St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

“You’re very sure of yourself, Ms. Swimworthy. Care to place a little wager on that?”

  Ooh, a challenge. I love a good challenge.

  “What’s the wager?”

  “If I win, you have to pass your next business quiz.”

  “Lame,” I say. “If you paid me I couldn’t pass one of those quizzes.”

  “I can tutor you.”

  “You offered before.”

  “And you said no. Now, you have a reason to say yes.” When I don’t answer he lets out a breath. “Come on, Ariel, it’s a win-win for you.”

  I consider him for a minute, then I look back at the board.

  “Win-win, huh? Fine. I’ll allow you to tutor me in business if you win. But, if I win, you have to throw out the Team Ultra Balls shirts.”

  His brows shoot up in mock innocence, but I cut him off with a knowing look.

  “I saw them in the limo under the lightning shirts, so don’t deny it.”

  “They were backups,” he stutters.

  “Even so, they have to go. I don’t want any mysterious mix-ups.”

  His hand touches his chest in mock surprise. “You wound me with your accusations.”

  “I’ll bet,” I reply. “So, it’s a deal then. Test for shirts.”

  I reach my open palm out to him. He takes it and squeezes my hand in a single shake. Then, he quickly turns my hand so my palm is facing up.

  “Shall we seal it with a kiss?” he asks.

  I want to say no, but my head nods before I can stop it.

  He gives me a wolfish smile before placing a light kiss on my palm that makes my entire body go hot. My toes curl in my sneakers and goose bumps break out along my shoulders. It’s a quick peck, but it seems to last both a lifetime and not long enough. His lips release me, and he closes my palm.

  “For later,” he says.

  He hasn’t released my hand, and I know he can feel the way my fingers tremble in his. The way my arm heats. The way my pulse pounds in my fingertips.

  He stares down at my hand for a long time.

  “We should play,” he finally says, letting go of me and sitting down.

  We’re silent after that. It’s not surprising, seeing as how his little kissing stunt has stolen my breath and most of my wits.

  Eric distributes the cards and pieces, and we arrange our men all around the board.

  When I’m done, I rub my hands along my arms, even though I’m wearing a sweater. The goose bumps that have racked through me these last few minutes are making my entire body shiver.

  Eric reaches behind his chair and hands me a thick, pilled, gray sweater.

  “Here,” he says.

  I reach for it only because it’s the easy way out. If I tell him I’m not shivering from the cold, he’ll want to know my alternate explanation. I’m not ready to tell him that yet. He probably already knows how he affects me, but for me to admit it out loud is something else entirely.

  Our fingertips touch when I take the sweater from him, and more heat flares between us. I deliberately avert my eyes, pull on the sweater, and roll up the super long sleeves.

  Eric’s scent surrounds me, and I pull the sweater tighter, though I’m not cold.

  “All better?” he asks.

  My eyes find their way back to his. “All better.”

  “So,” he says, putting his hands on the table. “Are your sisters ready for their party tonight?”

  I grab the box top, point at a country, and both Eric and I throw our dice into the top at the same time. I win the throw six to three and win the country.

  “They’re more than ready. Dresses are made, food is prepped, and decorations are being set up as we speak.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  “Fun? It better be more than fun. We’ve spent months planning it. I want it to be perfect.”

  “With the Swimworthy sisters at the helm, I’m sure perfect won’t even begin to cut it.”

  “I just hope Duckie goes, you know? After tonight, we may never see her again.”

  “Why? What’s happening tonight?”

  “I don’t know, and she won’t tell me.”

  He’s silent for a moment.

  “You don’t think she’s going to—”

  “No,” I reply quickly. “She promised it isn’t that. It’s something else. Something to do with her tattoo, I think. I feel it in my bones. If I could just figure out who this James person is.”

  He pulls a card from the pile and lays it in front of him.

  “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Maybe even tonight.” He clears his throat. “It might be kind of heavy. You may need some support. I can be there if you want. Not as a date or anything. Just, you know, be there.”

  I smile at him, my heart melting a little.

  “Thank you, but I think this is something I have to do on my own. Hopefully between four Swimworthys, we can figure out how to help Duckie with whatever she’s dealing with. It will just take some time.”

  “Well, my offer still stands. If you need me, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. You don’t have to be strong alone. I can be strong for you too.”

  My heart pinches. Eric always knows the right thing to say, and today is no exception.

  I roll again, using the moment to get my pounding heart under control.

  By the time the plane lands twenty minutes later, I’ve conquered Australia, and Eric has taken most of Europe. With promises—threats?—to finish the game, we leave the plane and climb into a different limo. In a few minutes, the limo pulls up in front of Rita D’s, a vegan soul food restaurant.

  Eric had driven me out here when we were dating. I remember the day so clearly. We cut school, drove up to Hartford, and ate ourselves sick on collard greens, sweet potato pie, and tofu and waffles—yes, that is a thing. It was one of the best days of my life.

  Rita, the owner, waits for us just on the inside of the door. She’s my height, with dark skin and short hair. Her lips are brick red and smiling, and she’s wearing a T-shirt with her restaurant’s name on it.

  She was friendly the first time I’ve met her, and from the way she’s hugging me tight, I can tell her friendliness hasn’t diminished over the last few months.

  “Welcome back, love!” She pulls away and stares at my hair. “What happened to all that pretty red hair?” Her hands go to her hips in a sassy sort of way.

  “I dyed it.”

  “Over a boy?” Her eyes slide to Eric in open accusation. “What did you do to my girl?”

  His hands go up defensively.

  “It wasn’t me, I swear. I love the red hair.”

  His admission makes my body tingle again.

  “We all loved the red hair,” Rita says. “Oh well. You’re just as pretty with this hair, I guess. Come on, let’s go.”

  I’m only a little offended when we walk through the dining room. I’m expecting Rita to seat us, but she doesn’t. She keeps walking until we reach the kitchen. There are three cooks there, two men and a woman, all with white aprons and hair nets on. Old Motown music plays softly through a set of Bluetooth speakers.

  “Today we’re making tofu and waffles.”

  “We?” I ask, looking at Eric.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets, and a sneaky smile pulls at his lips.

  “You liked it so much last time that I asked Rita to show us how to make it.”

  “And,” Rita says, “I told him I would as long as he promised not to write down the recipe and sell it on eBay.”

  “Of which I agreed.”

  Hmmm… Eric has planned all of this?

  I try to imagine what would have happened if Purity and Michael had come with us. Would Michael have found this awkward or fun? It occurs to me that I’m glad Michael isn’t here. I should probably feel guilty about that, right?

  “These are my children, Reggie, Regina, and Ronald junior.”

  We all exchange brief waves.

  “They’re going to be helping us today.”
>
  The kids and Rita gather around us in the already warm kitchen. They hand us aprons and hair nets, and we set to work.

  With each new ingredient, the music seems to get a little louder. By the time we’re mixing the batter for the waffles “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” is nearly deafening. Rita and her kids dance around us, and Eric and I join in, earning us accolades for how we’re “on beat.”

  He mouths the words of the song to me, and I find myself singing the words right back to him. It’s so natural that I don’t even think about it. Being with Eric is so effortless sometimes. Like we’re two halves of a puzzle that just fit together. I try to hold onto my distance, to remind myself that, as usual, we’re moving way too fast. But I feel the reins of my control slipping, and I don’t know how to stop them.

  “Girl, if you don’t add some more salt to that mix,” Rita says over my shoulder.

  I’m mixing flour, yeast, salt, pepper, sage, and cayenne in a big yellow bowl. This will be the coating for the tofu that will make it taste like the fried chicken on top of our waffles. Eric’s already got his tofu and seasonings in a big clear bag, and he’s shaking it in time with the music.

  Show-off.

  “That’s right,” Rita says as I sprinkle more salt into my dry mixture. “Food needs flavor, honey. A little spice. Just like life.” She nudges me and glances at Eric.

  I laugh out loud and feel my cheeks turn rosy.

  By the time we pour the butter over the waffles, she’s planning mine and Eric’s honeymoon and naming our children. I’m nowhere close to getting married, but I appreciate the sentiment.

  We carry our finished meals into the empty dining room, and Rita leaves us to eat and talk alone. She’s the second person to leave us to ourselves today, and I can’t help but wonder if Eric has set this entire day up this way.

  I cut into my tofu and waffles and moan at the deliciousness of it. The salty, savory breaded tofu is a perfect match to the sweet waffles and the gooey maple syrup. Mmmm.

  “You look like you’re enjoying that,” Eric says with an amused expression. “Maybe a little too much.”

  “Definitely a little too much,” I reply around my mouthful of food. I swallow it, then take a sip of orange juice. “So, you’re kissing your cousin now?” I ask.

  He throws his head back and groans.

  “Look, you have to understand that Purity doesn’t understand what oversharing means. She has verbal diarrhea all the time.”

  I gesture to my plate.

  “Hello. We’re eating.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I mean she talks way too much.”

  I take a small bite of my tofu. “I gathered that. Is that why you kissed her?”

  “My parents took me to visit her in Georgia when I was six. I kissed her goodbye on the cheek, and she threw me into the creek. Like literally threw me. The girl’s like a pale little hulk or something.”

  I remembered how she hugged me in the bathroom.

  Yeah, she’s strong.

  “She made it sound like we were making out or something. She’s my cousin. That’s gross!”

  I take a delicate bite of my waffle with an amused grin.

  “What made you think she was my girlfriend anyway?” Eric asks. “Did someone tell you that?”

  “No.” I dab my lips with a napkin, then place my napkin in my lap. “I just saw you with a new girl and… I don’t know… I just assumed, I guess.”

  “You’re a bad assumer.”

  I ball up my napkin and throw it at him. He ducks, and it lands on the floor behind him.

  He laughs.

  “And bad thrower. You know, just because I’m hanging out with a girl doesn’t mean I’m with them.

  “Oh, is that what you and Vanessa were doing at Ronnie Garrison’s pool party? Hanging out?”

  His face scrunches in thought, then his eyes light in understanding.

  “You really think I’d go out with Vanessa Uma?”

  I shrug.

  “You two did look pretty cozy at the party.”

  “She said hi to me, then she was flirting with me, but I wasn’t there for her. I was there to find you.”

  I eye him and slowly chew on a piece of tofu.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But you were at the pool with Michael, so I hung out for a bit and left. Why would I be on the phone with you every night, then immediately find a girlfriend out of the blue, then, while with said girlfriend, flirt with some other girl at a party I know you’re at? I’m not the kind of guy who does stuff like that. When I’m with someone, I’m with someone.”

  “But we weren’t together,” I whisper.

  He silently places his fork on his plate, then gazes deep into my eyes.

  “When I’m with someone, I’m with someone. And I was with you. Maybe not officially but”—his hand goes to his heart—“in here.”

  Everything about him seems so genuine. So honest.

  Is this why I couldn’t move on from him? Was I still with him in my heart, even when I hated him? Can two souls be tied together so strongly that, even when they’re apart, they’re still bound to each other?

  “How’s the food?”

  Rita’s sweet voice immediately restores air to the table. I haven’t been breathing, and from the big breaths of air Eric’s taking in, I can tell he hasn’t breathed either.

  “Everything was amazing,” he says. “But we’d better get going. We don’t want to miss the convention.” His eyes slide to me. “Did you eat enough?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “Great.”

  We stand at the same time, and Eric hugs Rita first, and I follow suit.

  “Thank you so much for the lessons, Rita,” he says.

  “You two come back any time,” Rita says. Then she takes my left hand, and Eric’s right one. “And remember. Everything in life needs a little spice.”

  She gives us a big smile, and we hurriedly climb into the awaiting limo before we can really feel the cold.

  I sit on the left side of the limo, and Eric sits on the right. My hand rests on the seat between us and so does his. Only a few inches separate our outstretched pinkies, but I can still feel as if his hand is already wrapped around my own.

  Eric is watching me watching him.

  “We’re here,” he says.

  Has the car been moving? Have we been driving? I barely noticed. All I could feel was my own pounding heart. My breathlessness. My desire. My fear.

  He opens the car door and climbs out. I follow him.

  The Connecticut Convention Center isn’t the biggest convention center I’ve ever seen, but there’s charm in its brown stone walls and stacked windows. We walk up to a side entrance, and Eric hands me a red VIP badge to wear around my neck. He puts his own on, and we knock on the door. Then we flash our badges at the doorman, and we’re inside.

  39

  The inside of the convention center smells like the inside of an air conditioner. All ozone and dust and coolant. The faint hum of computers and game systems booting up fills the air.

  Countless booths surround me. Collector’s edition comic books, life-sized superhero figurines, and cutting edge video games not even released to the public yet. To my left, two men are pulling on black vests, shooting each other with a game gun and checking the nearby computer.

  I excitedly tap Eric on the shoulder.

  “It’s a game vest,” I say in a reverent voice. I’ve read about them online. Most of them were crude mockups, but this one seems to actually work.

  Eric takes my hand. “Come on.”

  I don’t have time to think about how nice his hand feels in mine. I have to keep up as we jog across the aisle and up to the booth. Eric flashes his VIP card at the two men standing there.

  The first man looks like Brad Pitt with a beard. When he sees us, he smiles wide.

  “Welcome, mortals, to Gamers Incorporated,” he says with great flourish. “My name is John Wallaby, and may I be the first t
o introduce you to the greatest thing to happen to video games since the wireless controller.” He gestures to the vest that the second, longer-haired man is wearing. “The game vest will revolutionize the way you play. Ma’am, may I ask what your favorite game is?”

  Ma’am? I’m not that old.

  “Ogre Wars,” I reply.

  He looks impressed.

  “Ah, an excellent choice. Imagine that you’re walking through the Valley of Slaves, and you see an ogre patrol in the distance.”

  The man in the vest takes a fighting stance.

  “They spot you and rush in. You duck once, then twice.” The vested man plays along, ducking along with John’s words.

  “…then they catch you with a blow to the chest.”

  The vested man falls back.

  “With this suit, you’ll feel the slimy skin of the beast’s knuckles as it strikes. And, in return, when you strike”—vested man throws a punch at an invisible attacker—“your opponent will also feel you.”

  John looks from me to Eric and back again.

  “And now you, my friends, have the honor, nay, the privilege to be the first humans to experience the game vest, save myself and my friend Jamie here.” He bows, and I clap because he’s entertaining. He gestures for his partner to remove the vest, and they help me slide it on.

  It’s thin and cool, almost like a puffer jacket without the puff. I rotate my arms and wiggle a little to get it comfortable.

  “It looks good on you.” Eric winks at me.

  I wink back, and his cheeks turn a faint pink.

  John turns on a fighting game I’ve never seen before and, while it boots up, he slips thin black gloves onto my fingers.

  “Remember, the character’s movements will reflect yours, so keep it natural, okay?”

  I bob my head. “Okay.”

  The game starts, and a knight immediately starts stabbing at me with a long sword. I swing my hips to the side, avoiding one blow. I literally feel the air move past me.

  This is realistic.

  The knight comes at me with an overhead swing. I duck, pull back my sword, and plunge it into the knight’s gut. The sword resist and shakes, as if it’s really moving through flesh.

  “This is amazing,” I say.

  “You stab people frequently?” Eric asks.