Текст книги "After Tonight "

Автор книги: Annie Kelly

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Holy. Fuck.

I cry out when his mouth slides over the flesh of my breasts, then hovers just above a hardened peak.

“Tell me you want it,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

I know that the desire he sees in my gaze is more than enough permission, but he wants to hear me say it. And I want to say it to him.

“I want this.”

And I practically choke on a cry as he takes the nipple into his mouth and sucks hard—no pretense, no gentle ministrations. He doesn’t need to ramp me up and he knows it. I’m already there. I feel like I’ve been right there since the day I met him.

“Yes,” I hiss, digging my fingers into his scalp, loving the feel of his hair in my hands and wondering how long I can drag this out, how long we can make this go on until we realize that something has to stop us—common sense or morality or whatever it is.

“God, Hyacinth,” he murmurs, pulling back to place a kiss between both breasts, then moving on to the other nipple. “You are sugary sweet, baby—I knew you would be. I knew you’d be delicious. I feel like I could fucking OD on you.”

I don’t say anything to that, but every word he’s saying, every movement he’s making, is sinking beyond my belly button to my neediest flesh below, where I’m slick and wanting and completely irrational. Where I’ve needed him for what feels like an eternity and where I’m dying to have him now.

“Please,” I cry softly, not for the first time. Once again, I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t know if Smith knows, either. Or maybe we both want the same things, because all of a sudden he’s grabbed me behind my knees and is lifting me up.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he directs me, brushing my hair over my shoulder and leaning in to give me a sweet, lingering kiss. “I want to take you somewhere I can lay you down. Is that okay?”

Is that okay? Is that okay?

I want to snort or scream, but I just nod, biting my lip, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he carries me to the couch. I’m about to point him to my bedroom but, when he puts me down, I couldn’t care less if we were in a double bed or a Dumpster, because his hands are on my waist and he’s sliding my pajama pants down over my legs, all the while meeting my gaze with a kind of feral expression that would be scary if it weren’t so hot.

“When I think about that night at the club,” he says, pulling at one leg of my pants, then the other, “I try to imagine how that night would have gone had you not had nearly as much to drink. I think about how I would have made sure to kiss every inch of your skin before leaving, just so I could have memorized your flavor, so that it would have tided me over until this day. So that I could have remembered it as I watched you and wanted you and had to stay away.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. This guy.

My pajamas are on the floor and my panties feel anything but substantial as Smith begins to remove his jeans. They hit the floor with a thud and I almost swallow my tongue when I see the tight black boxer briefs and his healthy erection filling out the front.

“I’m not going to push you,” he says, coming over me and pressing his hands into the couch cushion on either side of my head. He’s leveraged himself off me and we’re separated by nothing but hot oxygen and pure want. I’m surprised that alone doesn’t make me pull him down against me.

“But I have to taste you tonight, Hyacinth,” he whispers, his mouth now so close to mine that I can’t tell our breaths apart. “Will that be all right with you?”

What am I supposed to say to that?

Well, I know what I’m supposed to say to that.

I just don’t say it.

Instead, I say, “Yes.”

Chapter Fourteen

Boundaries

Smith moans in satisfaction as he settles his weight on top of me. When his mouth meets mine, he rocks against me, his cock straining against his boxer briefs and my warm wetness. My eyes close as he switches focus, capturing a nipple in his mouth and tonguing it in a way that is making me crazy.

“God. Smith.”

I bite down hard on my bottom lip and his mouth travels, wet and slow, from my breast to my belly. He dips his tongue into my navel, circles it with hot, lush kisses, and then dips even lower. I heave in a deep breath, then stop breathing entirely as he presses his mouth against my core through the thin fabric of my panties.

“Oh, yes,” I murmur, my hands flying down to grip his hair. It slips through my fingers, but he seems pleased with my enthusiasm. Slowly, he slides my underwear to one side, then settles in between my legs. As he licks his way into my wetness, I feel everything so acutely—his lips and his tongue, the way he devours me, tasting me just as he promised.

“Tell me,” he whispers, moving to press his lips against my upper thigh. “Tell me you’ve thought about this as much as I have.”

I swallow hard, closing my eyes.

“Look at me, Cyn.”

I can feel my whole body tremble as I gaze down at him. His expression is fierce in the hottest way, as though he’s ready to fight me if I deny what he and I both know is true.

“Tell me you’ve wanted me as much as I’ve wanted you.”

I hesitate, then moan as he presses the softest of kisses above my clit. His eyes are still trained on me.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I’ve wanted you. I can’t stop wanting you.”

His smile is brighter than any light source I’ve ever witnessed, and when he dives back into my slick flesh, I’m seeing stars of a completely other kind. He curls his tongue around my clit.

I think my moans would be embarrassing if I weren’t completely lost to this man. He grips my ass with both hands and squeezes hard. I never though I’d enjoy this kind of possession, but, in this moment, there is nothing in the world I want more than to be owned by Smith Asher. In the past, my sexual experiences ranged from inexpert fumbling to a “ticking the boxes” sort of checklist that I had with Brett. Sex has always felt more like a transaction. But this? This is a whole different thing.

Smith devours me like I’m sustenance. Like I’m necessary to his survival. I can feel myself growing wetter and more sensitive as he moves his tongue over my most sensitive flesh. When he comes back to my clit, he sucks gently, then grazes it with his teeth.

That slight edge, that bit of roughness, is all it takes. I shoot off like a bottle rocket, saying things that are less like words and more like prayers, begging him for mercy, then begging him to never stop. I think I’m probably crushing his head between my thighs, but he hums against me and the sound alone throws me up and over another peak of pleasure.

When I float back to earth, the whole world is upside down. It takes me a second to realize that my body is still on the couch, but my head is now over the side. I feel Smith’s arms around my middle and he hauls me up to sitting. I sort of slump against his chest and, for a long moment, he just holds me. We’re both breathing heavily and I can feel the pounding of his heart pressed against my rib cage.

He pulls back then and gives me a wry smile.

“Good?”

I nod sort of weakly, feeling the blush travel up to my cheeks. Gently, he lays me back against the throw pillows, then crawls over me until our eyes meet as exactly as any mirror image.

“What do you want to do now?” he asks, his gaze flickering a bit, looking from each of my eyes, back and forth.

But I don’t say anything—I just press both my hands against his chest and push up until he’s on his knees and I’m sitting in front of him. His body is so incredibly miraculous and, moments later, I’m the one licking and tasting him as I let my tongue explore his taut, tan skin.

“Have I told you lately that you’re gorgeous?” I ask, biting lightly at his collarbone. I shift slightly and press a hot, wet kiss to his abdomen.

Smith hisses and I smile up at him, then let my tongue follow the elastic band of his boxer briefs. Unable to stop myself, I reach up and cup his erection from over the fabric. He feels hot and hard and insistent. The groan that comes from him as I slide my hand beneath and onto his smooth hardness is a reward in itself.

“Shit—Hyacinth. Baby.”

I ignore him and continue to press kisses along his waist and torso while simultaneously sliding his boxers down and off his legs. When he’s completely naked, I rock back on my heels to look him over and I swear, my heart almost stops at the sight. He’s big—way bigger than Brent—and the muscles of his body really should have their own fan club.

His eyes are focused on me and filled with desire and I realize that I don’t just want to feel him tonight—I want him to feel me, too. I want him to remember every second we’re together. I want him to know how much I’m dying to be in this moment with him—right here, right now.

I give what I hope is a seductive little smile, then lean in and run my tongue up along the underside of his cock. He shudders hard, hard enough that he almost loses his balance, so I grab his hips and do it again, this time curling my tongue around the head when I do.

He palms my scalp and I open my mouth to take him inside. He’s warm on my tongue—his taste is slightly salty and intoxicatingly male. I grip the base with one hand and flatten my tongue, licking him up and down like a dessert to be savored.

“Oh—fuck, yes.”

His words are more of a groan as he threads his fingers through my hair, then tightens his grip. I lick and suck him, letting him guide the pace one minute, then taking over the next. I slow down, letting my lips glide down his shaft, then back up to the head, swirling my tongue in a strategic circle around the head of his cock.

I have never, ever enjoyed giving head this much. I never thought I could.

Smith tugs my hair again, a little harder this time.

“Shit, baby—you gotta stop.”

I moan against his flesh, refusing to give it up—give him up—until he physically hauls me toward his face and attacks my mouth with renewed vigor. With little effort, he has me flat on my back and he lowers himself on top of me, letting his hardness prod between my legs. I grind against with a little whimper and he gives me a wicked smile.

“I love that fucking sound.”

He moves then, scooting his body down mine until his mouth is level with my breasts. I want to scream at him to come back, until he begins to circle my nipple with his tongue.

Then, all I can do is moan.

“I will never get tired of doing this. Of tasting your skin. Of making your body all wet and ready for me.”

He sucks my other nipple deep, pressing it up against the roof of his mouth, and I’m almost crying, it feels so good. I arch up, offering myself to him, but he’s decided to move on—to move lower. He places kisses along my ribs, then he slides further, kissing just below my navel.

“Oh, please.”

I’m aware that I’m basically begging him to go down on me again and I kind of don’t care, because if he doesn’t do it, right this second, I might actually die.

“Mmm.” He paces a soft kiss right above my clit. “Yeah. One more taste, and then I’ll fuck you just like how you need it. What do you say to that, Miss Hendricks?”

Fuck. Why does that sound so hot and so wrong all at the same time?

But before I can decide on which emotion wins out, his mouth is on me again.

“Yes. God, yes.”

He chuckles against my wetness, then moves to lick and suckle my clit as he slips a finger inside me.

The moan that comes next is almost embarrassing—it’s less like a human sound and more like an animal one.

“You like that?” he murmurs, curling his tongue around my clit and then pressing it flat and licking the entire length of me. I buck up off the bed, unable to control any of my actions anymore. The moaning and whimpering have turned to a keening wail as he adds a second finger and grips my hip to hold me still.

“You gonna come again, baby?”

I nod, attempting not to thrash around as the wave of an orgasm begins to crest and froth over all my senses.

“Let go, Hyacinth,” he murmurs. “Come for me.”

Then he crooks his fingers inside me and I explode. Waves of color, of light, of all five senses and maybe even a sixth, wash over me as I grip his hair and cry out his name.

Nothing has ever felt better.

Nothing has ever been more necessary.

As I manage to reground myself in reality, he’s grinning sort of smugly as he rises up from between my thighs.

“You still with me?”

I nod, reeling a bit from my climax, but more than ready to feel what I’ve been wanting all night. Well, let’s be honest. A lot longer than all night.

Smith climbs down off the bed and finds his pants on the floor, reaching in to the pocket and pulling out a condom. He comes back over me, propped up by both arms anchored next to my head, and he’s watching me closely.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re sure,” he says quietly, “but I want you to know that all you need to do is say stop and I’ll stop.”

I shake my head. “No. Go. Go go go.”

He grins at me, then ducks down to kiss me before ripping open the wrapper and rolling the condom on. He settles himself between my legs again and I feel him, still hot and hard against me.

For a second, it’s like I’m a virgin again. Sex with my ex had never been this keyed up. I’d never been this desperate for it, this turned on. Now you couldn’t stop me if the room were on fire.

“Hyacinth.”

Smith whispers my name and lets his forehead drop against mine as his cock slides along my folds. When he finally begins to breach me, we’re both holding our breath and I’m biting my lip so hard, I could be drawing blood. Frankly, I could really care less.

“God—you’re so fucking tight. Shit.”

He groans and pulls back, then surges forward a bit harder, making me arch up and moan. He manages to slide an arm beneath my back and press a hand just above my ass, then slips almost completely out, only to slide into me again all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck.” I close my eyes and try to catch my breath as he presses kisses along my face and jaw.

“Are you okay?”

I look up at him. “I’ll be better when you start moving.”

He chuckles at that. Then, ever so slowly, he begins to pull back and push forward. I whimper against his mouth as he increases his pace.

“Good, baby?”

“Mmm.” I thrash a bit. “Harder. Please.”

He groans and it seems like my request is his undoing. He retreats until I’m practically aching for him to return, then plunges into me, pinning my hips against the bed. I cry out and grasp at his skin, slick with sweat, as he surges forward again and again.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he half murmurs, half groans into my ear. “When you were teaching? All I could think about was bending you over your desk and pulling up your skirt. When I served detention? I wanted you up against the wall with your panties at your ankles and your legs wrapped around my waist. I’ve thought about fucking you in every way you can possibly fuck someone and it never came close to this reality. Being inside you is heaven, Cyn. You make me never want to leave.”

As I listen to him, picturing every scenario he’s presenting, my mind starts to grow hazy and there are tingles spreading over my body with every thrust.

“Oh, God—I’m close,” I whimper.

Smith speeds up a fraction, creating an incredibly delicious friction.

“God, you’re getting tighter by the second,” he murmurs.

He grazes my earlobe with his tongue before biting down lightly. I dig my nails into his shoulder as my second orgasm crests, then crashes over me, this one even stronger than the first. I don’t remember much, other than the fact that I’m crying out and begging and he’s hammering into me with a kind of ferocity that, up until this moment, I had no idea was so hot. When he finally lets out a stilted roar, releasing everything he has to give deep within me, I feel like he’s performed an exorcism—I just don’t know if it’s on him or on me.

For a long moment, we stay connected. I run my hands over his back and his shoulders as he toys with my hair. Both of us breathe deeply and I wonder if we could actually fall asleep in this position.

“Still good?” he asks, pulling back to gaze down at me. I nod, feeling a little shy.

“Still great, actually.”

Smith grins broadly, then pushes himself up to standing and saunters out my door to the hall bathroom. I marvel at his naked ass because, hell, it’s a fucking marvel, then I bury my face in my pillow and sigh with contentment.

“Are you hiding?” he asks when he comes back in and sees me. I lift up and shake my head.

“Nope. Just sharing my unstoppable smile with this pillow here.”

He crawls over the bed and pulls down the comforter, then wraps it around us.

“Does that mean you’re spending the night?” I ask as he tucks one end of the blanket under my shoulders. He quirks a brow at me.

“Well, yeah. Is that okay?”

I nod and let my head drop against the pillow, then watch him as he adjusts, getting his body comfortable in my bed next to me. The mere notion of that—of him being here, in my bed—makes me both giddy and terrified. Maybe a little more giddy than terrified.

I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. Moments later, I feel Smith’s arm curl around my hip and he pulls me closer to him. When I open my eyes, our faces are only a few inches apart. His eyes are even bluer at night than they are in the daytime.

“Hey,” he says softly. I smile at him almost shyly and I lift an arm up around his neck.

“Hey back.”

He smiles and, a few seconds later, his eyes close sort of slowly, like he’s actually fighting the desire to sleep. For a few long moments, I watch the almost imperceptible twitches of his eyelids. I reach up and lay a hand on his jaw. His skin feels like a miracle.

He feels like a miracle.

And, more than that, he feels like he belongs here. Right here, next to me.

For once, I don’t want to overthink everything. I don’t want to dissect the rights and wrongs of this evening. I just want to rest—every part of me, relaxing next to the body of this man that I’ve tried so hard to stay away from.

***

The dawn feels bright and full of possibility when I open my eyes and see Smith’s head on the pillow next to mine.

I breathe slowly and softly, staring at the shirtless man tangled in my sheets. Last night was a revelation. It was something I couldn’t have possibly planned better. And, sure, maybe it’s complicated. But this morning, complicated feels inexplicably close to perfect.

Smith’s eyes flutter open and his gaze is warm when it lands on me.

“Good morning.” His voice is gruff and sexy in the morning—of course his voice is gruff and sexy in the morning.

“Good morning,” I murmur.

“What time is it?” he asks, reaching to brush a curl out of my face. I reach over to grab my phone off the nightstand and peer at the screen.

“Nearly eight.”

He sort of groans and then rolls out of bed. When he stands, I find myself eagerly anticipating seeing his perfect body clad in nothing but underwear.

“Shit—I promised a friend I’d help him with a few things this morning.” He rubs his forehead. “I should have set my alarm.”

Then he leans down and braces his hands on the mattress, his face hardly a foot from mine.

“Although, looking at you all sexy and rumpled like that, all I want to do is lay you back down and fuck you again, this time in all the ways and in all the positions that I’ve been dreaming of every night since I met you.”

Um, yes please.

I push up to my knees and place my hands on his shoulders. I know exactly what I want to happen—what my body is craving.

“Can I convince you to stay for a little longer?”

I whisper the words, but Smith hears them loud and clear. He sort of groans, then leans forward to press his forehead to mine.

“I wish I could, baby. God, I wish I could.”

He presses his lips against mine. The pressure is soft at first, then builds as he moves to kneel on the bed in front of me. He coaxes my lips apart and I moan as his hands move up to cup my breasts.

“Shit.” He brushes his thumbs across my nipples and I dig my nails into his shoulders.

“Stay,” I murmur against his mouth.

He sort of groans, then forces himself to pull back. He gives me a rueful smile as he backs away from the bed.

“You’re a bad influence,” he says, wagging a finger at me. I bark out a laugh as he grabs his jeans from the floor and starts to pull them back on. When he walks over toward my door to search for his shirt, I hear a loud buzzing nearby. I glance around until I see his phone lying on the floor.

“Hey, I think you’ve got a text or something,” I call out as I grab it.

And then I look at the screen.

J. D. Fenton: Yo Asher—where you at?

For a second, I can’t move. After the incident with J. D. in the teachers’ lounge, I’d thought that Smith had written him off—at the very least, that he’d realized J. D. was the kind of person who hurt people. That he was the kind of person who would hurt me. And the realization that it didn’t change a thing makes my blood boil.

I grab my pillow and hug it tightly to my chest. I try to think of something to say. Smith turns back around to face me, now fully dressed. I just stare at him and he frowns.

“What’s up?

“I—I looked at the text,” I stutter.

“Uh . . . okay . . .”

I hand him the phone and he peers down at it. Then something like realization blooms across his face. I blink at him and he pushes a hand back through his hair.

“Hyacinth . . .”

“Is he the friend you’re going to see?” I ask quietly.

“Yes,” he says, shoving both hands in his pockets, “but it isn’t what you think.”

I close my eyes and feel a flush coast over my skin—my mostly, completely naked skin, blocked from his view by a pillow alone.

“Then explain it to me.”

There’s a long pause. When I open my eyes and look at Smith again, he’s staring down at the floor.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard.

“Why would you want to spend time with someone who threatened me?” I ask, practically spitting the words at him. Smith doesn’t meet my gaze.

I lick my lips, trying my damnedest to think of something else to say. But before I can respond, he moves forward. Standing barely a foot from the bed he leans down again to look into my eyes.

“I need you to trust me—this . . . there’s a reason for this.”

My lips part and I exhale an angry breath. “How could there possibly be a reason you’d want to spend time with someone who hurt me?”

“Cyn, listen.”

“No.”

This time, I’m not waiting for someone to let me down. I won’t do this again. I won’t fall for someone only to find out that I’m not important enough to them, that they’d sacrifice our relationship—or whatever this is.

“I want you to leave,” I say slowly, evenly. My voice is measured and steady, despite the strength of emotions rushing through me.

For a long moment, Smith doesn’t move. When he finally does, he presses his lips to my forehead and I close my eyes again. I don’t open them when I feel him pull away or even when I hear his footsteps moving back toward the door. I only open them when I know he’s gone, when the front door has been opened and closed behind him and I hear him descending the wooden stairs outside. The thunder and lightning from last night have ceased and it feels like a metaphor, as though his leaving my life means the danger and electricity disappear along with him.

When I open my eyes a minute later, they’re filled with tears. The last time I cried before meeting Smith Asher was when my father moved to Holly Fields. Now that I’ve shed this many tears for Smith, I guess I realize what I’ve known all along—that saying good-bye to people I care about can bring me to my knees quicker than anything else.

I lie back, and, despite it being morning, I pray for sleep. The kind of sleep that won’t bring me visions of Smith and his smile and his touch back into my mind. I wish for the blankness that comes with a dreamless slumber. I can’t think of anything more sad and less hopeful than wanting to stop dreaming.

Well, except maybe the sound of Smith’s truck engine roaring to life in the parking lot, then disappearing as he leaves my life for good.

***

I don’t think I really believed he’d dropped out until he doesn’t show up to school on Monday.

And Tuesday.

And Wednesday.

By Thursday, I’m absolutely miserable, thinking I’ve ruined some man’s life by forcing him to abandon his education.

Jeremy, however, doesn’t seem to notice my general down-in-the-dumps attitude. He brings me coffee on Tuesday morning, and, at lunch duty, he chatters on about things that feel completely irrelevant—a vacation he’s taking with his college buddies to Colorado, a bike he’s been looking at buying for month. Just stuff that feels ridiculously unimportant and like the furthest thing from what I want to be hearing about.

Then again, it does distract me from thinking about Smith—so, there’s that.

“Are you chaperoning the game tomorrow night?” Jeremy asks on Thursday as we leave the cafeteria. I shake my head.

“I wasn’t planning on it—I’ve got a couple weeks left of student teaching, and I need to start getting my portfolio together to turn in to my advisor.”

“Aw, come on.” He elbows me gently. “It’s the play-offs. The students are so excited about it. And it’s probably the last event you’ll get to attend as a student teacher.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Hey, I’ll even drive you,” he offers. “I’ll pick you up at six, we can grab something quick to eat, then we’ll be at the game by seven. Faculty have they’re own section, so we don’t have to worry about seats.”

I frown. “If we’re chaperoning, why do we need seats?”

Jeremy shrugs. “They call it chaperoning, but really I think it’s just so the staff can get into games for free.”

I let my eyes slide over the room of students, most of whom are talking and laughing and acting seemingly carefree. It would be nice to feel that way again. It would be nice to do something fun.

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll go.”

“Great—anywhere you want to eat? There’s a good brick oven pizza place that just opened up.”

I shrug. “That’s fine.” Maybe it’s a dick move to let him buy me dinner. At this point, the distraction and the company alone are enough for me to accept his invitation.

Jeremy starts talking about his favorite kinds of pizza and how his old hometown had the best meatball subs, and I try exceptionally hard to pay attention, to laugh at the right spots and nod at others. I ignore the niggling fact that conversations shouldn’t be so high-maintenance.

Unfortunately, my lack of social skills follows me all day, even to dinner at Holly Fields. As we eat, Dad rambles on about how glad he is that my student teaching is almost over, and I can only manage to chew and swallow.

“Princess, all I’m saying is that I’ll feel a lot safer when you’re out of a school that requires police officers on campus.”

“Gary, I think she likes it there,” Rocky drawls, stirring a spoon through his mashed potatoes. “Give the girl a break.”

“Please,” Dad snorts. He holds his fork up and points at me. “This girl’s too good to be associating with criminals.”

Finally, I manage to speak up.

“Daddy, they aren’t criminals—most of them are just kids. In fact, I’ve seen many of them really flourish in the last few months—you’d be surprised. You should give them a little more credit.”

“Well, whatever,” he sort of grunts. “I’ll just be glad when you’re out of there.”

After dinner, I walk Dad back to his room and watch a half hour of the History Channel while he gets his blood sugar measured by one of the nurses. Once I’m sure he’s settled for the night, I slip out and let the door shut behind me with a quiet click.

“Cyn?”

I turn to see Wyatt wheeling his way down the hall. He smiles up at me, fiddling with the handbrake on his wheelchair as he comes to a stop.

“You leaving?” he asks. I nod.

“Yeah—Dad needed some blood work done tonight and you know how he feels about needles.”

Wyatt laughs. “Did he squeal like a little girl again?”

“Nah—it wasn’t that bad. Shots are worse.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling.

“Listen, I was wondering if we could chat for a minute.” I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s already past nine and I need to wake up tomorrow at five a.m. Still, when I look back at Wyatt, there’s something about his expression that makes me think whatever he has to say to me is important.

“Sure,” I finally say. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s go sit.”

He takes his time moving his hands to the wheel guards and pushing himself along the hallway. I walk slowly, a step or two behind him, and watch his arms as they flex and straiten with each rotation of the wheel. His biceps are huge now, although his arms were always pretty muscular—probably from drumming. He’s made so much progress in the last few months. It’s amazing to watch how much physical therapy can actually do.

Wyatt turns into one of the common areas, a living room-like set up with couches and a TV. A few people are sitting on one side of the room, playing cards, but the rest of the space is empty. He wheels over to an armchair and gestures for me to sit.

“So, I need to ask you a favor,” he says when I’m seated.

“Oh—okay, shoot.”

He lifts a hand to his lap, flexes his fingers, then clenches them. He seems to take his time formulating the words he wants to say.

“I want to get out of here.”

My brow furrows. “Like—tonight? You want me to take you out?”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean move out of here. Permanently.”

I blink at him.

“What do the doctors say about that?”

Wyatt lets out a hard, choppy exhale.

“They say I’m physically doing very well, but they’re still concerned about the brain swelling and what could happen if I were alone and there was some kind of flare up or something. They don’t want me to leave for at least another six months. Maybe longer.”

He reaches up now to run a hand through his hair.

“I can’t stay here,” he says, so softly that I almost don’t hear the words. I shift forward and reach out to take his hand.

“Wy, I don’t know what I can possibly do to help you. I’m sorry.”

“Well, that’s where my favor comes in.” He looks down at his lap, at our clasped hands, then back up at me. “I need a tutor.”

I blink at him. “A tutor? For what?”

“Maybe tutor isn’t the right word—I need someone to . . . assist me. At the time of the accident, I was about halfway through my fall semester at community college and I didn’t get to finish my classes. I want to complete the course work, but I’m going to need someone to help me.”