Suffer Love by Ashley Herring Blake Page B

breakfast this morning,” Sam says as soon he gets in and starts the car. “Are you up for some food?”
    I buckle my seat belt slowly and look at him. He scans his iPod lazily, seemingly unbothered that he could open up a sex shop out of the back of his car right now. “Yeah, I guess.”
    â€œAny good local places?” He presses play on his iPod and a moody song blasts out of the speakers, all guitars and violins.
    â€œUm. There’s a coffee shop called the Green-Eyed Girl that has really good scones.”
    â€œSounds great. Where is it?”
    â€œOn Church.”
    He smiles and pulls out of the lot. I take a deep breath as the school fades behind us. It’s just one day. And Sam’s right. I’m in no mood to sit through classes and try to pull myself together enough to act like nothing is wrong. Plus, Kat would see right through it and flutter around me like a mother bird.
    We don’t talk again until we’re settled at a corner table, lattes and pumpkin scones steaming on thick glazed plates in front of us. The Green-Eyed Girl is one of my favorite places in downtown Woodmont. It’s small and cozy, with rugged wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and local art on the light green walls. And it always smells like cinnamon and butter and coffee.
    â€œThose are really cool,” Sam says. He points to the space behind us. Six or seven photos of the human eye hang on the wall. They’re all black and white except for a little splash of green. On one it’s the iris, on another the pupil, another the lashes, and on one green is slicked under the eye like a bruise.
    â€œYeah, I think the owner did those.” I watch Sam as he chews and soaks in the photos. “Suzanne. She used to be a photographer and named the shop after that series.”
    â€œI need to bring my sister here.”
    â€œDoes she like coffee?”
    He shrugs. “She’s more a tea girl, but she’s getting into photography lately.”
    â€œKat loves the chai tea latte here.”
    â€œShe’s your best friend, right? I think I have a class with her.”
    I nod. “Government.” I immediately blush—again—and take a too-large bite of my scone. Sam just grins and sips his coffee, graciously saying nothing about how I seem to know his class schedule.
    We talk about stupid stuff—schoolwork and our project and his compulsory need to always have music playing, my job teaching swimming at the Y. He tells me that his sister loves swimming and how he used to be terrified of water because he fell off the dock at Radnor Lake when he was four. I keep waiting for him to bring up the locker, but he remains infuriatingly quiet on the subject. I just want it over with. It feels like a giant elephant is standing on the table and I have to look around it to see him clearly. Finally, I snap.
    â€œAren’t you going to ask me about this morning?”
    He cocks his head to one side and lays his fingers on the rim of his mug. “I figured that if you wanted to talk about it, you would.”
    â€œAren’t you curious?”
    â€œCuriosity doesn’t mean it’s any of my business.”
    â€œYou made it your business when you rode over on your white horse and threw everything away.”
    He frowns and leans forward, his blue eyes narrowed. A shimmery ring of gold encircles his pupils. “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have taken charge like that, but I could tell you were upset and I was trying to help.”
    â€œDon’t be sorry. I appreciate it. It’s just . . .” I press my fingers to my face, trying to push back the creeping flush. “It was embarrassing.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
    I glance up and meet his eyes. “I know that.”
    â€œIt’s not like that stuff is yours.” His lips spread into a mischievous smile, both eyebrows popped into his messy