He shook his head, like he was trying to shake his bad mood away. “Would you mind if I picked you up in the mornings?”
His mouth was moving, but I couldn't be hearing his words correctly. He wanted to pick me up in the mornings. Giddiness hit me at the idea of riding with him every morning, followed quickly with apprehension since my luck just wasn't that good. “You don't have to.”
He squeezed my hand. “I would really like to pick you up.”
This was, hands down, the best day of my life—sitting across from Bastian Ross as we discussed his wish to drive me to school every morning. The day could not get any better. “I would really like that.”
“I'll come for you at Poppy's at quarter after seven tomorrow morning.”
Pulling out a piece of paper and pen from my backpack, I jotted down my aunt's address since he already knew where Poppy lived, but eventually I'd be returning to my aunt's house. The fact that my writing was legible with how badly my hands shook was a miracle. He studied the note I slid across the table to him for a moment, then folded it up and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.
“My friend Caden, the dude with the shaved head and earrings from the pizzeria, he's in a band. They're playing on Friday at Reservoir. Would you like to go with me?”
Maybe I was dreaming—not only was Bastian interested in seeing me at school, he wanted to see me outside of school. I unconsciously gripped my seat with my free hand. With the way I felt, I was in serious danger of floating away. “Yes.”
“It starts at eight, so I'll come for you around half-past six and we can get something to eat before it starts.”
“Sounds great.” How I managed an even, almost cool, tone when my body was going haywire surprised me. He looked so good sitting across from me, good enough to eat. Suddenly my pizza lost all of its appeal. What would he do if I leaned over the table and pulled his lower lip into my mouth? It was a striking lip, slightly fuller than its companion with the smallest of dents that creased it at the center. I could already taste him on my tongue, like that special chocolate Poppy hordes: not too sweet with just a hint of spicy heat. My mouth started to water, so I changed the subject before I threw caution to the wind. “Tell me about your weekend.” I asked.
At my question, his expression changed. He looked down at his plate. “It sucked. We usually have a family dinner at the club on Sunday where I am given the usual lecture on how I'm not living up to the Ross name.”
Didn't live up to...what the hell? More than his words, it was his body language that caused the spark of anger to light through me: the slightly slumped shoulders, the way his fingers tightened on the pizza he held, the hardening of his jaw. Growing up neglected, I recognized it easily in others. “Meaning?” Anger laced through that word.
His head lifted and his eyes met mine. “Well, for one my appearance is apparently like that of a homeless person. My tattoos are an embarrassment and my hair is ridiculous. I dress disgracefully and my general attitude is piss-poor. My dad wants me to be a clone of him—perfectly tailored. Blend into the mainstream, but achieve great things. His idea of great things is to make lots of money ideally while working for him: this way it will line his pockets, too.” He looked down and added, “I don't think I would mind their disappointment in me so much if it was fueled by genuine concern for me, but it's not. They ignored me as a child and now they are only worried about how my behavior reflects on them. My dad wouldn't give a shit if I was a male whore, but being so looks badly on him.”
“Yet even knowing this, you still do as you please,” I said.
His gaze returned to mine. “Yeah, I'm eighteen. It's my life, right?”
“Good for you. Not many in your shoes would stand up for themselves.”
“I get the sense you're one who would.”
“Yes, but I don't have the pressure of a family trying to force their will on me. I'd like to believe if someone ever tried that I would stand firm. Life would be miserable if I lived someone else's idea of it. For the record, I think your hair is beautiful and your tattoos are sexy as hell. And for a homeless person, you smell really good.”
Belatedly, I realized I had actually said that last part out loud, when the sexiest grin curved up his lips into a beautiful smile. Shifting my eyes from him, I wished for the power of invisibility. He leaned over the table and lifted my chin with his finger. “Thank you.”
His thumb brushed my lower lip. “We still on for seventh period?”
“Yeah.”
The heat in his eyes settled very comfortably in my chest, “I can't wait.”
***
I was ready to call it a day by seventh period. Clearly the rumor mill was working overtime about Bastian and me. I didn't mind my name being paired with his, but after spending the past three years nearly invisible, it was a bit overwhelming to be in the spotlight. Breathing became easier when I stepped into the safe and familiar space that was the art room.
Ms. Whitney was just leaving when I entered. She lived like a throwback to the seventies: brightly-colored flowing skirts, auburn hair parted in the middle that hung lose and curly around her shoulders and a lithe and graceful way of moving that made it seem like she floated when she walked. “Hey, Lark. I need to run this down to the office. I won't be long.”
She was gone before I could reply. Only a minute or two later, Bastian entered.
“Hi, Lark.”
“Hey. Give me a minute to collect the paintings. Why don't you sit over there by those easels?”
“Okay.” His long, strong legs carried him across the floor. Suddenly I was feeling rather warm in my sweater.
I pulled my gaze from the masterpiece currently straddling a stool and retrieved some of my work. My pulse pounded in my veins as I sorted through my paintings because I was nervous. Outside of my friends, the Wrights and Ms. Whitney, no one I knew had ever really shown an interest in my art. Even my uncle, who claimed interest, felt more like he was fulfilling an obligation when he viewed my pieces. This boy, whom I'd known for barely a week,wasinterested, had even requested a viewing.