Evan
Reese is pulling on his hair hard enough that I begin to get concerned about ending this body swap with a bald head.
I reach out and gently pull his hands away.
My hands linger on his wrist even after they come to rest on the table.
I rub circles with my thumb until he meets my eyes.
“I learned a lot this weekend. I’m sorry for assuming you were just this asshole rich boy. ”
His smile doesn’t meet his eyes when he responds. “I am kind of an asshole rich boy, but not exactly by choice. I don’t want to be this person, but I have to do as my Father says.”
“Can I ask you a question, now?”
“Only seems fair that you do.”
“You’re twenty one years old, a grown man. Why don’t you just move out?”
“Because of who my dad is, I don’t qualify for financial aid.
I’m not exactly smart enough to be able to balance work and school.
I did try and talk Father into letting me live in the dorms, but I knew the answer before I even asked.
He’d never let me live anywhere he couldn’t have complete control over me.
I have to get a degree which means I have to go along with his rules until graduation.
Those rules include staying at home and dating Kenzie, who is his business partner’s daughter.
Six more months and I’ll finally be free of him.
His explanation makes a lot of sense, but not completely. “I’ve seen the sketch books under your bed. You’re incredibly talented. You could have a career in art, without a degree.”
Once again his gaze slides away from mine.
“Not getting a degree is not an option. There’s too much at stake.
” His answer is irritatingly vague, but he’s allowed his secrets.
“What are you going to do about football practice?” The attempt to change the subject is painfully obvious, but I give him the out.
“No worries there. You’ve spent enough time in my body by now to know how terribly unathletic it is. One perk of being a walking hazard is that I’ve gotten my fair share of injuries. I know exactly how to fake an injury that will have me sitting out for at least a week.”
Reese blinks at me a few times before he bursts out into laughter loud enough to draw the attention of the people surrounding us.
I pull my hand away from his wrist, not wanting anything to get back to his dad, that would result in an actual injury for me.
He reaches for me briefly before taking in our surroundings and pulling away as well.
Why does the loss of his touch make me sad?