Chapter Five
Angela
Monday is turning out to be a disaster. Lizette’s internet is down, so I’m not able to do the free online Pilates class that’s taken the place of my Peloton bike and treadmill.
I scream bloody murder when a giant spider crawls down my shower.
Inside it. While I’m showering. When I finally leave my seedy little apartment to head to school, I find my front tire low and have to go into the ramshackle, spider-infested shed to find the bicycle pump. Just freaking great.
Now I’m rushing into the office of the academic achievement director, Professor Kim, five minutes late for our appointment.
I brought some of my notes on my reading assignments to share with her.
As I sit in her bright, cheery office, complete with a coffee mug that says, Mistakes are just proof that you’re trying , I try not to feel anxious, but that would be like my mom stepping out of the house without makeup: never gonna happen.
“These look great,” she murmurs, scrolling through my laptop. She glances up at me and pushes her gray-streaked, wavy hair away from her eyes. “I think you’re getting it, Angela.”
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until I release the air from my lungs. “Oh good,” I say, relaxing back in the chair. “That’s good.”
She frowns, a little crease appearing between her brows. “Why were you worried?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I have a lot of questions, I guess. When I’m reading or in class, I think of all these different scenarios, and I don’t know what the outcome would be in those situations.”
She smiles. “That’s actually a really good sign, Angela. It means you’re absorbing the material and it’s triggering more in-depth analysis. I’d be worried if you told me that you read for class and didn’t have any questions.”
“Oh good,” I say, smiling shakily. “That’s good.”
“You’re part-time, correct?” she asks, glancing at her computer screen.
“Yes. I support myself. I need to work.”
Professor Kim nods. “That’s a lot of responsibility. You’re twenty-two, according to your law school application.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have family? A support system of some kind?”
“I’m fine,” I say, not exactly answering the question.
“Try to relax a little, okay? You’ve got this. Keep doing what you’re doing, but try to have some fun while you’re at it.”
Right. Fun. “Yes, okay.”
She turns my laptop back around toward me, and I shut it. Despite Professor Kim’s reassurance, my anxiety is through the roof. What I wouldn’t do for a Xanax right now.
“Thanks for your help, Professor.”
I take my close-to-hyperventilating self out of her office and walk blindly down the hall to the elevators.
You’re getting it, Angela. You’re fine. You’re going to keep your scholarship. You’re going to do this.
I push the down button several times, even though it was already lit.
“You in a hurry, princess?”
I jump. “Jesus, Brady.”
“I would love to hear you say that in some context other than me scaring the crap out of you.”
I smirk a little at his innuendo. “Is that so?”
“Better believe it.” His eyes travel down my body but don’t linger anywhere inappropriate. “Why don’t you come get a coffee with me? You’re looking a little rattled there.”
I smooth my hair nervously, wondering what tipped him off.
“You look fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just meant you seem distracted or something.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay,” I say lamely.
We get on the elevator and ride down to the lobby.
There’s the usual chorus of, “Hi, Brady,” and, “What’s up, man?
” as we pass through the law school lobby and out to the front courtyard.
We walk down the street, bypassing a couple of Dos Torres’s busier coffee shops for one that’s more off the beaten path.
Brady holds the door open for me, and we go inside.
It’s cool and inviting, with leather chairs and sofas scattered around and just enough stainless-steel accents to maintain a hipster vibe.
“What’s your poison?” he asks me when we go up to the counter.
“Oh, um, a triple espresso,” I say. “But I can get it.”
“It’s on me, princess. And don’t give me that deer-in-the-headlights look. I’m allowed to buy you a coffee without triggering some elaborate debt repayment scheme, okay?”
I smile. I can’t help it. He’s just familiar enough to make me homesick and just different enough to make him fun. “Okay. Thanks.”
When we’re seated with our coffees on one of the sofas, I have an excuse to look at those pretty green eyes, complete with long, reddish-brown lashes.
Freckles and dimples compete with broad shoulders and a body that’s a mile long.
He’s a fighter, a protector, but somehow maintains the air of a ten-year-old about to get into trouble on the playground.
Brady takes off his Yankees cap, brushes a hand through the short copper waves topping his head, and replaces his cap, backward this time. Holy mother of all things adorable. I could eat him with a spoon.
“I was dead sure Property couldn’t get more boring, but Baker proved me wrong today,” he says, sipping his cold brew, doused with a healthy dose of cream and sugar.
I can just see him ordering a light and sweet coffee from the Dunkin’ Donuts on Fordham Avenue in the Bronx.
Probably with a breakfast sandwich and at least one doughnut.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Property is almost as boring as baseball.”
Brady clutches his chest. “Tell me you didn’t say that.” I shrug, grin, and sip my espresso. “You just shattered my heart, Pines. Here I was planning our wedding and how many kids we’d have, and you go and ruin it. Nothing can top this heartbreak.”
I laugh. “Just wait, McDaniels. When I do watch baseball, I root for the Red Sox.”
He hangs his head. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I might cry.”
I’m giggling like a teenager drunk on cheap liquor. “I’m kidding,” I say. “I’ll confess I don’t like watching it on television, but I’ve always wanted to go to a game. And I don’t have a favorite team.”
He exhales dramatically and wipes his forehead. “Jesus, Pines. That was terrifying. You’re good.”
“Did you go to a lot of games?”
“Tons. My dad and my brother and I.” He squints at me over his coffee cup. “So how did a girl from the California foster care system end up at Columbia for undergrad?” he asks.
I take a sip of my espresso before answering. “Scholarships and kick-ass grades.”
“You got brothers or sisters?”
“Nope.”
“Aunts, uncles, or cousins?”
“Not a one.”
“How did you know that the Red Sox are the Yankees’ worst enemy?”
“Common knowledge.”
“Not for girls.”
“Sexist much?”
“All the time.”
I smirk at him. “Are we done with the third degree or are you just taking a break?”
Those green eyes are looking right into mine. “Where’d you get eyes like that, princess?”
They narrow at him. “I’m not a geneticist, McDaniels, but I’m gonna guess they come from someone I share DNA with.”
His narrow back. “Right.” He stretches out his lean-muscled body, leaning back against the sofa, his long legs making right angles. “Well, they’re nice.”
“Thanks.” They certainly cost me a pretty penny, back when I had access to a healthy bank account.
“So what were you all in a huff about back there?”
“I wasn’t,” I say. “I was just meeting with the academic achievement professor.”
He frowns. “You having a problem with one of your classes?”
“I’m having a problem with all of them,” I say. “With no quizzes, no midterms, just that one final exam grade for each course…” I shake my head. “If I don’t keep my scholarship, I’m done. And I have no idea if I’m doing this right.”
“That’s it for you, huh?” he says, and something seems…off. “No fallback?”
I shake my head. “No. No fallback.”
He shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he says. “You always know what you’re talking about when you get called on in class. More than most people.”
“Who knows how that’ll translate on an exam?
Speaking of which,” I say, looking at my watch.
“There’s a study workshop in a few minutes.
Are you going?” I’m not ready for my time with Brady McDaniels to be up, but it’s not safe to get used to hanging out with him.
We can’t be friends. We most certainly can’t be more than friends.
But he’s hot, and funny, and has just enough of an edge to his happy personality that it makes me feel warm in places I’d like to but can’t let him explore. There’d be no dwelling in my cave.
“Sure, I’ll go with you.” He says it like he’s humoring me.
“I wasn’t, like, inviting you!” I say, taken aback. Am I that obvious?
“You don’t want me to go?”
“No! I mean, yes. I mean, it’s a school thing. Anyone can go. I don’t care if you go. I mean…”
“Settle down there, Pines,” he says, clearly amused at my discomfort. “It’s a study workshop, not dinner and a chick flick. I would hope if you were going to make a move on me you’d come up with something better than this.”
I stare at him with my mouth slightly agape before I remember to shut it. “Okay, well let’s not be late,” I say, gathering up my coffee and backpack. He shakes his head at me and follows me out the door.
“Maybe you should cut back on the caffeine, Pines. Chill out a little, ya know?”
“I don’t know how to chill out,” I mutter.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m the official law school chill-out achievement director. And you’ve got an appointment with me this weekend.”
“What?” I splutter.
“Bring a swimsuit.”