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She frowns. “I’m not running.”
Resting my head on the back of the seat, I close my eyes and let out a sigh. “Keep telling yourself that, Claire.”
“Well, we should at least—”
“Nope. Two rules. That’s it. You’ve picked yours, and I’ve picked mine.”
She glares at me. “I’m not running.” She falls back against the seat next to me with a thud, and the corner of my mouth twitches.
After a few minutes of silence, I can’t help glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She has her hair tucked behind her ear as she stares down at her phone with a furrowed brow. Even with her hardened expression, there’s something soft about her. She bites down on her bottom lip, and I can’t focus on anything else.
I need to get a grip.
Damn her and her rules for digging up things I shouldn’t be feeling.
Sitting up straight, I look at her with newfound resolution, determined not to find her attractive. She’s just staring down at her phone, looking miserable, and it’s making me uncomfortable.
That’s better.
I internally groan before saying, “Christ, if another rule means that much to you, just say it.”
Her eyes snap up at me like she’d forgotten I was sitting here. Shaking her head, she mutters, “Oh, no. It’s not that.”
I watch her, waiting for more of an explanation.
“It’s nothing,” she says before dropping her gaze again.
I don’t believe her, but I should let it go. There’s no reason for me to try and figure out what’s bothering her. It doesn’t concern me, and that’s a good thing.
“Claire, look at me.” If there weren’t so many people around, I’d smack myself for that. What the hell is wrong with me?
She lifts her gaze, but it takes a moment. When her brown eyes meet mine, she looks broken.
Not crying hysterically.
Not sobbing uncontrollably.
She just looks like something inside her has been snuffed out.
“What?” she asks, and for a moment, I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know why seeing her this way makes me feel like I need to take some sort of action, but it does. Before I can think of anything, though, she lets out a sigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her comment makes me falter. “Look at you like what?”
She drops her gaze with a shake of her head, but not before I see her cheeks flush. “Today just hasn’t been great,” she says quietly.
Nudging her with my elbow, I say, “You’re on a train to fucking Florida.”
She lets out a breath of laughter before nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, when you’ve been cheated on, you’ve got to do something,” she mutters.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard every word. My eyes widen, and like a reflex, I say, “What?”
She stares at me with those brown eyes that hold so much sadness. Has she looked this sad all night? I know she looked like she had been crying when she walked into the bar, but that went away, didn’t it? Or has she looked like she was on the verge of tears all night, and I’ve just been too distracted by her damn hiking boots to notice?
After a moment, she shakes her head and stares out the window. “It’s nothing.”
The prick checking tickets picks the worst time to walk over to us. Claire avoids looking at me as she hands him the small paper, and I nearly cram mine into his palm so he can get lost.
“Don’t do that. It’s not nothing.”
