously, you can do what you want,” I said. “But if you’re going to lie to me, don’t apologize. A lie negates the whole thing.”
He stared at me for several awkward seconds, looking shocked that I’d called him out. “I didn’t lie,” he said. “It’s complicated. More than I want to explain.”
Yet another reason why I shouldn’t think twice about him. I doubted I could handle a detailed explanation standing this close to him anyway. “I assume you’re planning to wing Ms. Campbell’s class today,” I said, changing the subject and ducking quickly under his arm to head to first period. “That should be interesting.”
He followed me, his long stride easily catching up. “You’d love it, wouldn’t you? Probably laugh before anyone else if I did.”
I refused to smile. “I try not to laugh at people. Even if they deserve it.”
“That dimple in your cheek tells another story. Admit it,” he said. “You’d totally laugh.”
I wanted to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop the mischievous grin. “Well, my point is, I wouldn’t laugh first.”
We’d reached junior hall when he grabbed my elbow and turned me to look at him. His smile made him appear more relaxed. Even sweet and flirtatious, as he’d been in Campbell’s class. I backed up a step.
“I realize this is ballsy,” he said, “but I was wondering if you’d still help me.”
Another step back had me noticeably and awkwardly pressing against someone’s locker. “With what?”
“The review.”
I sagged a little. “Are you insane, Sam Guerra? Is that your problem?”
“Possibly.” He took two steps into my space and fixed his palm to the locker next to me, leaving me no escape this time. “Of course you don’t have to help me. But you should know I’m crazy enough to continue stalking you until you take back this two hundred.”
“Have you been stalking me, Sam? I didn’t notice.”
He hovered above me, looking amused as those soft brown eyes pulled me in. “Consider it from my point of view,” he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth and back up. “I never agreed to your terms Monday. What I did in the locker room was my decision. I didn’t do it because I’d made a deal with you.” He reached into his pocket and held up the folded bills again, flicking them back and forth in front of my nose. “Take the money, Peyton, and you’ll be rid of me. Just take it and I’ll go.”
“One hundred-fifty,” I corrected his earlier slip, glancing at the money. I could take it back, and he’d leave me alone. We’d go back to happenstance glances in the hallway, but I wasn’t at all sure I wanted that. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re saying I don’t owe you anything.”
“Right.”
“And you want me to take back the money.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to help you with Mansfield Park.”
“Yeah.”
“Sam, we still wouldn’t be even.”
“I know.”
“You would owe me,” I pointed out.
His mouth twisted into a dangerous grin that made my insides knot. “Sounds much better, doesn’t it?”
I wish I had experience beyond kissing. I’d know exactly what he meant. Was he being sweet and flirting, or saying he wanted to have sex and implying he’d be great at it? I couldn’t tell. “It’s too late.”
“No such thing,” he said.
The lock handle slipped from my sweaty fingers and made a clanking sound. “Unless you can add more hours to the day, then yes it is. The second Ms. Campbell sees you she’s going to ask you to give the review. You haven’t seen her lately. She’s put it off twice now. It’s a vendetta. There’s no way I can get you prepared before then.”
“Depends how far you’re willing to go.”
I stared into his eyes searching mine. Was he still talking about a book review? “How far are you asking me to go?”
“Far enough to make it interesting.” I arched my eyebrows and he grinned, a full smile this time. He had exceptionally straight teeth for someone in a fight club. “Ditch seventh period with me today,” he said.
It was possible we had different definitions of interesting. “Help me understand this. You want me to skip British Authors to help you pass British Authors?” I looked around, paranoid now that someone might be listening. “You are crazy. I’m sure you’ve heard differently, Sam, but I’m a straight arrow. I’m a straight arrow because I never get away with anything. I’m a terrible liar. We’d get in trouble.”
“Claim you’re sick and leave early. They’ll call your parents and you’ll bring a signed note tomorrow. It’s as you said—your parents trust you.”
True. My parents believed anything I told them because I sucked at lying and rarely did it. Sam obviously had no problem changing that. “Don’t you feel bad? I mean, you seem to lie so easily.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not hurting anyone. Think of it as adaptability. So will you?”
“I’m everyone’s ride.” My last excuse.
“Then give your brother the keys and I’ll drive us to your house. He has his license, right?”
Alone in a car with Sam? I swallowed. I doubted he understood what he was asking me to do. I didn’t do things like this. Ever. I was an above-board, by-the-rules girl.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he said. “You. Me. Jane Austen. What could go wrong?”
I suspected he could make anything sound tempting. “Everything. You’ve never skipped with me.” I looked to the floor. “I’ll get caught, Sam, which means you’ll get caught, and then we’ll—”
“Listen Sunshine,” he said, his finger sliding softly under my chin and pulling my gaze to his. “Don’t take this wrong, but you cross me as a first-offense girl. Even if the school or your parents caught you lying, skipping, or whatever, you wouldn’t get anything more than a slap on the hand. Trust me.”
I bit my lip, staring at his growing smile as his finger did a tap-tap-tap under my chin while he waited for my answer. I didn’t want to tell him no. “Fine. Okay.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
My gaze shifted to the doors. The buses were pulling up to the curb. “Should we meet after sixth period?”
“Yeah.”
The doors opened and students piled into the hall, bringing a tornado of noise with them. I straightened, awkward as I tried moving around Sam to go before anyone saw us talking.
He grabbed my waist. “Wait,” he said, his face inches from mine as he lifted the money to my nose again. I arched my eyebrows and he grinned, dropping his hand and tugging my skirt pocket, nearly bringing our bodies together as he took his time pushing the money into the small pocket. I could barely draw a breath until he released me.
“Meet me at the north parking lot after sixth period?” he said.
I nodded, staring at the devious grin he gave me before leaving.
The entire day passed similarly, a blur of noise, faces and useless information until seventh period. I should have been thinking twice about skipping class, but my excitement to see Sam overruled. Later, I went to the office, signed out and waited for Ryan by his locker. He frowned when he emerged from Weight Lifting, immediately suspicious to see me.
I handed him the key to Mom’s Lexus.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“I’m not feeling well and Sam is taking me home.” My voice shook slightly.
“Sam?” His frown deepened. “Peyton, what are you doing?”
“I may have a fever.” I coughed and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll see you after school, okay?” I swung my book bag over my shoulder and took off down the hallway, aware of his disapproving stare following me.
Sam was leaning against the Impala when he spotted me racing across the parking lot. His usual scowl became a small smile as he straightened and opened the passenger door for me. I plopped onto the seat, waiting for him to walk around as the lingering scent of aftershave and worn leather drifted from the backseat. I turned to see his old leather jacket stuffed behind his bag.
He sat next to me in the driver’s side and soon the Impala roared to life.
“Do you remember where I live?”
He tapped his temple twice as he backed out. “Jotted it down.”
“Where did you get this car anyway?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the hottest car on the lot.”
He tapped the brakes too hard, making us both jerk forward. “Was it the rust or primer spots that first caught your eye?” he said, not really asking.
His get-real stare made me giggle. “It doesn’t have primer spots and you know it.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I love the classics.”
“No one would know it by the Lexus you drive.”
“My mother’s Lexus, you mean. I don’t have my own car. Besides, I’d still pick this car.” My dad had given me a healthy appreciation for the older models that could go head to head with a truck and not break into a thousand pieces. “What year is this?”
“Sixty-seven,” he said. “It belonged to my dad.” I was curious about the clarification, but he quickly changed the subject to where he worked on weekends—Winchester Auto—and how seldom he saw older models now. He kept the topic going all the way to my house.
Once he parked at the curb, the full magnitude of my stupidity set in. Both my parents were at work and my brother wouldn’t get home for almost two hours. I’d be alone with a boy I didn’t really know the entire time, and as the memory of Jason Thompson trapping me against his truck seat came rushing back, my heart cramped uncomfortably in my chest, making it difficult to get a full breath.
“You okay?” he asked.
My tongue felt double in size as I nodded.
We strolled up the sidewalk in silence and I unlocked the front door, insisting he cross the threshold first. When my good sense forced me to pause on the doormat, he turned to stare at me, his eyebrow arching with curiosity.
“It’s occurred to me I’m way too trusting,” I explained, clutching the doorframe and still not moving.
He smiled, shoving his hands into his front pockets. “You just now noticed this?”
I bit my lip, contemplating my options. I could look awkward and stupid, or I could be stupid and … I didn’t want to consider what else I could be. “My brother knows you drove me home,” I said, voice trembling as I tried to appear casual. “And my dad owns a .45 Sig Sauer. He taught me how to shoot it. I can clear a mushroom cap off a tree at twenty paces.”
“Nice,” he said, smiling and taking two steps toward me to lean his shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m impressed. Not many girls believe in the senseless killing of mushroom caps. But I think it’s only fair I warn you that in a situation like this, a firearm wouldn’t do much good buried in a gun case or kitchen drawer. You could make a run for it, but I’ve been told I have lightning-quick reflexes.”
I noted his large size compared to mine. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
He busted up laughing then and reached over, covering my hand with his and prying my frozen fingers gently from the doorframe. “You can trust me, Peyton,” he said, holding my hand to pull me from my wooden stance and into the foyer. “But you don’t know that right now and I’m glad you’re at least aware.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” He released my hand. When I didn’t move, he shoved his hands back into his pockets—I think to make me feel safer. “Vanna makes me crazy,” he admitted, glancing over my head at a picture on the wall before his gaze dropped back to mine. “She never thinks ahead. If she ever had a guy over, for studying or anything else, I’d have to kill him.”
He said it so sincerely and nonchalantly I could only stare. “Are you serious? Do you really plan to beat the first poor boy to death who shows interest in your sister? What is wrong with you? Who does that?”
He laughed again, a contagious sound that continued until I smiled with him. “I meant figuratively speaking,” he said. “And yes.”
Did he make a joke? I couldn’t read him for anything.
“Look. Peyton.” He grew serious quickly and walked to the door, leaning a shoulder against the frame. “We don’t have to do this. I thought it was a good idea at the time, but I forget sometimes what people say about me. What people think.” A small line formed between his eyebrows. “Especially when I’m with you. I never meant to scare you.”
His softer expression reminded me of earlier today, how his eyes had teased when he leaned over me, his fingertip gently tapping under my chin as he smiled. He’d been just a boy flirting with a girl.
I seriously had to get past this Jason Thompson thing.
Embarrassed, I glanced down. “No, I’m good. We should get started though. It’s a long movie.” I finally closed the door and awkwardly pointed upstairs. “It’s upstairs. Give me a second and I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” He kept his hands in his poc
kets.
I hopped up the stairs at lightning speed, rushed into my bedroom, fluffed my hair, and grabbed the movie, hoping Ryan didn’t have a stroke when he came home to find me here with Sam Guerra.
Ryan had often accused me of sneaking up on him, so when I emerged on the landing and Sam kept his back to me, I realized he hadn’t heard me. He stared unmoving and transfixed at a family picture on the wall. I took the first step, one I knew would creak under my weight. He turned when it did and watched me descend the remaining stairs. The oddest expression crossed his features, as though he’d been expecting someone else. We smiled at each other, but I sensed he had his armor back on. I’d ruined everything with my little dramatic episode back there.
That he hadn’t fallen into a resonating snore an hour into the movie meant he could tolerate a girl’s movie—literary classic or not—with the right incentive. Maybe he truly wanted to pass the class. “Yesterday, Ms. Campbell gave us a few things to think about,” I said, trying to make conversation. “First, to consider if we related to a specific character.” He stayed silent. “Do you?”
“Not really.”
“What if she makes you choose?”
“I’d choose Edmund.”
“Not Mr. Crawford?” I teased.
He looked at me. “I hope you’re saying I’m attractive. Otherwise, I think I’ve been insulted. The guy’s a total tool.”
“Mr. Crawford is charming and a shameless flirt, but in the book, he’s plain as a post.” Sam examined my face with interest now, which kept me rambling. “Why did you pick Edmund?”
“Because he doesn’t talk much. How long is this movie?”
“Two hours.” I expected him to cringe but he didn’t. “Think you can stand sitting through another hour?”