Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 39

"Meaning I'll explore them once I get closer to Signing Day. If I get any offers, then I'll look at their programs and see which one feels like the best fit and make my decision then."

"The football programs or the academic programs?"

"Both." He finally looked over to me. "What about you? What do you want to do with your life?"

"I'm seventeen, Brett. I have no friggin' clue what I want to do with my life."

"Sure you do." He set the ball back on the table and slumped back in his seat. "I wouldn't expect less from you."

"I'm just looking forward to graduating and getting the hell out of Eastline."

"And then what?"

How had he managed to turn the tables on me again? It was one thing to have these honest—dare I say, intimate—conversations with Morgan or Richard, but how did I know I could trust Brett with my innermost desires? "Going to college and finding the answer to world peace."

"That sounds like something your mother would say." He leaned on the table, his body turned toward mine. "What do you want to do when you get out of college?"

I fought the urge to jump up from the table in an urgent need to refill my glass. Or better yet, help myself to some of my mom's chardonnay. "I've tossed around the idea of going to law school."

"And then what?"

"You said it yourself—I'm good at ball-busting. Maybe become a prosecutor."

He nodded. "I can definitely see you doing something like that, especially after reading your blog. You like exposing wrongs."

Once he turned back to the assignment, the muscles in my body finally started to unkink themselves. What was it about him that kept setting me on edge? Kept making me struggle to maintain my boundaries and not let him get closer?

Even though I secretly longed to let him closer?

But I just couldn't. Not now. Maybe not ever.

We both got points for being seniors. And Brett only raised a brow when he saw me mark the line about having the absence of a parent from home. He'd probably guessed that my family was completely dysfunctional.

In the end, we tallied up points. Brett's were higher than mine. I pointed to his total. "I can see you're on your way to the ICU at this rate."

"Yeah," he said glumly. "Time to find ways to reduce my stress."

I looked at the clock. "Football practice should be starting soon."

"True." He closed his laptop, but didn't leave the table. "You want to know something?"

"Depends on what it is."

"It kind of helps having someone to talk to who isn't, you know, caught up in the same little world."

"You mean the highly superficial in-crowd?"

"Or the team. Or—well, yeah." He slid his hands into his pockets and stretched his legs out under the table. "You're kind of unreasonably harsh at times, but sometimes it's needed, and you do have a different perspective on things."

"Like the fact I'm grounded in reality?"

He shrugged. "Or just the fact you're willing to listen. It's like you're one of the few people I can really be myself around."

And once again, I felt that terrifying warmth in my chest that signaled I might actually care about him. Only this time, it flooded into my arms and made me want to wrap them around him in a comforting hug.

I couldn't afford to be soft and sweet and huggy around him, not if I wanted to maintain my status on the pecking order at school.

He straightened up before I gave into temptation. He put his stuff back into his bag. "I suppose I should get going before school lets out and someone sees my car in your driveway."

"I could always just say you were here looking for Taylor."

That got another of those one-note chuckles from him. "I see you've already thought this through."

"Pretty much."

"So you want to meet back here on Wednesday to finish up the assignment?"

Could I handle another afternoon alone with Brett?

Was there a better alternative?

I didn't see any. "Sure."

"All right, then." He got up and moved to the door, stopping in front of my mom's shrine again. "You know, you look a bit like your mom."

"Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?"

"Just stating a fact."

Just before he left, I blurted out his name, stopping him. My mouth made a few choked sounds before I finally confessed what had been on my mind since yesterday. "Thanks, you know, for being willing to work with me when whoever drew my name chickened out."

He met my gaze, and something new sparked between us. Yes, we've had moments of anger and flirtation and sexual tension and humor. But this was different, more intense. It was almost like we were connected and were baring parts of our souls, as ridiculous as it sounds.

"It wasn't out of pity," he said softly, his voice with a raw edge I'd never heard before.

"Yeah, I know."

And for once, I truly believed him.