Page 31 of Things We Left Behind

His mouth curved ever so slightly at the corners. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I promised.

“Your turn,” he said, handing me the pencil.

He smelled good. Which made me paranoid that he could smell me.

It took me three tries and an infinite amount of patience from Lucian, but I finally got it. I got the next problem on the second try. And when I nailed the right answer on the third problem in one take, I jumped up and spiked the pencil like it was a football in the end zone.

“Yes! Bite me, math!”

I was halfway through my victory dance when I remembered that I had a hot junior audience and sweaty armpits.

Lucian leaned back on his elbows on the carpet, watching in amusement. There was an actual smile on his face. OneI’dput there. Something warm bloomed inside me. I was pretty sure it was a hot flash.

I tucked my hair behind both ears and sank back down to the floor. “Um, so thank you for that. I don’t usually get that excited over math homework.”

The smile was still there, and it was turning my insides to mush.

“I take it you’re more into reading than trig?” He nodded toward my bookcases.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I like books. A lot.”

“Are you going to write them?”

I shook my head. “Nah. Reading is just a hobby. I’m going to get a softball scholarship and go into sports medicine.” I had it all figured out. I was what my coach called an “aggressively enthusiastic pitcher.”

“Really?” he asked.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“It just must be nice to know what you want to do.”

“You’re almost a senior,” I pointed out. “Where are you going to college? What are you going to major in?”

He shrugged, then winced and rubbed absently at his arm. “I don’t know yet.”

I frowned. “Well, what do you want to be?”

“Rich.”

He sounded like he meant it. And not in a flippant teenage boy tired of Aunt Alice asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up way.

“Uh, okay. And how are you going to do that?” I asked.

“I’ll find a way.”

I was disappointed. A guy like Lucian should have big, specific dreams. He should want to innovate hearing aids for babies or maybe run a cool dental practice like my mom. Hell, even aiming for professional football player would be better than nothing.

“Sloane! Dinner,” my mother called from downstairs.

Crappity crap crap.

“Uh, okay!” I yelled back.

“I guess I should go,” Lucian said.

I didn’t want him to go. But I also didn’t want my parents to know a really hot football player had shimmied up a tree into my bedroom. In case he did it again and I was showered and wearing matching pj’s and lip gloss when he did.