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I shook my head. That was the last way I thought I’d spend my morning, and another thing about that surprised me, as I entered my class with Phil behind me. I didn’t so much mind being walked to class by Thatcher Reed, but what surprised me the most (and alarmed me a little) was that I really was sad it was over…
And that I hoped we got to do it again.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Aspen
Thatcher and I did get to walk to class together again. In fact, he was at my door every morning with coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Each morning, I opted out of the sandwiches. They were a bit heavier than what I was used to in regards to calories, but that didn’t bother Thatcher. He still brought them even if he ended up eating both of them.
And my God was he funny.
I’d gathered that from our very first walk, but the fact had become more and more evident as I spent more time with him. And spend more time with him I did. That first week had only been early morning walks, but then our meetings turned into mid-morning walks, and eventually, lunches. Yes, I started eating lunch with Thatcher Reed on occasion. It wasn’t every day. Sometimes he had football practice at odd hours, but he always seemed to find time to meet with me at least once a day.
And I didn’t hate it.
Actually, I looked forward to it, which was fucking crazy. We really were acting like friends, and he was like not insane. He just walked me to class or he made me laugh over a meal. Hell, the dude didn’t even make a move on me, which kind of disappointed me at first. I was very much attracted to Thatcher, and even though a casual hook-up situation would be a terrible idea with our history, I couldn’t honestly tell myself I’d resist him if he tried anything.
But he didn’t. Not once. We both traveled into friendship territory very quickly, and I think that was why our walks eventually evolved into lunches and things. I felt comfortable with him, and there was no pressure. It was just us chatting and him making me laugh.
It was normal.
I often asked him about Evangeline during our meetups. I couldn’t help my thoughts traveling her way, but each time I asked, news was only good about her. Thatcher visited her often during the week, which was awesome because his hometown was over two hours away. There weren’t many guys I knew or had dated in the past who’d ever make that kind of accommodation.
Thatcher Reed was just different.
It was kind of crazy how comfortable I was starting to get around him and him around me. He had no problem giving me a hard time, but not in a cruel way. Like today when he dropped an entire trough of food in front of me that certainly did not include my regular order of a chopped salad and a side of fruit. I frowned at the cheese fries, tacos, and burgers. “Where’s my food?”
He eyed the grub, looking like literal sin in his scarlet-toned jeans and a dark Henley that hugged every bit of his bulky exterior. He was what the British would call fit, and just because we were friends didn’t mean I ignored the fact that he was literally gorgeous. I had eyes, and I used them.
He did too. I caught those glacial eyes lingering in the direction of my top before he sat down. My shirt happened to be flesh-toned and cropped and also pushed my breasts up in a way where the swell nearly spilled over. He hadn’t been obvious about it, but he did it, and that let me know he was still aware that I was a woman. He was also very much a man, and that was something I was aware of when he pressed his big body up against me at our usual table in the student union. He always sat on my side, and with as large as he was, he couldn’t help getting close. The heat of his thick leg pretty much smoldered through my jeans, and even though my face played that off, I couldn’t deny the rosy tint suddenly flushing across my chest.
Thatcher noticed that too, but didn’t call attention to it. Sometimes I wondered if we actually had fucked with the way he didn’t engage with that part of our previous relationship. I just kept reminding myself I told him I wanted to be friends. Even if I hadn’t actually meant it. Actually meaning it or not, that was what we were now, and it did take the pressure off. That was good, of course. Great.
Thatcher displayed the food. “Pick your poison.”
That would certainly be easier if my food was there. My head cocked, my locs touching the table. “I don’t see my salad.”
“And you won’t. Not today,” he said, then made a display of opening a napkin and placing it on my lap. I let him just because of the sheer audacity, and it made me laugh. His blue eyes danced. “You order things that no one in their actual right mind would eat every day unless they were held at gunpoint. I mean, what the fuck are kale chips?”
“Delicious?”
He made a face. “That’s fine, and I respect you wanting to eat healthy. I got to do that too for football.” He opened a Gatorade. “But I don’t eat like that every day. You’re in college, snowflake. Have a fucking treat day on occasion.”
I liked how he called them treat days instead of cheat days. I folded my arms. “Why do you call me snowflake?”
It was something I never asked, and it was kind of a sore spot for us. I mean, he’d called me that back then.
We never talked about that time, he and I. It was obvious why we didn’t, and as I spent more and more time with him, back then and that time really hadn’t made sense. I get that we were kids. He’d been a kid, but today’s Thatcher and that Thatcher seemed so different. Today’s Thatcher was cool and funny. He was charismatic, and the old one was so withdrawn. Dark. Truly, they were like two different people, but I found it hard to believe this version of Thatcher wasn’t in there back then. And if that was the case, I didn’t get why he just didn’t talk to me. If he’d truly liked me, he could have just talked to me. I probably would have liked him, and maybe even had a crush on him.
Thatcher smiled a little. It was a wobbly smile while he ate a cheese fry. Like he was shy or nervous, and maybe he was a bit talking about this. He shrugged. “You don’t remember that necklace you used to wear?”
“Necklace?”
He nodded, then finally faced me, and whoa. His face was red. Like a full crimson charge had chased up his neck and filled his cheeks. He passed a hand over his dark hair, his spiked earring bouncing when his arm clipped it. “Yeah, that necklace. You used to wear one. It had, uh... had a snowflake on it.”
He busied himself by drinking his Gatorade after that, and my eyes flashed. Not because of how weirdly nervous he was acting, but that I did recall I had a necklace like that. I’d worn the thing all the time. I think I’d gotten it at a carnival the summer before we met, and I’d worn it everywhere.
