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“Shut the door,” I demanded.
“Tell me first,” Summer gripped the edges of the doorway, refusing to move.
“Because. I told you, Summer. You’re not safe.”
She didn’t dispute me, as expected.
There was the soft whispering of a motherly-type voice just outside my door, then a woman appeared with two teenage-looking kids in tow—a girl, with bright purple hair and a lanky boy with a striped shirt and a large zit on his nose.
This was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
She shouldn't be here.
And I shouldn't be staring at her like a moth to a flame, unable to stop the attraction I felt for her.
“I won’t ask you again,” I grit out. “Shut the door.”
“You work here?” She didn’t seem condescending, just… surprised. Curious, maybe.
“I donated a large sum of money for them to redecorate, in exchange for an office space I could use.”
“Why?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“Maybe.” She let the silence settle between us. Seemed comfortable with it. Like she wasn’t going to leave. Or shut the goddamn door—why did she always have to be such a headache?
“I like books.”
“Then buy them.”
“It’s not the same?—“
“The same as what?” Placing her hand on the door knob, she tilted her head, giving me an expectant look.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I wasn’t always,” I struggled for the right word, “…welcome,” the word came out warbled and strangled, “in certain places I lived. Except the library. No one cared if I was there.”
“I see.” She slowly shut the door, her expression softening. “I know what you mean.” She began to wander the room and I couldn’t stop my gaze from trailing over her. Her shock blonde hair was in a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. Her dress was sleeveless, and I studied the lines of her jaw and neck. The wave of muscle. Her smooth, golden skin. She had a small mustard stain by her collar, and I bit down on my amused smile.
The girl was hopeless.
She paused at my shelves, looking over my books and a set of chess. “I wasn’t exactly popular in school either.”
“Why is that?”
A shoulder came up. “I could never figure that out.”
“Was it boys? Or girls?”
“Mostly girls. But both.”
Jealousy, I was certain of it. Except the boys probably wanted to fuck her but were too chicken shit to approach her, so they treated her like trash because they couldn’t have her.
As for me, I was just beneath the rich, trust fund kids. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with the reason I wasn’t accepted.”
“It still hurt all the same.” She looked at me, a photo frame held in her slim fingers. Her stare bore into me, daring me to contradict her.
