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“Fuck. This is hard, okay? Can’t we just eat or something?”
“Come on, Nate. You can do this. I’ll help,” I say encouragingly before turning the conversation back to him. “What about you, Nate? How was your day?”
“Good.”
“You have to give me more than that. What was good about it?”
“Shit, I don’t know,” he grumbles, dragging his hand over his face. “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”
I watch curiously as Nate’s anxiety starts getting the best of him, his gaze flinging ever so often over my shoulder. It’s only when I turn around and catch a few guys in BU sweatshirts staring at us, smirking and giving Nate the side eye, that I realize his paranoia isn’t that farfetched.
They weren’t goofing around like I thought.
They were trying to provoke Nate, baiting him into a fight.
I give the frat assholes my own menacing glower before returning my attention back to Nate.
But what I find is a man on the brink of a meltdown.
His hands are balled into fists on top of the table, his left leg bouncing up and down repeatedly, and his chest rapidly rising and falling with each intake of breath.
Needing to calm him down, I place my hand over his and give it a comforting squeeze.
“Look at me, Nate. It’s okay,” I whisper, running my thumb over his. “You’re okay. It’s just me here. No one else.”
He lifts his head just so those penetrating eyes of his look at me as if they are seeking refuge inside my soul before he does something he can’t take back—like get up from his seat and start a fight.
Against my better judgment, I lean in closer to him until all he sees is me, making sure that I’m blocking out those idiots behind us from his sight.
And when he turns his hand upwards and entwines his fingers with mine, I let him, uncaring how it may look to everyone who might be watching us.
“Feel better?” I ask once his breathing evens out, no longer looking like he’s ready to murder someone.
He lowers his head and nods.
“What if you’re wrong?” he whispers, hiding his face from me. “What if some people are just better off being alone?”
“Some are,” I reply, not wanting to lie to him. “Some people live perfectly fulfilled lives all by themselves, without feeling the need to share it with others. But that’s not the case here.You’renot the case.”
When he lifts his head to look at me, my nonsensical heart leaps out of my chest with how raw and vulnerable he looks.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you told me.” I smile in earnest. “The first day we met, you told me you were a good guy, remember? Good guys deserve happiness, don’t you think?”
“Those fuckers behind you don’t think I’m a good guy. They think I’m a piece of shit.” He scoffs self-deprecatingly.
“Doesn’t matter what they think. All that matters is how you feel about yourself.”
“And what if a part of me agrees with them?” he mutters, staring deep into my eyes.
“Then I guess I just have to keep reminding you that that part is wrong.”
“You weren’t kidding. You are good at this,” he retorts bashfully.
And to my dismay, the timid smile that tugs at his lips is even more spectacular than every other smile he’s laid on me until tonight.
Oh, boy.
