“Harper. Harper Sinclair.”
She sighs. “Yes, Harper Sinclair. Jesus, I think you need the margaritas more than I do. I’ll come grab you when I—”
I hang up on Sophie before she can finish the thought because my throat’s gone dry. It’s true that Harper hadn’t made it to my classroom earlier in the night, but she’s here now, her father a step behind her. And I think I want to be upset about a phone call that's turned me inside out, but I’m too grateful for the warning it provided.
Jamie—Jameson fucking Sinclair—wasn’t blessed with the same, his blue eyes wide and his beautiful lips parted.
“Mr. Z! Sorry we’re so late, but we stopped to talk to a bunch of people. Or a bunch of people stopped to talk to us, I guess? But we’re here, and I told my dad about you, so now I can—oh, hi, Miranda. Bye, Miranda. Okay, sorry. Dad, come on, don’t just stand there. Mr. Z, this is my dad. Dad, this is Mr. Z.”
Harper is practically dragging him through a maze of desks, and it makes it painfully obvious that I haven’t moved more than a foot away from the phone I’d set down seconds ago. He recovers before I do, years of practice with screaming fans reminding him to smile now, but I want to throw up, and it takes all my self-control to keep my iced coffee down when I smile back.
“Mateo Zavala. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Sinclair.”
Years of practice or not, he flinches at that. “Jamie. Please just call me Jamie.”
“Yes, please call him Jamie,” Harper groans. “I’ve been listening to everyone squealJameson Sinclairfor the past two hours. Oh, wait, are you a hockey fan? I’m not trying to be mean about anything. He’ll give you autographed merch if you want.”
I could answer her, but one night withJamie had taught me that conversationsabouthim haven’t alwaysincludedhim, and I’m careful to avoid that mistake now. It’s too late for it, but I hold out my hand and breathe easier when he takes it.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Jamie,” I say. My voice sounds weak, and I swallow in search of strength. “I’m a casual hockey fan. Not enough of one to recognize players on the street—or in a random bar—but I was at a few of your games. You don’t need to give me anything though, and more importantly, I’m really enjoying having Harper in class.”
Jamie nods. “She’s told me so much about you, and I’ve heard your name a hundred times tonight. Everyone loves you.”
“Do they?”
He finally lets go of my hand, and I hate it. He smiles again, and I hate that even more. “You can’t possibly doubt that.”
“Well, it’s probably not a good idea for me to think about it too much. I have a job to do, right?”
“Right. And I guess I’m just the dad grateful that his daughter will get to spend so much time with you. You’re the soccer coach, too? She’s mentioned tryouts.”
“I am, yes. But you’re notjustanything, Jamie,” I argue, blinking hard before I remember I’m not on a bench anymore. “Harper, how about you show your dad around? You’ve written a couple of incredible things already, and I know you’re excited about a few of the books we’ll be reading this year. And we’ll chat plenty about tryouts soon.”
“Yes! Okay, so, I’m gonna tell you about everything,” Harper starts, leading Jamie away from me.
I expect relief to fill the space between us, but nothing’s there and the emptiness hurts. Sophie has texted a couple of times, but I swipe the messages away without reading anything. Then I tell myself to stop watching Jamie move around my classroom, his presence asudden and sharp reminder that I learned so much about him and knew nothing.
My hands shake until I curl them into furious fists. Seconds later, I relax them because I don’t want to live with half-moon scars. I’m logical, and I want so badly to reason my way past a problem I didn’t know I had five minutes ago. It feels more like a tragedy though, and all I can see are the warnings keeping me from dragging Jamie to the bar right now.
The school administration could consider firing me. Vicki Gallagher and her lackeys would have horrible things to say about what I've done.
Even worse, fans and players could turn their backs on him. Media vultures would be outright cruel.
I’m spared a few moments of pain when another student pops her head through the door and waves at me, except that she’s Harper’s best friend, and the one person more important than both Jamie and me. Harper scurries toward Lizzie, and like goddamn magnets, Jamie and I end up next to each other. It’s impossible to know where the attraction begins and ends.
Science is more Sophie’s thing than mine.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to—I would’ve told you this weekend. All about me. I wasn’t going to hide anymore.”
I shake my head, devastated by the whole damn world. “You looked familiar, but I couldn’t make myself care. It was too easy to—”
“Be nobody.”
“Yes,” I sigh.
He glances over his shoulder, then returns his attention to me too quietly. “A few minutes ago, you said you didn’t want me to give you anything, but I think it’s going to take some time before I stop wanting to give you everything.”
“Need, not want.”