“We have to put together a presentation arguing our stance on whether or not world powers should intervene in the genocide being committed by Israel against the Palestinian people.” Cecilia tells him.
“You’re pro-intervention, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
“Cool. Want some help?” Felix asks her.
Absolutely the fuck not. This is supposed to be my time with Cecilia. I’m not fucking sharing it.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Her eyes flick to me. “He can help, right?” she asks, biting on her full bottom lip.Fuck. Does this girl have any idea what she’s doing to me?
“We can help too,” Atticus says, stepping into the hall. Deacon follows suit, and the next thing I know, all three of these fuckers are following Cecilia and me as I usher her back into the dining room.
She eyes her original seat, gaze now assessing so before she says anything, I grab her books and the messenger bag she’d set on the table near the wall when she first came in.
“You three,” I dip my chin toward my roommates, “sit over there.” I indicate the side of the table that puts the wall at their backs.
Felix rolls his eyes, but no one questions the order as they shuffle one by one to the other side. Cecilia exhales a small sigh of relief, and I set her things out on the opposite side of the table. This leaves her back clear, so if she needs to get up quickly, she won’t be sandwiched between anyone. She won’t feel trapped.
I take the seat on her right, leaving the chair on her left open.
Cecilia’s gotten more comfortable around the guys now that she’s gotten to know some of them, but there are still moments when I can see the panic in her eyes. Like she feels the walls closing in.
She usually avoids leaving her back exposed. That’s why she claimed one of the seats against the wall to begin with. But that was when it was just the two of us.
She likes to see if anyone is coming and doesn’t like the idea of anyone sneaking up on her. With five of us here, her fear of being trapped outweighs her fear of being taken off guard.
“So, how far are you guys?” Felix asks, pulling Cecilia’s notebook across the table and skimming her notes. We spend the next hour over the table, bouncing ideas off one another. At first, it’s annoying. I don’t like sharing Cecilia’s time, let alone her attention.
How am I supposed to get her back with everyone else serving as a distraction?
But the longer we work together, the more she visibly relaxes. Felix teases her every time she scowls, flicking her nose and reminding her that’s how she’ll get wrinkles. And each time he says it, she laughs. Cecilia’s only twenty-one. Wrinkles aren’t something she cares about, but she admonishes him, nonetheless.
Atticus asks her all sorts of questions about our topic. He seems genuinely interested and does a good job playing Devil’s Advocate, forcing us to think outside of the box to counter his arguments.
Deacon just watches us all at first. He’s still settling into the soccer house, but he’s comfortable enough. There’ve been a few times that I've caught him eyeing Cecilia with interest, but each time that he does, I make sure to catch his gaze and give him a warning look.
He dips his chin. An acknowledgment that she’s off limits.
I get why he’s interested. Any guy would be a fool not to be. She’s fucking beautiful. Her dark brown hair reaches past her shoulders and is complimented by her equally dark brown eyes.
She’s in great shape, thin but with a flare to her hips and the perfect sized tits. Not that Deacon would know that since Cecilia’s typical outfit includes an oversized tee and ripped baggy jeans. Which is good. Because if I caught him ogling her in her swimsuit or if the fucker ever caught a glimpse of her naked, I’d need to gouge his eyes out.
Cecilia’s thinner than what’s considered healthy for someone her size, but not so thin that she looks malnourished. The weight loss is a result of her trauma. She forgets to eat, but I don’t think it’s intentional. At least, I hope it isn’t. It’s been a minute since I’ve really had to worry about her being depressed, but … I don’t know. Things changed.
Frowning, I take in her appearance, gauging whether or not there’s a reason for me to be concerned. I should have paid closer attention since the split. Obviously it’s had some sort of effect on her, even with her being the one to break things off.
How did I miss that?
I get up from my seat and pull out the bowl ofcampechana—aMexican shrimp cocktail—Julio made the other day, along with some tortilla chips. The locally made kind where the salt and oil coats the tips of your fingers when you eat them and they come in a large clear bag. None of that Tostitos bullshit. Freaking Frito-Lay chips. They’re not even a Mexican owned company.
If Cecilia is losing too much weight, there’s an easy way to rectify that.
“Oh, sweet!” Atticus says as soon as I set the bowl in the middle of the table. “I thought you guys ate all of it last night.”
Both Deacon and Cecilia eye the bowl curiously as Atticus uses a chip to scoop up some of the shrimp and vegetables.
“On a plate,” I admonish as I grab a stack of paper plates and a serving spoon.
