by CJ Daly
up sounding more like a squeaky toy.
“Really, Kate, is it so hard to believe?”
I nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak. Gah! He was doing it
again. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, press myself into his chest so
I could fully enjoy the sensation of him. It was becoming like an addiction,
and like most addicts, I didn’t want to stop (even though I knew I should).
Instead, I stepped out of his embrace, instantly feeling bereft but needing the
distance to concentrate.
“How do you explain the peanut butter sandwiches then?”
“Did you really just throw your hands on your hips?” he neatly countered
my question with a question.
“Huh?” I demanded, refusing to be thrown off the scent.
Mama always said the devil is in the details. It was just a little bit too
perfect—right down to the carrot sticks and grapes. He remained quiet, either
stalling for time or allowing me to finish my little tirade. So I continued:
“I gotta tell you—cuttin’ the crust off may have been just a tad overboard,
don’tja think? I mean if you didn’t want to arouse suspicion, and allowing for
the fact that I at least had a marginally average IQ.”
Pete spread his palms out. “Okay, you got me.”
“Ah-ha! I knew it! You were spyin’ on me!” I crowed, wondering why my
chest was in the process of deflating when I was just proven right.
“You’re right—I already knew you were a vegetarian . . . because I asked
Andrew yesterday what you like to eat.”
“What?”
• 158 •
“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I confess—I was pumping your little brother for the 411 on you.”
Oh. Could the obvious explanation have eluded me because I was too
prejudiced against his academy to accept an innocent answer? My angry tirade
from a moment ago now seemed like a psychotic episode, and my face burned
a little for being so vehemently on the side of wrong.
“Real y?” My chest began inflating again.
“Really.” He nodded and grabbed my hand.
My heart instantly skipped a beat, the butterflies returning with a
vengeance. “Why would you do that?”
“For a couple of reasons,” he said. “One, you weren’t exactly rolling out the
red carpet for me, if you know what I mean.” He dropped my hand to start
packing up, and I followed suit. “I knew I needed to clear the air with you
after the other night, but you just continued giving me the worst case of the
cold shoulder I’ve ever had.” He stopped packing long enough to frown at me.
“So I thought I would invite you to lunch to get some alone time with you.”
“Not mentioning the fact that you played on my little brothers’ sympathies
to get me here.”
A sly smile slid my way. “Yeah. I admit that was a dirty trick, but I was
desperate.” Pete removed the thermos from my hand and held my gaze. “Kate,
I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking I was here to hurt you or your
family—that’s sincerely not my intention.”
I quietly absorbed his intentions. And even though his eyes turned from
earnest to something less benign, it was hard not to buy whatever he was
selling when he was looking at me like that.
I cleared my throat a little. “What was the other reason?” His forehead
creased, so I prompted, “You said there were a couple of reasons you were
askin’ about me . . .” I held my breath, my heart hopeful.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really.”
“Because I wanted to woo you, you silly girl.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he reaffirmed, then, re-grabbing my hand, he swung the cooler
up with the other. “So I better get you back to school on time, or else your
father will never let me court you. My guess is—he’s a real hard ass.”
I laughed. “What makes you say that?”
“I got the chance to meet former Sergeant Connelly in the flesh, and let’s
just say . . . he made quite an impression.”
“He has that effect on people.”
• 159 •
Pete’s eyes sparkled. “So does his daughter.”
My face flushed. Unable to meet his eye, I squinted instead at the bright
sky while sallying along in the breezy afternoon next to the second brightest
object on the planet. When I found my voice, it was to tease him back.
“By the way, did you just recently escape from a Renaissance Fair?” Pete
tilted his head quizzically. “You just used the terms ‘ woo ’ and ‘court ’ back to back,” I said, in way of explanation.
He threw his head back, and the sound of his laughter sent a thrill of
pleasure through me. “I guess I did.” He dropped another heart-stopping smile
on me. “You seem to bring it outta me.”
I laughed, feeling so lighthearted I could’ve flown back to school. “Remind
me to thank Drews later for being such a sneaky accomplice.”
The smile on his face momentarily froze before he quickly reanimated it.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I sort of swore him to secrecy, and I don’t want him to think I was
the one to break the bro-code . . . sort of a guy thing,” he explained.
“A guy thing, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s one of the first and foremost elements of male bonding—
keeping the bro-code. Right up there with catching a football and learning
how to spit properly.” Back at the truck now, Pete opened the door for me.
“I’m sure Andrew’s smart enough to figure out how to face downwind all
by himself,” I said, hopping in.
Pete huffed out some amusement. “Yeah, he sure is a smart little guy. I’m
looking forward to working with him.”
“Well, the feelin’s entirely mutual,” I replied in a dejected voice.
After giving me another quizzical look, he shut the door. A short moment
later he’d replaced the cooler and came around and fired up the engine. The
music automatically came on, but he switched it off to level me with a look.
“I’m not sure why that bothers you exactly,” he said, sounding hurt. “I
would think you’d be happy knowing he likes me . . . since we’ll be spending
time together every day.”
“I am,” I said tonelessly.
Pete looked like he was going to say something then thought better of
it. Instead he decided to change the sore subject. “Okay, now that I’ve come
clean about everything . . . it’s your turn now.”
“I wouldn’t say everything,” I disagreed lightly.
“What do you mean?”
“I still have a few more questions for you.”
• 160 •
“About The Academy?” he clarified, and when I nodded, annoyance
passed over his face. “Didn’t you get the brochure? I don’t want to waste our
time together rehashing material you can read for yourself. It’s really pretty
straight forward stuff, Kate.”
“I wanna talk about what’s not in the brochure.”
“All the pertinent info is in the brochure,” he countered. “And Ranger and I went over all that with your father at the meeting.”
“Yeah, but not with me,” I said.
Some air puffed from his ch
eeks. “What do you want to know?”
“More about the mentorin’ program, about the kinds of tests you’ll be
administerin’ to him, where you’re livin’ while you’re here—”
“I’m glad to see that made the top three,” he cut in humorously.
I ignored his flirt intended to divert me from my fact-finding mission.
“I could go on. In fact, I have a list.” I was bending to retrieve it from my
backpack when he caught my shoulder.
“Not so fast,” he said. “It’s my turn to ask the questions now.” I started
to protest, but Pete shook his head. “That’s not fair. Besides, that list sounds
like it’s going to take longer than what’s left of this drive to answer. So, like
I said—my turn.”
I huffed out some aggravation.
“It’s called getting to know you, Kate.”
“Fine—shoot.”
Pete fought a smile. “Funny choice of words.”
I made an impatient, flappy hand gesture. “Fire away.” He arched an
eyebrow at me, and I rephrased: “Interrogate away.”
He simply smiled at my pout. “Okay, first, what do you like to do for fun
on the weekends?”
I was quiet for a few seconds, watching the familiar sights—fast food
joints, architecturally bankrupt banks, fledging strip malls—fly by as we
drove back to school. I wondered how he knew his way around so skillfully,
but let it pass with the scenery to ponder his question.
When was the last time I actual y did anything for fun? “Uh . . .”
“Come on, Kate! That’s an easy one.”
“I have no idea.” I shrugged my shoulders, blushing a little at the admission.
He threw me a sharp look. “Katherine Lee Connelly, you’re meaning
to tell me you have no idea what you like to do for fun?” He truly looked
incredulous.
My face blistered. Dagnab. I should’ve said something that normal people
• 161 •
like to do like surf the Net or cruise the drag. Instead, I ended up sounding like I had no life, which in fact, was true.
“Nothing at all comes to mind?”
“Look!” I practically spat. “I take care of my brothers every day and
waitress on the weekends—my schedule doesn’t exactly have a lot of blank
space!” Pete looked sideways at me, and I hated the pity I saw reflected in
his eyes. “I probably wouldn’t recognize fun if it slapped me upside the head,
alright?”
Who is he to judge me and my life? He wouldn’t know a thing about hardship and loss and even less about being poor! He with his fancy-shmancy
boarding school! He probably spent his weekends surfing the Pacific with
his bubbly California beach babe. Why would he want a workhorse when he
was used to Thoroughbreds? A bitter lump clumped in my throat. I quickly
swallowed it down with a large dose of anger. Kinda felt like kicking a dent
in his shiny Hummer.
Pete was quiet for a few moments, waiting for my storm of emotions to
blow over. The only sound was the hum of the engine. Embarrassed by my
outburst, I spoke again to fill up the awkward pause.
“I already know my life is boring and pathetic, okay?”
“I don’t think you’re boring or pathetic,” he said in a velvet voice. He
reached for the hand clenched in my lap. “In fact, I find you to be the opposite of boring. And taking care of your brothers full-time while working part-time
is noble, not pathetic.”
I dared a peek at his eyes. What I saw there moved things around in my
chest. Inexplicably, I felt even lighter than before. I guess it was finally sharing a piece of my burden with someone. It’s like I could breathe freer after having
oxygen rationed for so long.
He gave my hand a good squeeze and turned the music back on. “But we
gotta work on the fun part. Agreed?” He smiled at me, and my heart did its
back-flip thing.
“Agreed.”
“Okay, back to the questions now,” he said, once again, changing the sore
subject. “What kind of music do you like?”
• 162 •
16
FLIP-FLOP HEART
We arrived back to school with stereo and laughter blasting out
the windows like a couple of regulars. Pete seemed to find my
“extremely eclectic taste in music” hysterical. The engine cut off,
and I watched, fascinated, as his mouth quirked up again.
“I still can’t believe your favorite music is rap. Gansta rap, too?”
I laughed. “Among other things. What did you expect? Country?”
“You got me again,” he said before getting out and coming around to get
my door. “I hate to repeat any of what I’d like to think of as my witty remarks,
but if the shoe fits—you are wearing cowboy boots,” he pointed out.
“Guess it goes to show you—you really can’t judge a book by its cover.
And I do like country music every now and again.” I hopped down with his
assistance. “It’s just rap is . . .”—I grinned up at him, finding the exact right
word—“fun.”
He threw his head back and laughed, but we didn’t have a chance to
continue talking, because we were immediately blitzed by mobs of staring,
gossip-starved eyes.
Ugh. Back to reality.
Again, if Pete noticed the undue amount of attention we were receiving,
you couldn’t tell. He slid his arm around my shoulder as casually as he slipped
on his jacket, and we tromped across the parking lot together like we’d been
going steady for ages.
I tried not to feel stiff and self-conscious, but it was kinda hard when
the world’s sexiest guy had his arm around you. As soon as we entered the
classroom, the loud buzzing came to an abrupt stop. I pretended not to see the
bitter twist Miguel’s mouth, twisting around instead to face Pete so we could
• 163 •
resume our conversation. But faster than you can say hola, we were accosted by Ashley-Leigh. Seriously? We hadn’t gotten two words out.
“Katie! I’m so glad you’re back!” she proclaimed with a silly side-hug,
not taking her greedy eyes off Pete. “I haven’t had a chance to meet your
new . . . acquaintance yet. Looks like you’ve been tryin’ to keep him all to yourself,” she pouted, eyes still glued to his. “Not that I blame you.” She stuck
metallic purple nails out to Pete with a practiced smile. “Hi. I’m Ashley-Leigh
Montgomery. Me and Katie have been, like, the best of friends since we were
knee-high to a grasshopper.”
Laying on the fake southern charm pretty thick, I thought.
Pete looked at her with a charming, if distant smile. “Well any friend of
Kate’s is a friend of mine.” He shook her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you,
Ashley. I’m—”
“Oh. I already know who you are, Pete Davenport,” she purred in a tone
I found to be more revolting than alluring.
I peeked at Pete to gage his reaction, saw his mouth twitch, smiled to
myself.
“Well, that makes it easier on me I guess,” he said, removing his hand
from her grip.
She giggled liked that was the punchline to a very funny joke, that only
the two of them got. The bell decided to ring, bringing with it an Ashley-
Leigh pouty frown. “Uh! I guess I’ll catch up with you later . .
.” Her tone, coupled with her pointy nail, made it seem like a threat.
“Sure. Nice to meet you again, Ashley,” Pete replied.
“Actually . . .”—she tilted back around—“it’s Ashley-Leigh . . . kind of
a southern thing.” Cue signature wink. After which, she flounced off to her
seat sure in the knowledge that she’d left him wanting for more.
Swallowing a smile, I faced the front. I swear the girl had no shame.
Hadn’t she ever heard of playing hard to get?
“Ash ley- Leigh?” He chuckled into my ear. “Isn’t that a bit redundant?” I turned around to snigger with him, and he said, “Is she for real?”
“You can’t make this stuff up,” I whispered before turning back around.
Midway through class, I was mentally revising my list of questions for
Pete and replaying back the afternoon’s highlights in my mind. I was having
trouble concentrating on today’s Spanish lesson, because I was hyper-aware
of Pete occupying the space behind me. Every little move he made registered
in my system on some basic level akin to breathing. Each pencil scratch he
made on his notebook, every time he brushed back his hair, or shifted in his
seat, sent vibrations of awareness through me.
• 164 •
What I could barely register was anything outside of Pete’s personal space. Mr. Sanchez had to ask me twice to conjugate the same verb. All the
stares I was receiving, both the curious and envious, normally would’ve had
me blushing red; today they barely made a blip on my radar. At one point
Pete leaned forward to whisper in my ear, and shivers of pleasure ran down
my spine. Being in the endorphin-releasing presence of the world’s most
attractive person seem to blur the lines between fantasy and reality. And I
was so enthralled with living the dream that it was almost easy to ignore the
little annoying doubts piling up, waiting to be disposed of in that very aptly
F-named it-bucket. Almost.
I sighed and made myself lean as far away from him as possible so I could
concentrate. Then mentally replayed the footage of this afternoon to focus on
what was still bothering me, and all the unanswered questions I had. (Because
I certainly wasn’t increasing the fluency of my Spanish today.) Flipping the
page in my notebook, I began composing my thoughts.
1.) The brochure only mentioned there was a mentoring
program but didn’t go into any detail or reveal the kinds of
