Free Kicked by Celia Aaron

disarming smile.
    I didn’t return it, though I silently gave him points for wit.
    He cocked his head to the side, trying another tack. “What about you? Do you still want to teach when you get out?”
    “Yes.” His question and my answer reinforced why I was spending time with him. If I could get that first-string scholarship, I would be able to teach wherever I wanted without fear of student loan bills. He was a means to an end. There was nothing more between us.
    So why did my breath hitch whenever he touched me? Why was he all I could think about when I was in class this morning? We were two different people now, and our past was murky at best. I needed to calm down and think instead of falling under his spell again. The problem was, when he looked at me with those piercing eyes, I felt like it was the first time in my life that anyone truly saw me.
    “Hey, Cordy.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “Did I say something wrong?”
    His palm was warm and engulfed mine. I didn’t pull away. I knew I shouldn’t have wanted his touch, but just the sensation of his skin against me thrilled and scared me at the same time.
    I avoided his eyes, as if I could hide from him by looking elsewhere. “No, nothing wrong. It’s just that, where I come from, we don’t have the luxury of touring the world or…” I shrugged.
    “Cordy, look at me.” His soft voice was a caress. Our gazes clicked, and heat began to rise along my neck. Could he see my blush or feel the rapid beat of my heart?
    He squeezed my fingers. “I know we have different backgrounds. I remember what you said about your family and where you’re from.” He drew his brows together, the center wrinkling. “I won’t deny that there was a time when I cared about stuff like that.” His eyes grew sad.
    Embarrassment flooded me at the thought of him looking down on me. I tried to pull my hand away, but he maintained a firm, yet soft, grip.
    “But I don’t care about it now. None of that matters, okay? I don’t care where you come from. And if where I come from bothers you, then I won’t talk about it.” He released my hand, and I pulled away from him, though it took an effort.
    He was so open with me. Or at least he seemed open. Maybe he was fooling me again. I couldn’t tell. His eyes were earnest, and his words had the ring of truth.
    Even so, something about what he’d said rattled around in my mind, and I needed to know more. “When you said you used to care about—”
    “Cheese sticks.” The server slapped a basket of bread laden with mozzarella in the center of the table. “And your pizza will be out shortly.”
    Trent and I took the plates she offered. Thunder shook the building, and rain poured outside the plate glass window along the street. I was safe and warm with Trent, about to enjoy dinner like two normal people without a past.
    He nudged the basket closer to me. “You first.”
    Cheese and bread were easily my favorite foods on the planet. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I snagged an end piece, the cheese browned and still hot from the oven.
    “Marinara?” He offered the little cup of red sauce to me.
    I blew on the cheese stick and slowly shook my head. “I would never profane cheesy bread with marinara. Not happening.”
    “A purist.” He grabbed a stick and dunked it in the sauce. “I can respect that.”
    I took a bite and forced myself not to moan around the salty deliciousness. I finished my stick in short order and followed it with a gulp of lemonade.
    “Have another.” Trent downed his beer and motioned for another from the server.
    “I shouldn’t.” I reached for the basket.
    “You should.” Trent plucked another cheese-laden piece and took a bite, his eyes focused on me. “Live a little.”
    “How could I say no to that?” I snagged the next to last piece. “I’m going to be full before the pizza even gets here.”
    As I devoured half the cheese stick, he grabbed the beer from the server