I glance over my shoulder quickly, just to double check he’s talking to me. Jutting my chin at him, I smirk. “Oh. My apologies. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of the rude police.”
His lips twitch, grin widening. Dangit. Should have ignored him. He’s caught the scent of my sarcasm now, and instead of leaving me alone, he wants to play. His eyes dance with trouble as he steps toward me, arm outstretched like he thinks he’s going to touch me.
Does his arrogance know no bounds? He thinks he can, what? Just waltz up to women in the gym and touch their faces? Nice try, hot shot, but that’s not what’s going to happen right now.
I smack his hand away as it skims my hair. Not today, Satan.
His mouth drops as if he’s going to speak, but the door behind him opens with a long, shrill screech. A younger kid with shaggy black hair pokes his head into the room. When the taco place guy makes eye contact with him, the kid pales, and Mr. Smooth seems to mercifully forget I exist and follows him out into the hallway. Was that his brother? First the grandmother in the restaurant and now the younger boy, the likeness is undeniable. I guess these people have strong genes.
My fingers glide across my hair where his fingers almost touched, and a teenie, tiny, miniscule, almost imperceptible voice in the back of my head whispers that I should have let him.
That thought slithers over my skin with a shiver as I tuck it out of the way. I do not want him touching me...
Right?
I swallow, hard, realization clogging my throat.
My face burns. My body tingles.
Nope. I refuse to have a crush on the exhibitionist.
I. Refuse.
I’m skipping weights today. My arm hurts, and that’s enough of an excuse for me to give it a miss. I’m not a masochist. Grabbing my water bottle, I make my way out the door. Mr. Not-So-Smooth is kicking the stuffing out of the wall. I don’t know whether to laugh or call for help.
His eyes are lit with fire, his hair falls into his eyes, and his jaw is clenched so tightly I’m pretty sure that crunching sound is his teeth.
Taking a step toward him, I hesitate. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I’m also not sure he’s in his right mind. I’m more afraid he’ll do himself damage than injure me.
“Hey?” I don’t know why it’s a question.
He either ignores me or didn’t hear me. I take another step as he spins on his toes and paces a few feet away from the wall. I send up a quick prayer for his toes because we kind of need those and swinging his feet at the concrete walls of the gym doesn’t feel like a great plan for an athlete.
“Are you okay?” As I touch his arm, I ready myself for the explosive reaction I expect. But instead, he stills, meeting my gaze with tortured eyes.
“Are you okay? Can I call someone?”
He holds my stare. I lean toward him ever so slightly like he’s reeling me in with those eyes.
“Can I help?”
He reaches out again, fingers heading straight for my hair. I flap at his fingers with my own. He chuckles, but it’s hollow and echoes around the concrete walls.
“Guys like me are beyond help. You know that.” His sad smile splinters something in my chest, but he winks like it’s our little secret. My breath is stolen by his vulnerability. No trace of arrogance or cockiness stands in front of me. Just a boy with pain etched in his stunning features.
As quick as it came, it leaves, and Mr. Casanova is back, winning smile in place, hair slicked back. But something tugs at me for the rest of the day. The guy from the taco place might be a little broken, just like me.
CHAPTER6
Eloise
It’s not the library, but Bitches Brew is my second favorite place to study. It has the right amount of ambient noise, it’s the right temperature, and they make the best fully loaded hot chocolate I’ve ever had.
One of these unsuspecting students is destined to be my new best friend. If I can work up the lady balls to go talk to any of them.
I didn’t think I’d get to October and not have found my people, or even a person. I’m not greedy, just one would do, but here we are. With Dad out of town so much, I admit I’m lonely as hell, and I’m not sure how to fix it. The only person who could tell me what I’m doing wrong and how to make it better is Mom. I miss her more and more.
I always thought the older you got, the less you needed your parents, but I’m living proof that sometimes it isn’t so. I want my Mom.
