“Excuse me?”
He leans forward slightly. “He called you into his office. To tell you that he wants to nurture you. And that he wants to continue giving you private lessons. Lessons that I’m sure your parents know nothing about, do they?”
“Of course not. These are private lessons. Private,” I explain to him slowly. “Of course they don’t know. And haven’t you been paying attention? They hate my art.”
He scoffs. “I think it’s you who needs to start paying attention because as I said, your teacher is a fucking pervert. He knows your situation at home. He knows you’re lonely. He knows your parents are shitheads and he’s trying to take advantage of you. That’s what men like him do. You ever see him again, you need to run the other way. In fact, you need to run to the principal’s office and fucking report this son of a bitch.”
I open my mouth to say something but then close it.
Because this is insane.
He’s insane.
I can’t believe that my Mystery Man who I’ve been so fascinated with is actually a crazy person. “You haven’t even met the guy. How do you know that he’s a pervert? How do you know he’s taking advantage of me?”
His jaw pulses again. “Because I’ve got a sister your age. It’s my job to know these things.”
“That’s…” I shake my head, flabbergasted. “Mr. Pierre isn’t even the problem right now. He’s the good guy here. He’s the one who told me that my art is worth pursuing. That I’m an artist. But I can’t do it because I’m leaving for boarding school in two months. Where there’s no art whatsoever. Instead, what I get is Robbie.”
His frown is blacker than the night. “Now who the fuck is Robbie?”
“Robbie is the guy who I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to marry one day and who’ll get to grope my breasts for the rest of his life,” I tell him with a raised chin. “And he’s none of your fucking business.”
“Language.”
“Excuse me?” I say again but this time it’s higher pitched than ever.
“Watch it.”
I can’t believe he said that. I can’t believe he thinks he can get all high-handed over me like this.
I was right.
My Mystery Man is insane.
“Yeah? Why, because you’ve got a sister my age and so you think I should be bowing down to you like she does?” I ask, raising my chin.
He watches my defiant gesture with an intense, heavy look. “Bowing down is a bit much but don’t let me stop you.”
I watch him back. “How old are you?”
“Older.”
“How much older?”
“Much.”
I exhale sharply. “You know what, I’m glad I’m an only child. Because I would’ve murdered my big brother if he was anything like you.” Then, I spring up to my feet. “I’m taking a walk.”
To my dismay and also anger, he comes up to his feet too.
All fluidly and gracefully for someone with such a large and tall body.
“What are you doing?” I ask, ignoring his sheer display of athleticism.
He approaches me. “Taking a walk with you.”
“Absolutely not,” I protest. “I have no desire to walk with you.”
Sliding his hands inside his pockets, he drawls, “Noted.” Then, “May I suggest we walk to your house? Where hopefully your parents are.”
My parents aren’t at the house. They’re at the party.
Where I should be as well.
In fact, I never should’ve left the party in the first place. I never should’ve abandoned them. I realize that, but then…
But then I never would’ve met him and yes, he is crazy — I know that now — but he’s also the first person to talk to me about my stuff. To stop to check on me.
“I told you this area is extremely safe. So you don’t have to walk with me.” Studying his dark, mysterious face because he’s somehow still out of the yellow light, I continue, “But I’m guessing it won’t stop you from escorting me to my house anyway.”
He studies my lit-up face in response. “No.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Because you’ve got a sister my age and it’s your job. To protect all naive and innocent teenage girls. From dark roads and pervy teachers.”
“If I can.”
I lose my ire then.
I don’t think I can stay mad at someone so good. And responsible.
The best big brother a sister can have.
Sighing for probably the hundredth time, I bend down to pick up my heels. I also reach up and untie my hair, letting it fall down my back in a long, messy waterfall.
Because it looks like I’m going home.
I don’t think I can face anyone tonight. I’ll apologize to everyone tomorrow.
And because if he wants to escort me somewhere, my commanding and confusing protector, he should take me to my safe place, my house where my attic is.
Slinging my heels over my shoulders, I swat my wayward strands away. “You don’t mind if I walk barefoot, do you? I don’t think I can wear my heels again tonight.”