Shaking his head, his eyes forward, he says, “It’s nothing.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
Connor chuckles.
I tap his leg harder.
He reaches down under the desk, puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. “Knock it off!”
I ignore the butterflies swarming in my stomach when he shifts his hand higher, his fingers on the inside of my thigh. “Connor,” I whisper. “Tell me!”
He moves his hand another inch, and my breath catches. He must notice because he turns to me with a smirk. Biting down on his lip, he quirks an eyebrow. Damn, whatever happened has made him cocky. I narrow my eyes, ignoring the repercussions of having my phone out on display, and type his name into the search bar.
Connor’s chuckle sends the butterflies soaring.
I read the summary of the first site that shows up.
Connor Ledger of St. Luke’s Academy, NC, named All-American…
I gasp. Audibly. And turn to Connor, my smile unconfined. I lean into him, whisper in his ear, “Congratulations.”
His throat moves with his swallow as he reaches over, takes my phone from me. Under the table, his thumbs fly over the screen. When he’s done, he places the phone back down in front of me.
Notes app open.
Cursor blinking.
Five words:
I did it for you.
ELEVEN
connor
Trevor wanted me to tell you congratulations for making All-American Ava writes on a notepad, sliding it on the desk between us during class.
I’d gotten to the room before she did and placed my bag on the seat so no one else would take it. By the time she walked in with another note from Miss Turner, it was the only available spot.
I write:
Tell him I said thanks.
Okay.
Then I take the notepad and set it in front of me, glancing up to make sure the teacher isn’t watching. I can’t make any mistakes leading up to playoffs.
I write down:
1.
2.
3.
And turn to Ava. She’s looking at me, eyebrows drawn, and I can’t help but smile. I move in closer to her, our arms touching, and fill in the empty spaces.
1. You’ve been wearing your hair down lately, and I think it’s because you know I like it like that. True or false?