Page 34 of Love is Angry

The rush of his heartbeats against my chest.

The last of him.

It’s been hours and I still feel that tingle in my nape and that warm sensation spreading through my loins. The longing, the desire; dollops of butter melting onto a hot skillet pan. I’m sizzling and tossing and turning in my bed, unable to do much else while I ponder my next steps.

Madison Willis, you are so screwed.

I should be doing something. Maybe prep work for the next tutoring session. I’ve lost two hours with Rhue’s shenanigans, now. Two sessions I’ve had to cut short, and I’m at the point where I feel every penny. But all of that seems so trivialafter what happened earlier. Rhue did make a point. There is definitely something developing between us. Attraction. A powerful crush. A whirlwind of as-of-yet unidentified feelings. We could take our time. We could take it slow. It was just a kiss. Another kiss. Bound to happen, eventually.

I need time to process what happened between us. Time to separate the part of me that’s still tingling from the sensation of his lips on mine from the part of me that’s wrought in logic. Rhue’s the kind of guy who plays with people like they’re puppets on a string – or so the rumors say. When he looks at me, though, it feels different. But how do I know that he doesn’t look at all the girls like that? How do I know that he’s not as nice and caring and funny and intense with all the other girls? We’re both young, yes. But he’s the one with the circumstances of an absolute heartthrob.

If I give Rhue permission to break my heart, who’s to say he won’t take it?

There are more chances that he’ll hurt me before I hurt him. And here I am, nonetheless, walking out of my room and putting my boots back on. Dad’s in the kitchen, and I can hear the pancetta sizzling in a pan. Oh, I can smell it, too.

I am a little ashamed, however, for not giving him more credit. Rhue is a strong man, despite his age and social status, despite him still being in high school. Despite him being his father’s son.

“Hey, sweets!” Dad greets me with a broad smile while simultaneously using a wooden spoon to toss the pancetta cubes around. I spot the sour cream jar on the counter right next to the stove. We’re having carbonara tonight. “Where are you off to? Another tutoring session?”

“I’m done for the day, but I forgot my bag back at the Echeveria’s place,” I tell him as I put my short, black leather jacket on.

“Dinner’s at six tonight, don’t forget,” Dad calls out as I start to walk away.

It’s too late for me to confirm, but he knows I wouldn’t miss his carbonara for anything in the world. That is the best comfort food ever, and today I can definitely use some comfort for my thoughts. Who knows, maybe the carbonara will weave some sense into me. Maybe it’ll taste better than Rhue’s kiss, wash away both the flavor and the memory of him. And here I go, thinking about his lips again.

I shake my head, trying to get a hold of myself. The Echeveria mansion is four blocks west of here, and I need to walk so that I might put my thoughts in order while I’m out. I need a modicum of balance, at least in my head, since my body is so erratic.

Rhue is mature for his eighteen years, sure. And he’s smart, strong, way too easy on the eyes. Couple all of that with the fact that he’s actually pretty damn down to earth and the appeal isn’t hard to see. Well, that and the smile. By the stars, this man could build an empire with just that smile. His potential is incredible, too. Sure, I’ve got the genius IQ and whatnot, I’m the one with the memory palace skills and so-called Skipper of Years back in high school, but Rhue is remarkably capable of rising to my level if given the chance. Maybe that’s what I like about him – the fact that, as pretty as he is, intellectual conversations don’t have a chance of going over his head.

And to think he plays the jock role so exquisitely in front of his peers. It’s almost impressive how like them he seems when they’re together, and how different he is when we’re alone.

So what if I’m his tutor? I’m just a little over a year older than him. And I’m also not blind. Anyone in my position, spending the time I’ve spend with him, being the recipient of his flirtations, would get at least a little riled up.

The Echeveria mansion rises ahead with its sprawling garden and sleepy magnolia trees. The evergreen bushes are bursting in shades of lime and emerald, and the variegated ivy covers entire swaths of the forged iron fence. I can feel the motion sensor cameras spotting and following me as I approach the main gate. I take a moment to truly absorb my surroundings before I walk up the stone path.

The brass knocker shaped like a tiger’s head seems rather judgy in this light. I knock twice and patiently wait to hear the familiar footsteps of Rosanna or Marina, just two of the Echeverias’ army of dutiful maids.

But as the door opens, I find myself at a loss for words.

“Maddie?” Julian Echeveria greets me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. I spot a pinch of white dust around his nostrils, but it’s the smell of whiskey that hits me smack in the head. As he inches closer, I see pieces of Rhue in his features.

“Madison. Hello, sir,” I reply politely.

He frowns for a second, but it doesn’t make me regret correcting the name he used for me.

“Rhue is still at hockey practice,” he says, breaking the silence we’ve fallen into. “Are you here early? Tutoring session?”

I shake my head and smile again. “No, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just that I forgot my bag in the study. We had a tutoring session earlier, and I had to rush out. Completely my fault.”

“How do you forget your bag? Thought you girls carried those around like appendixes,” he replies with a dry chuckle.

There’s a hint of a dimple in his right cheek, much like Rhue. And just like Rhue, he’s an attractive man, even for his age.

“We do. I got distracted. It doesn’t really matter, it’s just that my wallet and ID are in there, and I’ll need them in the morning.” I’m rambling like a buffoon, but in front of this man, just about anyone would. Especially with the powder remnantshe’s got under his nose. Not that I’m going to say anything about it. He’s allowed to do with his free time what he pleases. It just feels a little embarrassing – like not knowing how to tell the queen that she’s got a booger hanging loose.

Mr. Echeveria furrows his brows at me. “Please, stop calling me sir. Julian will do fine.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I reply with a dry chuckle, hoping I don’t get drunk off his breath alone.

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