Page 46 of Dirty Hit
“I… yeah,” he says finally. “It’s fine.”
“Good,” I say. “Coach Keller pulled me in after practice.”
He blinks. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” I let a little smirk slip through. “Your magic has apparently worked. Con Law and Ethics both bumped. He’s impressed.”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. “Well,” he says, trying to sound offhand and failing, “that’s because you’ve actually been improving and engaging.”
“Look at you,” I say. “Making me sound like a real boy.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. “I told you if you showed up, and did the work, your grades would reflect it. You’re not stupid, Dominic. You just need to give a shit for longer than five minutes at a time.”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest, and I immediately stifle it.
“Coach says to tell you thanks,” I say. “And that if you flunk me, you answer to him.”
His eyebrows go up. “He said that?”
“More or less,” I say. “I’m paraphrasing. He swore more.”
He snorts. “Sounds about right.”
We stare at each other for a moment, the air between us weirdly easy. He’s waiting. I can see it in the way his shoulders are angled; in the way his fingers tap once against the edge of the desk and then still.
He’s bracing for questions about Hannah. For me to comment, to dig, to do that possessive thing where I peel layers off him even when he hates it.
I think about it; I really do. Who has his parents’ blessing and his firm no? Who gets to walk into his office and use his first name like that, like she’s entitled to pieces of him I haven’t seen yet?
I file it all away. Hannah. Parents loved her. She hurt him enough that he cut her off. There’s a story there, and I’ll get it eventually. Just not today.
“Anyway,” I say, stepping away from the door. “Wanted to say thanks. Face to face.”
He looks thrown again, obviously not expecting that. “You don’t have to thank me. This is my job.”
“Yeah, but we both know I’m not easy,” I say.
A tiny huff of laughter escapes him before he can swallow it down. “Understatement.”
“Hey,” I say, hand over my chest. “My feelings.”
“You don’t have feelings,” he says, then flushes because that sounded more personal than he probably meant it to.
“Debatable,” I reply. “Anyway. Keller’s happy. Means I get to stay on the field, and you get to keep nagging me about explaining my arguments. Our sessions are officially worth my time.”
A flash of something that looks suspiciously like relief crosses his face when I don’t bring her up.
“Glad you approve,” he says dryly. “We’re still on for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Same time. My place. Prepare to be impressed.”
“I’m never impressed,” he says, but his mouth curves.
“That’s a lie,” I say, turning toward the door. “You were impressed the other day when I remembered what a semicolon was.”
“That’s basic literacy,” he calls after me.
“Literacy’s hot,” I shoot back over my shoulder.
