“Do you have any friends?” he challenged, following me. “Who was the last person to make you laugh? When was the last time you went to bed with someone more than once?”
I ground my teeth together, picking up the snacks and walking back to the living room.
But Jack kept pressing, “Has anyone other than me ever been in this apartment?” he asked.
I slammed my food down on the coffee table and picked up the remote.
“I’m tired of seeing you alone,” he burst out. “I’m ready to burn this fucking place down and everything in it, so you’re forced to leave the safety of your little shell!”
“Ugh!” I grabbed a handful of popcorn and flung it at him, the popped kernels hitting his face.
He jerked back, struck dumb by what I’d done.
Dropping his gaze, he arched an eyebrow, looking down at the white puffs on the floor.
I snorted, trying to contain my laugh, and he couldn’t keep from smiling either, as he looked up at me.
“Ask me how old you are again,” he grumbled. “I think I’d like to change my answer.”
He brushed off crumbs from his shirt as I kept laughing.
But then we both jerked, a knock on the front door catching our attention.
Jack looked to me, a question in his eyes, but I shrugged. I had no idea who would be knocking on my door. He was right, after all. I had no friends.
I walked into the hallway, my bare feet quiet against the hardwood floor.
“Who is it?” I called, leaning up on my tiptoes to see into the peephole.
And my stomach instantly dropped. I fell away from the door, landing back on the heels of my feet.
What the hell?
“Easton?” he called through the door. “It’s Tyler Marek.”
I pinched my eyebrows together and shot up, peeping through the hole again.
How does he know where I live?
He was still dressed in the same suit from today, although his tie was loosened and his hair was wet, probably due to the rain. His head was cast downward as he waited, and I dropped to my feet again, realizing I was breathing a mile a minute.
I couldn’t have a parent from school at my house. What did he think he was doing?
I unlocked the dead bolts and chain but opened the door only enough to fit my body between it and the frame.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. “This is my home.”
He leaned a hand against the door frame and raised his eyebrows, a cocky smile dancing across his face.
“I made you come on a desk this morning,” he pointed out. “I can’t stop by your house?”
A snort that turned into a quiet laugh escaped from behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder to see my brother leaning against the frame between the living room and the entryway, smiling.
“Is someone here?” Tyler stood up straight, narrowing his eyes on me.
I inhaled a deep breath. “What do you want?” I asked, getting to the point.
He pushed his wet hair back over the top of his forehead and stuck his other hand in his pocket, all of a sudden looking nervous.
He cleared his throat, raising his hesitant gaze up to mine. “I want to apologize.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Marek. This morning is our little secret. Just go away.”
I moved to close the door, but he shot out his hand, keeping it open.
“Easton,” he called out, sounding unusually gentle. “I should never have been rough with you today, and I’m sorry.”
Rough with me?
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “Why?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you sorry?” I demanded, forgetting my brother standing nearby.
Tyler Marek was never gentle, and I’d never given him the impression that I had a problem with that. Why did he suddenly feel bad?
He opened his mouth, looking like he wasn’t sure what to say. “I…” He cleared his throat again. “I just don’t feel like I’ve treated you as well as you should be treated,” he admitted.
I stood there, frozen in place and staring at him suspiciously. What the hell was going on?
When had I ever given him the impression that I couldn’t take what he dished out? And now he was worried about me?
“All right.” My brother grabbed the door and opened it completely, breaking me out of my daze. “I’m out.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Be safe and…” He looked at Tyler as he slipped past both of us and through the door. “We’ll meet another time.”
He jogged down the steps, his dark green T-shirt slowly turning black in the rain as he ran for his Jeep.
Tyler looked after him and then turned to me, cocking his head. “I’m not a jealous man, but for you I might make an exception.”
Huh?
And then I realized he’d never met my brother. He thought Jack was a lover.
“No need to be jealous,” I reassured him. “You’re the parent of a student and nothing more.”
He looked away, shaking his head at my audacity.
But then his expression cleared and he looked at me pointedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you played tennis professionally?” he asked.
My face fell. “You had me investigated?” I accused.
“No. I know how to Google, thank you,” he retorted. “You’re as much of a mystery as my son, so I looked you up.”
My hand fell off the door handle, and I searched my brain for a way to deter him without making him more curious.
He stepped through the door, and I backed away, letting him in.
“There wasn’t so much on Easton Bradbury, the Loyola student or teacher,” he told me, closing the door behind him. “But there were thousands of hits and pictures on you as an athlete.” He inched closer to me, not giving up. “Tennis player, close family, promising future that crashed and burned when…” He trailed off, and I looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.
I smoothed my hand down my T-shirt and shorts, steeling my spine.
Now he knew everything. Nearly everything.
There were articles, video footage, interviews… My rise had been highly publicized, and so had my fall.
When my parents and sister died on that rainy night in a vicious accident, I’d lost everything. My routine, the world as I knew it, and my desire to play.
Who was I if I wasn’t the star in their lives, and why the hell did I want to play tennis anymore anyway?
It was my fault they’d been driving that night, and when it was time to get back on the court, my will to play was gone. Even now, on the rare occasion I tried, my game had gone to shit.
My magnificent exit and display of temper were forever digitized. I’d forfeited the match and walked off the court, pushing cameras and microphones out of my face as I left for the last time.
“Easton, I’m sorry.” Marek reached out and touched my cheek
But I pushed his hands away and stepped back. “Stop apologizing.”
How dared he act like I needed to be put back together?
“Don’t handle me, Tyler,” I growled. “I’m tired of everyone hovering and sticking their noses in. You don’t matter,” I shot out bitterly, “so stop trying to push your way in.”
I charged into the living room, but he grabbed my arm and swung me back around, pulling me to him. I crashed against his chest, the rain on his clothes like ice against my arms and legs, and my breath caught.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t matter. I don’t matter so much that there was no way in hell you could say no to me today,” he charged. “And I’d be willing to bet I’m the first man you can’t say no to, because it’s the same way for me.”
He bent his head down to mine, our noses brushing. “You’re strong and proud, resilient and capable. I can see that.” His voice was thick, like he was feeling more than he was saying. “I value those qualities in a person, Easton. You don’t give anyone an inch, and it’s like looking into a mirror, because it’s the same independence I value.” He looked at me like a dare and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer and whispering, “And when I touch you, I can’t explain what I feel, but I know you’re feeling me, too.”