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21
COHEN
I don’t care if it made me sound like a simp; our hands were fucking made for each other.
Over the course of our meal, I’d learned a few things about Birdie—she was stubborn, funny, her eyes looked up and to the left when she was deep in thought, down and to the right when she said something sad.
We walked down the sidewalk, our fingers linked, talking about our surroundings. Just easy conversation. She liked the antique shop we passed and even pointed out an old painted washtub I’m pretty sure Ollie would have gone gaga over as a planter.
A couple passed by us on the sidewalk, making Birdie and me walk closer together. Our clasped hands brushed against her curvy hips, and my mind went blank for a moment.
Think, Cohen.I had to come up with something intelligent to say. This woman worked at one of the best high schools in the country, for crying out loud.
“So, how is the apartment search going?” That was a pretty neutral topic, right? It would give her a chance to talk. Maybe me a chance to offer support.
She let out a heavy sigh, and I instantly regretted my decision to open my stupid mouth.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I said.
“It’s not that.” She let out another sigh. “I’m just having a hard time finding something close enough to the school but also in my budget.”
“I had a hell of a time finding mine,” I admitted.
“I bet. There’s a three-year waitlist on it now.” Her smile quickly turned mortified. “Not that I’m a stalker or anything. It’s just really pretty there.”
The nervous way she smiled was endearing as hell. I chuckled and said, “Can’t say I blame you. I only got in because one of my friends bought a house and was moving out.”
“Lucky,” she said.
I wondered if I should tell her about the house I was buying, offer my place, but it was too soon. The inspection was next week, and I needed to keep the cart behind the horse, so to speak.
“Where did you go to college?” I asked instead.
She smiled and shrugged. “UCLA. It was a great education, in more ways than one.”
“How so?”
Her laugh was infectious. “Well, you know, the usual.”
An uncomfortable sensation swirled in my gut because I really didn’t. How bad would it be to admit that I’d never gone to college? That I’d only gotten my GED a few years after Ollie was born and that was only because I needed it to work on the construction crew that paid the best.
Since then, I’d audited a few business classes at Brentwood U—sitting in for free and doing the homework on my own time—so I could learn the basics for my bar. That was a far cry from the experience Birdie had and the one I hoped Ollie would have.
“Like what?” I decided to ask.
She shrugged, her shoulders lifting until they touched her curls. “The basics. Alcohol tolerance. How few hours of sleep I could survive on. The amount of classes I could skip without hurting my grades.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Someone employed at the Academy skipped classes?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Just the gen eds. AP English at the Academy was way more difficult than my freshman composition class.”
“I can imagine.”
“How about you? Where did you go?”
This was it. The moment she’d find out what a catch I really was. “I dropped out at seventeen. Got my GED at twenty-three.”
I watched her carefully, waiting for that hint of judgement I always felt when spending time around Academy teachers or parents. Instead, she grinned and said, “It figures, doesn’t it?”