The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  “Ow!” Pete rubbed at his arm. “What was that for?” I just shook my

  head. “Our girl has a hard time accepting compliments,” he informed the

  boys. They merely smiled and nodded at him, too busy chewing on their own

  cookies to add their two cents.

  “Do not,” I disagreed.

  “Do too,” he insisted.

  I poked my tongue out at him then went around to sit next to Andrew,

  partly because I hadn’t seen him all day and partly because Mikey was all over

  Pete, regaling him with a litany of knock-knock jokes. After inhaling a couple

  of bites of my hard work, I raised my milk glass to Andrew.

  “Cheers, big ears,” I said, clunking our mismatched glasses together.

  “Cheewers with me, Kadee,” demanded Mikey.

  “Why don’t we all cheer?” Pete raised his glass toward the middle of the

  table. He cleared his throat dramatically. “I propose a toast: To our favorite

  girl . . . and the most delicious cookies I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.”

  There were a couple of enthusiastic, loud clunks each, and predictably

  some of Mikey’s milk splashed out. Pete quickly caught it with the dishtowel

  before it spilled onto the floor.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “What for?”

  “For cleanin’ up the mess, the sweet toast, stayin’ for cookies, for . . .”—I

  lowered my eyes to the floor—“bein’ so nice to us.”

  Pete chucked up my chin with his finger. “I’m the one who should be

  thanking you . . . Nobody’s ever made me cookies before.”

  “I know you don’t usually eat this sort of thing, so thanks for goin’ along

  with it.”

  “It was entirely my pleasure,” he said, sounding like he really meant it.

  “But I have to confess something . . .”—my eyes shot wide—“I would’ve come

  in anyway, even if the cookies weren’t homemade.”

  I laughed and bapped him with another dishtowel. “Just so ya know,

  these aren’t nearly as bad as . . . say a donut. I used my mother’s recipe, which

  is really just a bunch of oats and some dates to sweeten it. The butterscotch

  chips are a recent addition,” I admitted. “They’re not exactly healthy, but they

  sure taste good.”

  “Well like I mentioned earlier, I’m not above cheating from time to time.

  • 353 •

  Plus, we all deserve a little something sweet in life,” he said, staring straight into my eyes.

  About three cartoons and twenty-one knock-knock jokes later, the boys finally

  had their fill of cookies and Pete, running off to their room to change clothes

  and play with the Hummer. It was a little past time to feed the calves, but

  I found myself stalling, stretching the time out as long as possible, not sure

  when I would see him again.

  I was unaccountably nervous without the boys there as a buffer, so decided

  to prep dinner to keep my hands busy. As I got to work pulling out ingredients

  for spaghetti and meatballs, I took up the slack for the cadet, who’d grown

  quiet, jabbering away as I worked. But my progress soon stalled out by an

  unsuccessful wrestling match with a jar of pasta sauce. I went to the sink to

  run hot water over it and bang on the bottom. In the midst of this endeavor,

  Pete came up behind me and removed the jar from my hands. After drying

  it off with a dishtowel, he popped it open with a simple twist and handed it

  back to me with a long look.

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks. One of the good things about the boys

  gettin’ bigger than me is they’ll be able to do that.”

  “Where’s your father?” he said. “Off buying more feed at Tillman Mills?”

  I pried a glob of dough from the counter with my thumbnail, wondering

  the same thing. “That’s a good question. He might be back any minute, so . . .”

  Again, I couldn’t say the words to make him leave.

  Pete gave a derisive snort. “I highly doubt it; looks to me like he’s got his

  timing just about right.”

  I tried a smile. “You’re probably right. But I do have to go feed the calves.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You don’t have to help,” I demurred, setting a pot in the sink to fill with

  water.

  “I know I don’t have to.” He turned off the faucet I just turned on to gaze

  directly into my eyes. “I want to.”

  I tapped at my lips, thinking. I wanted him to, but I had a strong feeling

  Daddy was going to make an earlier appearance today. How could I explain

  that without sounding crazy? “Um. It’s just . . . we took longer than usual for our snack, so his, ah . . . timing, will be a little off today. And if you’re still here when he comes home . . .”

  “I could simply say I came in to give him an update on Andrew,” he

  pointed out.

  “I just don’t want you here when he gets home, okay?” I touched his arm

  • 354 •

  to soften my words. This clash of worlds would remind me too much of the

  real reason he was here. And I wanted to pretend a little longer, to live in denial for just a while—a gift to myself before he left.

  He sighed. “Fine. But before I go, will you do something for me?”

  I searched his unfathomable eyes for a clue. “Sure?”

  “Show me your room.”

  “W-what?” I spluttered. “Why?”

  “I want to see where you sleep.” His mouth didn’t trip over the bold words

  I didn’t have the courage to say. I felt the telling heat that always stained my

  cheeks, and he smiled down on me wistfully. “I’m going to miss this thing of

  beauty,” he said, cupping my cheek with his palm.

  My heart instantly ached in my chest. I didn’t want to be reminded of his

  imminent departure just yet. I already felt bereft just thinking about it, and

  hoped he meant for the weekend and not for good. I debated for a moment,

  mentally making sure I hadn’t left anything embarrassing out like underwear.

  For once, I was only grateful for my father’s militant rules.

  “Fine,” I caved. “I have to throw on some sweats anyway.” He followed

  me back, pausing in the hall to inspect the hodge-podge of framed family-pics

  displayed there. I called through the boys’ open door, “Five more minutes!”

  “Kadee, we’re goin’ outside to dwive my Hummer in the dirt,” Mikey

  informed me right as Andrew plucked it from his hands and took off. “Hey!”

  Mikey immediately stampeded after it, his towel cape flapping behind him

  down the hall.

  As soon as the back door slammed, Pete sauntered into my cubby of a

  room, his large frame managing to make it look like a playhouse.

  “So . . . this is it,” I said, gesturing. Then watched, mortified, as he took

  in my old-timey wagon-wheel bed, with the pink and yellow quilt I’d had

  since I slept with a night-light, the bulbous dresser with mismatched knobs,

  and the faded wingback chair in the corner that matched nothing.

  A quick inventory, and he turned back around. “No teddy bears?”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “Whew!”

  I laughed, a little self-consciously, and stood there, hot-faced and squirming,

  studying him studying my room. I wondered what insight about me my room

  revealed and reassessed my meager
décor. Much like my wardrobe, I had kept

  it stupid simple, figuring less was more when you didn’t have the time or the

  money to find the right pieces.

  Three pictures were lined up on the wall opposite my bed, all framed in

  light pinewood. One was of the Eiffel Tower blazing up the night sky, the

  • 355 •

  floodlit metal glowing like a fairytale. The one in the middle was a vintage Oscar de la Renta sketch. The caricature of the red-lipped model in her

  striking LBD had appealed to me for no good reason when I’d run across it

  at a garage sale last summer. I’d bought it on a whim for two dollars then

  added black matting to bring out the charcoal lines. The third was a Leonard

  Afrenov painting aptly name Lovers that I’d copied from an art book in

  the library and blown up. Something about the vivid colors and romantic

  silhouette had drawn me in.

  After thoughtfully studying my prints, Pete ambled over to my bed and

  sat down, lightly bouncing on the springs. Seeing him here—in the personal

  sanctuary of my room, on my childhood bed, looking impossibly handsome—

  made him seem even more like a fantasy somehow. Like one of my framed

  pictures had come to life, a prince from once-upon-a-time.

  “You know . . . you’ve seen my room, and I don’t even know where you’re

  stayin’ while you’re here, or your number, or even somethin’ as inconsequential

  as your favorite color or favorite food,” I blurted out.

  He appeared quietly amused by my unprompted outburst, taking the

  moment he should have answered to smile lazily up at me. I was right on the

  verge of retreating when he finally spoke. “I’m staying at The Caprock Inn at

  Cannon Air Force Base, my number is 415-220-5559, my favorite color right

  now is the exact blue-green shade of your eyes, and my favorite food . . .”—his

  lips twitched—“happens to have recently changed to oatmeal, butterscotch-

  chip cookies with dates instead of raisins.” That said, he laced his fingers

  behind his head and leaned back on my pillow. “What else you wanna know?”

  I was pleased a literal pink and placated for the time being. “I guess that’ll

  do for now,” I mumbled. There were only about a million and one things.

  However, I could not say that without sounding like a stalker.

  His amused eyes left my face to roam to my nightstand. He leaned

  forward, his face changing forms. “Is this your mother?” He indicated the

  single portrait keeping vigil over me as I slept. I nodded my head. “May I?”

  I raised a shoulder, trying for nonchalance.

  Carefully, he lifted the gilded frame, and after a few seconds of quiet

  study, his eyes found mine. “She was beautiful.”

  My throat got that full feeling. I blinked back tears. Put a scattered hand

  up to my face. “Thanks.”

  He studied me for a hot, heavy moment. “Come here,” he said in a low

  voice.The weight of these simple words leadened my feet, and I hesitated before

  crossing the threshold to stand before him. He closed his hands over the tops

  • 356 •

  of my arms, one on each side, sliding them down to encircle my wrists. An immediate trail of goose bumps followed his movements.

  “Sit down.” His voice was huskier than it was a moment ago. And if it

  was possible, his eyes were even darker—shiny black orbs staring up at me as

  though mesmerized, like me.

  I swallowed and obediently sank down, my knees folding beneath the

  pressure of his gaze. His body heat immediately penetrated my bare legs,

  stifling whatever slight chill was left. Stomach swimming with expectation, I

  stared straight ahead, feeling unspeakably vulnerable. He filled his hand with

  my hair, caressing the strands between his fingers before brushing them aside

  to expose my neck, a newly recognized erogenous zone. He pressed his lips

  against the pulse of my throat as though reading the race of it.

  “Mmmmm,” he said, breathing me in. “You smell like vanilla.”

  My heart accelerated. “I-I do?”

  A low chuckle from his throat. “Um-hmm,” he murmured in my ear,

  zinging pleasure straight down my spine. Despite my rapidly rising temperature,

  I shivered. “And sugar and spice and all things nice.” He nuzzled a sensitive

  spot behind my ear that I was entirely unaware of until that moment.

  I breathed out, unconsciously tilting my head to allow easier access to

  the teasing sensations invading my body via my neck. A small smile curved

  his lips as he cradled the back of my head, laying me down on the pillow. My

  eyes felt heavy lidded at once. He leaned over me, and I breathed in the heat

  coming off his skin, the musky scent as intoxicating to me as if Aphrodite

  herself mixed it up just to drive me crazy. It was like I was high on some kind

  of drug—the rapid-fire responses in my body were quite beyond my control.

  It was as alarming as it was arousing.

  Pete watched me color and squirm beneath him, and I longed to feel his

  hard masculinity pressed into me again. I felt impatient with it. Once again,

  my body naturally began urging his down using little enticing movements

  I was barely aware of: arms reaching, hips arching, lips parting. Things I’d

  never done before I’d met him. Things that were old as time. As natural as

  breathing. It seemed inevitable as two magnets, the coming together of our

  bodies. I felt it at the center of my being. The certainty of it. The rightness.

  He ran a long, teasing finger along the length of my leg, bringing back

  the pleasure-bumps. Dipping just under the hemline of my shorts, he paused

  to stare down on me. My breath caught, my stomach lurching in the most

  pleasing way possible, like that second’s pause at the top of a roller coaster

  before the drop. But there was no forthcoming drop—he just left me hanging.

  I gave a little strangled throat noise and closed my eyes against him.

  • 357 •

  Why’s he doing this to me? It was half-torture, half-teasing. I didn’t understand it. If you can believe it, I just now considered that he most likely had a

  girlfriend back home. In Elitesville.

  Feelings of inadequacy clogged my throat. I huffed out some frustration

  and hurt and pushed my hands against the wall of his chest. (I would’ve paid a

  year’s wages at Norma’s to do the opposite.) Anyhow, this was neither the time

  nor the place—the cheerful voices of my brothers penetrated my flimsy walls.

  His restraint was vexing, but it probably did me a favor in the long run.

  Although I felt a letdown so deep, you’d need a coal miner to get it out of

  me. Pete heaved a sigh and sat up, hanging his head between his legs to stare

  down at my bland carpet. He raked both hands through his hair, twice.

  Aggravation? Anger?

  I felt both. And feverish. And trembley. I was still sprawled across the

  calico quilt like a wanton woman, and couldn’t help but cringe at what Daddy

  would think if he saw us this way—on my bed, Pete’s hair disheveled, his

  breathing heavy, mine too shallow, my body too languid to move. It didn’t

  take a genius to figure out what we were . . . almost up to.

  Pete turned around to penetrate me with a look that was borderline

  disgust. “You better g
o put those sweats on now.”

  Stung, I got off the bed, awkwardly, making sure not to touch him. Then

  Frankenstein-lurched to my dresser to pull out a pair of sweatpants. Walk-of-

  shame, is how best to describe my trek across the hall to the bathroom. The

  reflection that greeted me was telling: two bright spots rouged my cheeks,

  my eyes were glassy, and my neck looked like a rash had recently sprouted.

  I hurriedly twisted my hair into a ponytail and threw on my sweats. When

  I yanked the door open, it was to find Pete filling the doorframe of my

  bedroom, hands hanging from the door jamb like he’d just performed a slam-

  dunk. He looked so tousled-sexy I almost bolted over to tackle him back onto

  my bed. Just managed to hold on to my dignity.

  “Hey,” I muttered, focusing on a spot over his shoulder.

  “Hey yourself.”

  I dared a peek at his face and found him smirking down at me. “Sorry

  about that,” he said as though he’d accidentally bumped into me in the hall.

  I didn’t know how to respond. That’s okay seemed inappropriate and

  insincere. “I, uh . . . better get off to chores. I think it’s easy enough to find

  the way out.” I swished past him down the hall— Bang! —right out the door.

  “Boys!” I hollered, “Go time!” I began hoofing it when an arm snaked around

  my waist. I whirled around. “What? What is it, Pete? I have to go now!” I

  masked my hurt and confusion with a double dose of anger.

  • 358 •

  “I—” He paused to rub at his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

  “So you’ve already said.” I turned to flee, but he nabbed my hand.

  Expecting more apologies or humorous flirting, I was unprepared for what

  I got.“Kate . . .” Pete looked down on me with a serious enough expression

  my heart arrested in my chest. “You should prepare yourself for the idea that

  Andrew will most likely be going to The Academy come January.”

  “Why? Did you find somethin’ out?”

  He shook his head. “I just don’t want you to be crushed . . . if things end

  up not going your way.”

  “I’m very accustomed to things not goin’ my way.” I yanked my hand

  back. “However, this will not be one of those times.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he said.

  “Just am.” I could hardly explain my intuition.