Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK Read Free Page B

class made the entire ordeal worth it.
    “How was school?” Dad asked his most-overused question between mouthfuls of spaghetti. He always chose pasta on his nights to cook, the cheater. Even bachelors can boil water.
    I twirled a few noodles onto my fork, wishing he’d taken the time to make real sauce instead of the jarred variety. The spices were never as good bottled. “It was fine.”
    “Get any test scores back?” He picked up a second piece of garlic bread, and I fought the urge to remind him he was watching his carbs.
    “An A on a quiz in English.” Thankfully, after Ms. Hawthorne’s glowing reviews from last year’s teachers. Anything less would have been awkward.
    Dad nodded in approval. “Congratulations. Who is your teacher this year?”
    “Ms. Hawthorne. She’s new this year. I think her name is Karen. No, wait. Kathy.”
    He coughed violently into his napkin.
    “You okay, Dad?” I rose halfway from my chair, unsure if I should pound him on the back or call 911. What was that rule about if they’re coughing, they’re breathing?
    Dad cleared his throat, lowering his napkin to his lap. “Fine, fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.” He sipped from his water glass. “Well, congratulations on the A.”
    “You already said that.” I thought about raising my eyebrow at him, but he was already absorbed in sprinkling what looked like the rest of the parmesan cheese onto his plate. So much for his diet.
    A sudden
tink
sounded at the living-room window. I glanced over my shoulder then back. Dad frowned, setting the empty cheese canister on the table. “That better not be those neighborhood kids again.” He started to stand, but I beat him to it.
    “I’ll handle it, Dad. Finish your dinner.” Maybe by the time I came back, he’d find a topic to discuss other than school. I edged into the living room and peered behind the curtains out the front window. Darkness peered back, save for a shadow under the street lamp across the road.
    A lone shadow.
    The spaghetti flipped in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with the bland sauce. “It’s a stray dog, Dad. I’m gonna run it off.” Not a complete lie. I pulled open the front door and stepped onto the porch before he could answer.
    The cool night air chilled my arms, and I rubbed them with my hands as I crossed the street, my heart pounding so loud I was sure the entire neighborhood would hear it and call the police on charges of disturbance. Wes waited just outside the circle of light pooling on the concrete under the lamp.
    “Took you long enough.” He straightened from his slouched position beside the pole but didn’t take his hands from his jacket pockets. Still, I felt his imagined embrace with the same intensity I did most nights in my dreams. And from the look in his eyes, he was thinking the same.
    But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t blond, I wasn’t a skank, and my belly button was safely tucked away under my thick purple sweater.
    “What’d you do, throw a rock from twenty yards?” I snorted like I wasn’t flattered. It shouldn’t matter what he did for me or thought of me.
    But it did.
    A lot.
    He shrugged. “I’ve got a good arm.”
    “Then why are you slumming around Crooked Hollow instead of playing for the pros?” It was sarcasm, my usual defense against Wes’s see-right-through-me gaze, but this time it didn’t bounce off the chip on his shoulder as usual. Instead, his eyes flickered, like it ricocheted right into his heart.
    The flicker disappeared as quickly as it’d happened, and he shrugged again, a flirty light replacing the uncertainty of moments ago. This time my stomach twitched, and I wished for the safety of the flicker. It didn’t do nearly the same to my poor insides. Good thing I hadn’t gone for the second helping of noodles.
    “Professional sports teams tend to frown on jail records.”
    “What? You’ve never—” The words froze on my tongue, and I swallowed them, cold and hard. I had no idea if