But six days of the week still belong to me, and Tuesday is one of them. I’m allowed and he knows it.

And I think he likes it.

Thank god!

A teasing grin covers his face, and he lets out a low whistle, his eyes coming back to mine. “You’re exquisite, Miss Falino.”

I link my arm in his when he offers it, allowing him to steer us toward the exit. “And you’re far from average, Mr. Blanca.”

He chuckles, leading us toward his driver, who is parked at the curb’s edge.

We slip inside and Anthony has a carafe of water waiting.

I tilt my head, accepting a glass as he passes it over. “Since we’re eating on the yacht, can we stop at my car? I have a coat in the back.”

He nods, glancing toward the driver’s window, who must have heard perfectly, and already knows which vehicle is mine, coming up behind it in the senior parking lot without direction.

Handing my water back to Anthony, I slip from the car, taking my book bag with me. I grab my jacket off of the seat and lay my school stuff in its place. I reach toward the center console for my sunglasses, and something on the windshield catches my eye.

After locking my door, I reach up and over the hood, freeing the folded piece of shredded binder paper from under the wiper.

Because I know you’ll fail without me... this is me letting you know not to panic. I’ll be in class, but a little late. Have more than a coffee for lunch, Trouble. ;)

~ Arsen.

My hand is frozen, the note stuck between my fingertips.

I read it again. And again.

Arsen.

A light laugh leaves me.

This is his voice... flirty and teasing, as I know him to be. Well, for the most part.

And look at that, the boy has jokes.

A lightweight sensation swims through me and I turn, jolting to a stop when Anthony is standing outside the door, watching.

I go to open my mouth, to provide a quick and clean, and hopefully witty... something as I drop the note in my purse, but I don’t have to because Anthony smiles, holding his hand out for me to take.

So, I slip mine in his, and then we’re headed for lunch.

“It’s this one here.” Anthony gestures toward the black Vendetta yacht with a single white and red pinstripe lining the upper edge. “I know your lunch isn’t long enough to take her out, but I thought it would be nice to eat on the water, make fun of the tourists in the pontoons?”

I laugh, running my fingers along the original wood framing.

Anthony stares. “It was my grandfather’s.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It needs to be completely redone.”

My hand falls.

Of course, it does.