Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series) by Sweeney Steph

Author:Sweeney, Steph [Sweeney, Steph]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-05-12T22:00:00+00:00

─Time for School─

PATTON WAS waiting for us when we returned to the room. Straight-backed, light-footed, gorgeous . . . like mornings didn't affect him. Much to Kate's chagrin, he quickly led me away, leaving her steaming mad and stuck with Pete.

We rode the elevator in silence. I was overwhelmed by a stilted, awkward feeling, like when I first tried to be flirty with Ted when he would stop in my yard on his daily run, me just a young teenager exhilarated and bewildered by a sweaty abdomen and hip bones guiding my nubile eyes to the mysterious bulge in his shorts. Or later, when I waited on him at the restaurant, and my infatuation evolved into something emotional, something personal.

Here I felt it all at once. I wanted his voice to break the silence, but at the same time I wanted him to grab my wrists and push me up against the wall without a word.

Nothing happened. We came off the elevator and into a small indoor courtyard with grass, fountains, stone benches, and even beds of flowers, ferns, and an assortment of dwarf evergreens, above which hung light fixtures like the ones in Brian's greenhouse.

Butterflies and bumblebees everywhere.

"The girls never get to go outside," Patton said as we passed through to a set of heavy double doors. "Studies show that everyone should walk barefoot in the grass now and then. Its effect on health and wellness is quite notable." He swung one door open. "And it feels great. Very grounding."

He walked alongside me and put a hand on my arm to guide me into his office. Somewhere down the hall I could hear the laughter of young girls, but he quickly shut the door and offered me a seat in one of two bulky leather chairs facing his desk.

I wanted to look around, especially after noticing the examination table, like those in doctors' offices, along the right wall, but Patton seemed to be in a rush.

"Melissa Reed," he said contemplatively. "What's your work history, Melissa?"

"I waitressed for a few years in high school," I said.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Did you go to college?"

"No," I said reluctantly. I couldn't tell if he was judging me or just assessing my job skills. With a nervous hitch, I said, "I decided to marry a millionaire instead."

Patton laughed quietly, nodding. "Good plan," he said, "but I don't think it ever suited you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're too restless to be a housewife."

"Maybe."

"And despite your education, you seem quite intelligent."

Intelligent? Not an adjective used often to describe me. When you live your life being treated like you're stupid, it's hard to look at yourself any other way.

"Clearly not too intelligent," I said. "Look what I've gotten myself into."

"But you're alive," said Patton. He leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on the table, resting his sharp jaw in both hands and watching me like a movie. He was in his early thirties, by my estimation, but his mannerisms were adolescent at times, grandfatherly at others. Calm and wise one moment, swift and athletic the next.

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