But when I latch onto Sawyer’s warm brown eyes regarding me with the kind of softness I almost thought no longer existed—the same he showed me a couple of weeks ago—breathing becomes a little easier.
I know my voice will be shaky before it even comes out. ‘Um, hi, Sawyer. May I—may I talk to you quickly, please?’
‘Sure thing,’ he replies, a dimple popping in his cheek as his crooked smile plays out.
He flashes that smirk around with reckless abandon, probably unaware of the effect it has. Like the flutter in my stomach that I force myself to ignore. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t handsome, but I’d get in trouble if I let myself even consider such for long. And I know better than to get swept away by a kind smile, no matter how much the person says they care about you.
I glance around the group still watching me and hope when I flick my gaze back to Sawyer slightly exaggeratively it’s enough to emphasise to him that I’d rathernothave an audience right now, even if that’s where he thrives. A pursing of my lips and knitting of my brows has his eyes widening, and suddenly he’s grabbing his bag from the floor.
‘Oh, right,’ he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. It takes a second for him to plaster that smirk back on his face, asking far too suggestively, ‘How about we go somewhere a lil’ more private?’
He shoots Wolfman a raised-brow look. Great, now all his friends likely think something is going on between us. That’s the last thing I need. Willow Ridge is a small enough town that high school gossip can spread further than just the school.
Still, I’m forgettable enough that hopefully they won’t remember this by next week.
‘Back in a bit, guys,’ Sawyer throws to his friends.
As he approaches me, he raises his arm so far, almost as if he’s going to settle it around my shoulder and my spine instinctively locks with fear. But then he stops himself and drops it back to his side. Our eyes catch, understanding exchanged in that short, silent glance, before Sawyer cocks his head and I follow him down the corridor.
The crowds of high schoolers loitering in the halls peter out the closer we get to the locker rooms where Sawyer leads us. Tucked around the back of the school, the space outside them is thankfully empty when we turn the corner, and my shoulders drop from where I’d held them so high.
Sawyer abruptly stops not far from the boys’ locker room door, meaning I only halt a few inches away from him by the time I realise. With our sudden closeness, and the way he towers over me, leaning against the wall nonchalantly, it almost gives the impression that we’re just two teenagers trying to steal a hushed moment together—probably something he does all the time. Yet, the reality is that I’m about to barter for more makeup to cover up the marks left by my violent father.
Not exactly how I imagined my high school years going.
I step back, not wanting to give the wrong impression to anyone and Sawyer’s smile withers away. ‘Thank you—for the concealer. Um, I know you said that if I ever needed anything I could come to you, and I—well, I was just wondering if you maybe …’
Ugh, I hate that I’m having to ask this, but the makeup worked so much better than the cheap concealer I found inmy mom’s drawers. The weight of my anxiety that someone might see my bruises is more manageable since I’ve been using it—a welcome reprieve, even if likely momentary. And if I’m going to make it through this last year, I’ll do what I have to.
Sawyer’s warm eyes flick between mine. ‘Do you need more?’
I nod, dropping my gaze to the floor. Shame burns my cheeks. ‘It’s just that, it’s quite expensive and, well, I don’t really have any … money.’
I’m not Sawyer Nash, whose family own one of the biggest ranches in Willow Ridge. Besides, as my father says:why would you need an allowance when all you do is go to school, choir practice, and church?
‘Oh …’ Sawyer straightens, moving away from the wall.
Desperation takes over me as I plead my case. ‘And I’m not really supposed to wear makeup, either. If I said I needed to go to the drug store, it would raise questions and—’
‘Hey,’ Sawyer interrupts, eyes softening. ‘’S’okay. I get it.’
‘I can tutor you,’ I blurt out.
‘Sorry?’
‘I thought maybe if you could get me more of the concealer, I could repay you … by tutoring you.’ I wet my lips, and Sawyer’s eyes dip to them, hovering there for the briefest of seconds.
Then he shakes his head. ‘I don’t need tutoring.’
I regret how quickly my laugh comes out. I even slap my hand over my mouth with shock. Sawyer’s disapproving look that follows has me pushing out an apologetic smile, but it doesn’t seem to land as intended.
He furrows his brow. ‘What?’
I’m not usually one to gossip or pry into others’ business—my parents would definitely disapprove of that—but there are some perks to being a wallflower. So, I admit, ‘I—I overheard your conversation with Coach Phillips after homeroom … If you don’t get your grades up quickly, you’ll be off the team.’
Sawyer angles his jaw, a mix of both a smile and snarl coasting across his face. Somehow I’ve rendered him speechless, which isn’t easy to do. I know plenty of teachers who would agree.
Returning to lean against the wall, Sawyer crosses his arms, his biceps more prominent suddenly. Those dimples start to surface again through his dark blond stubble as a reluctant smile breaks out.