Page 60 of Hide and Keep

“The photos of you in a Littoral uniform all over your socials.”

My eyes skate over to his hand on the steering wheel, light and loose as he confidently drives one-handed.

“You follow me?”

“I don’t follow anyone.”

“You just stalk them online?”

“It’s not like that. I don’t go on social media at all…usually. I only did when I was researching this job. Not that I knew what this job was.” The last part is muttered, then louder he says, “All right, what else do I need to know?”

“About?”

“Cheerleading.”

“Why the sudden interest in cheer?”

“Because it’s important to you.”

My eyes fly to his but they’re focused on the road ahead.

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, not looking quite so confident anymore. He even adjusts the hat on his head.

“And you’re my job.”

Yep. His job. I’m his job. I’ll only ever bejusthis job.

“So, what other kinds of cheerleading teams are there?”

I launch into a detailed explanation of how cheer works, along with the different types of teams and competitions there are. He doesn’t say much, only listens as he drives, but it’s more than what most people do the moment I start talking about the sport I’ve lived and breathed since I was a toddler. I’ll never understand why it’s so divisive. Just because it’s mostly female doesn’t make it less—less physically demanding, less entertaining, less powerful, less of a damn sport. Golf is less of all those and it gets far more respect than cheer.

“Are you on an all-stars team, too?”

“No, not anymore. Father made me quit when I started at Lit U. He believes collegiate teams are the only ones worth bragging about.”

Crue checks out the driver’s side window.

“Were you on any sports teams in college?” I ask.

“No,” he practically bites out.

“Did you…go to college?”

“Why the sudden interest?” he throws back at me. “And shouldn’t you already know everything about me from doing your own online stalking?”

“I didn’t…” My seat suddenly becomes uncomfortable, too. “I didn’t look into youthatmuch. I only read about the accident. The rest of your life wasn’t—”

“The rest wasn’t worth bragging about. Not according to Arthur Munreaux’s standards…or to anyone else’s.”

The car comes to a stop, then he’s saying, “We’re here, miss,” while jumping out before I can say anything else.

I press my thumbs together as he rounds the front end, over to the passenger side to open my door. He doesn’t say a word or even look at me as he waits for me to get out.

So that’s it? He’s back to hating me again? I wasn’t even trying to offend him this time.

I need his walls to be lowered before we go inside, or this won’t work.

None of it will.

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