Page 62 of The Cheerleader

“Nothing’s easy about it.” His words are a sensual low growl, and I feel it—like I always seem to—low in my belly.

I try, but there’s no way to hold back the shudder. He doesn’t miss it, and he gives me a half smirk. I’m almost pleased. Or I would be if I didn’t feel like we were on stage performing for a dozen overly curious girls.

He slams his notebook shut, trapping his papers there. “Let’s get out of here.” He says it loud enough for everyone to hear, for half the room to jump like they’re startled, like they’ve been caught eavesdropping on the other side of the door instead of out in the open.

He stands, and I follow his lead, noticing that he looks around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes who dares to glance at him—which is just about everyone—before they look away.

Gathering my things, I follow him from the dining room to the back door. “Where are we going?” My voice is breathy as visions of me and him in his room heat me up with terror and the unmistakable draw of wanting. Shit. My cheeks heat up.

Liz bops down the stairs then, meeting us at the bottom as we reach the door. Shit. Shit. Guilt spikes, and I look away.

“Where are you going, guys? I was just coming down to say hello.”

Bryan stops, looking her over for an endless second like he’s checking her for booby traps before he speaks. “Library. Even with all the people there, we’ll have less of an audience than we do here.”

Liz nods, looking past him into the doorway of the dining room as a few girls leave now that the show is over. “I see what you mean.” She smiles as brightly as if she’s never had a care in the world. “I’ll come with you. I have some research to do for my economics paper.”

“So we’re good?” Bryan murmurs to her as we walk out the door.

She takes his arm. “Always. You know that.” The way she looks at him embarrasses me to watch, like I’m some kind of interloper in their relationship, so much worse than a third wheel. More like a third wheel with a stick of dynamite ruining their moment.

Aiming my eyes at the dirt, I go around them and hurry along the path worn in the grass to the sidewalk in the direction of the library.

“Wait up, Susie,” Liz calls. “You’re not ditching him, right? He needs your help.”

I stop and let them catch up to me. He’s unreadable, but I’m sure anyone, especially him, can see that I’m uncomfortable. It’s getting to be a perpetual state when I’m around him and sometimes when I’m nowhere near him and just thinking about him.

Shit. This can’t be healthy. But I’m stuck for now.

I nod. “Don’t worry. I predict he’ll get a B minus for this class.”

He chortles. “C plus is what I’m aiming for.”

“What happened to your competitive nature?”

He gives me a look and doesn’t answer, as if it’s a stupid question. Liz tightens her hold on his arm as if she’s protecting him from me. Before I look away, he pulls free.

“You’re right, Susie,” Bryan says in a voice I don’t trust. “Aim high and don’t worry about falling on your face because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Liz laughs. “Don’t start quoting your father or you’ll scare me.”

“Sometimes he’s right.” He’s looking at me, not Liz, and I feel like he’s expecting some kind of reaction. But all I’m thinking about is the relationship he has with Liz and how well she knows him—and his family. And honestly, I feel a prick of jealousy for no good reason.

“No one’s going to fall on their face.” My voice is quiet and too serious for the moment, but too bad, because that’s who I am. Seriously optimistic.

“I can see why you get along with Liz,” Bryan says, surprising me because I’ve never had a casual conversation with him, not really. I wonder again if he’s mentioned the ditch incident to Liz yet. Probably not, or she would have said something.

There’s something gut-tingling about sharing a secret with him—keeping it from Liz. I dart her a glance and force a smile.

“We go way back, me and Susie,” she says, looping her arm through mine so that I feel like I’m taking Bryan’s place. “Not as far back as you and I,” she says to him. Her voice is suggestive more than casual, and Bryan looks away.

He was at Liz’s house that day, before he ended up in the ditch, and I wonder, for the millionth time, what happened, how he got injured. Who hurt him? But I quickly dismiss the dark thoughts, like always, because I can’t undo what was done. And I refuse to torture myself with horrible thoughts about other people’s past misfortunes.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If that saying is true, then Liz and Bryan are a hell of a lot stronger than I am. They’ve been inoculated by trouble at a young age—or at least Liz has—and I never was. I’m the soft one now.

“You never said what you think about winning the game at UNH Saturday,” I say, needing to escape my heavy thoughts.

He grunts as we climb the steps to the library, and Liz answers for him.