***
At ass-crack-of-dawn the next morning, four art history books lay open at various pages in front of him in the library. Half written notes were scattered across the table, and a pen was tucked behind his ear. The squeak of a chair being dragged across the floor made him lift his head. A wincing Cleo was slinking onto a chair, clutching her backpack against her stomach.
His pulse quickened. Her hair hung loose around her face and his fingers twitched with the urge to tangle his fingers in it once again. When their eyes met, he threw her a small smile which she returned.
He was three paragraphs from finishing the notes for his assignment. No matter how beautiful Cleo was, he had to focus. He turned the page on the last of the art history books he’d snagged from the shelves, and scribbled more notes. It was a popular myth that van Gogh had only sold one painting during his lifetime. Well, the sources littered across the table proved that wrong – he’d sold at least three other piecesbeforeThe Red Vineyard at Arles (The Vigne Rouge).
Rolling his neck he locked eyes with Cleo. Was she staring at him? Did she have the same burning ache to repeat their kiss that he did? She turned her attention back to the pages on the table in front of her, but he didn’t miss her tongue snaking out to wet her lips. Fuck. This wasn’t good. No matter how many times he repeated Lizzy’s name in his head, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the woman in front of him.
It took him forty five minutes to finish his notes, and throughout that time, he’d caught Cleo staring at him with a bemused and curious expression, three more times. Her tongue poked out from the side of her mouth and a frown creased her forehead as she wrote. Tucking his pages into a folder and sliding it into his bag, he stood. He grabbed the stack of books and made his way to her.
She looked up at him, eyes widening and a flurry of quick blinks, her frown of concentration turned to bewilderment. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips.
“Hi.” He kept his voice quiet. It was still too early for anyone else to be around, but something about being in a library called for hushed whispers.
“Hiii…?”
“I know this is weird, but I wanted to check in with you after that thing with Johnny yesterday.”
Her eyes dropped to her paper and she chewed on her lip.
“I tried to find you after, to make sure you were… I dunno, okay. I mean I know we’re not friends or anything but—”
“I don’t need your pity Lincoln.” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it.
“Good cause you don’t have it.”
Her hazel eyes met him from behind the curtain of hair in front of her face. Flecks of gold dancing in the early morning light. Somehow he was reaching out and tucked the loose strands behind her ear and tipped her chin so she’d look at him. Her breath hitched and she swallowed.
“I’m not pitying you, Cleo. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Johnny is an asshole. That’s no excuse for what he said to you, either time, but he doesn’t speak for the team, and he certainly doesn’t speak for me.”
Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all. I have no ulterior motive.”
When she didn’t answer, he sighed and turned to leave.
“Why did you kiss me yesterday, Lincoln?”
“You kissed me.” He spoke over his shoulder, if he turned back to face her, he might be the one to kiss her first this time.
“I did, that’s true.” She chewed on the end of a pen for a moment. “But when I stopped, you…” She shook her head as though trying to dislodge the memory. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “You kissed me. Why?”
“When a pretty girl grabs you by the shirt and lays one on you, it’s only right to do your level best to make it a good one.” He rubbed a thumb along his bottom lip as he resisted the desire to see whether she still smelled of strawberries.
A smile tugged at the edges of her lips, and even in the low light, her cheeks darkened.
“Don’t let the bastards get you down, Cleo.” He rapped a knuckle on the nearest desk and left.
One thing was for certain, kissing Cleo Martinez had only served to make him want her all the more. From her folded arms and the narrowed glare on her face as he walked away, something told him it would be easier to learn how to wrestle an alligator than convince her to let him kiss her again.
Chapter 11
Cleo
“Sí, mamá.” Cleo folded a pair of pants and placed it on top of the pile of clean laundry. Her phone was sandwiched between her ear and shoulder as she worked. For as much as her mother was listening to her, though, she could have left the phone in the kitchen next to Simon the cactus and Mamá Martinez wouldn’t even have noticed.
Every week Cleo called home, and every week her mom gave her the same spiel. “Necesitas trabajar duro hija…” You need to work hard. “No tienes tiempo para distracciones…” You have no time for distractions. “¿Cuáles fueron tus calificaciones esta semana…” How are your grades this week?
