“You’re not going to believe this,” I squeal.
“Try me.”
I set my laptop down, and throw my arms around him. “Dean Saunders received my application, and wants to have a conversation over the holidays. He asked me to set up a time.”
Christian picks me up and spins me around. “I knew he’d been impressed, Maize.”
“I can’t believe this.”
He kisses my forehead and sets me on my feet. “I can. You worked hard for this.”
I tap his nose and grin. “Our dinner in Aspen didn’t hurt, either. You’re a big part of this, Christian. Thank you.”
“No thanks needed.” He slaps my ass. “Now message him back, and then let’s get going. I’m sure you’re going to want to tell your mom this news in person.”
“Do you think tomorrow is too soon to set up a call?”
“The sooner the better,” he says.
I open my laptop and respond and not expecting an answer so fast, I’m about to close it when his email pops up, giving me a time. “It’s a go. We’re on for tomorrow.”
“Nice. Your mom is going to be so proud of you.” He makes a fist and nudges my chin playfully. “I know I am.”
I honestly love how he thinks of my mother, and really seems to cherish the relationship we have. I hate that his mother and father are so absent. He deserves so much better than that. I finish getting my things together and less than an hour later, we head to his car.
“I really appreciate you driving me home.” Kaitlyn had finished up yesterday and had no problem waiting an extra day to drive me home, but Christian jumped at the chance.
“Oh, did you think I was driving you home?” he says his lips twitching. “I’m just driving you to the closest bus stop.”
“After that meal I just made, I’d think a rolled out red carpet from Wolf House to the car was in order.”
He tosses our bags into the trunk and something moves over his face, something I can’t quite identify. Reaching past me, he opens my door and I slide in. I take his dark, contemplative expression as he circles the Jeep and slides in beside me.
“You okay?” I ask.
He puts on a smile. “I’m good.”
I study his profile as he backs out of his spot, and I don’t get the sense that he’s good at all. His quick change of mood is enough to give me whiplash, but I go silent and chalk it up to going home. We both have very different things waiting for us.
When one of my favorite songs comes on the radio, I jack it up and sing along, and I don’t care that I can’t carry a tune or that Christian is grinning at me. I shake my head and laugh. It’s crazy how far Christian and I have come since high school. Never in a million years would the old me believe that I’d be in his car singing, or in his bed fucking. Although lately, his touch has felt far more emotional than physical.
“You have to guide me,” he says when we get close to home, and I nod, having forgotten that he doesn’t know where I live. I was the poor girl who took three buses to get to his school. I guide him through town, and point to the house two doors down from mine—Ryan’s house.
He leans toward me and glances out the window. “This is where you grew up?” I turn and take in the small white bungalow with the broken shutter to the left of the main window. Ryan and I broke that when we were playing in the yard one day and it’s been like that for years.
“No, actually, I live in the gray house back there.”
He turns to look, a frown pulling at his face. “Then why are we here?”
I crinkle my nose almost apologetically. “If Mom sees me being dropped off by a guy, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He turns the radio down, like he needs quiet to tell me something, but a bang has both our heads lifting. I turn and see Ryan come rushing from his front door. He pulls open my door, and practically drags me out.
“Wait, I’m belted in,” I say laughing, and once I get it unlatched, he drags me to him and gives me a big hug. For a second, I think I hear a growl rumbling in Christian’s throat. I turn to him, and he’s glaring at us, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.
“Hey, little Maize Daisy,” Ryan says, and I whack him.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Who’s your friend?” Christian asks, his voice a measure deeper.
“Christian, this is Ryan. You remember me mentioning him.” He nods, slowly, and sizes up Ryan. “Ryan this is Christian, uh, my friend.”
Ryan leans forward to see Christian, and I can almost hear his brain spinning. “Nice to meet you, Christian.”
“Yeah, same.”
Suddenly, like a lightbulb just went off in his head, Ryan says, “Christian…wait…” he glances at me. “Is this the same Christian who—”
“Thanks for the drive, Christian,” I blurt out, not wanting to talk about that closet incident right now. “Can you pop the back so I can get my things?”
“I’ll get them,” Ryan says.
Christian kills the ignition and climbs from the car. Without a word, he goes to the back of the Jeep, opens the door and pulls out my bag. He hands it to me, and there is almost a frightening intensity about him when he glances over my shoulder at Ryan—no wonder he’s so intimidating on the football field—and says, “You good, Maize?”
“I’m…good.”
His head dips and his knuckles brush mine. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then scrubs his face, and turns from me. He taps his hands on the roof of the Jeep before he gets in, and says, “Knock Saunders dead, okay?”
“I will. Merry Christmas, Christian.”
He stares at me long and hard before he says, “Merry Christmas,” and I’m not sure why, but
