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“Do you dance?” I ask, with a smile on my face that even surprises me.
Isaiah stares at me for a second, appearing as still as a statue. “No. ”
“Why not?”
“Not a fan of crowds. ”
No one would call me a crowd enthusiast, yet I glance over my shoulder again at the swarm of bodies rocking their fists in time with the lead singer as everyone belts out the chorus. “It looks like fun. As long as you’re not onstage no one would be watching you. ”
“Too many variables in a crowd that size. ”
I’m lost. “What do you mean by variables?”
As if searching for patience, he releases a small frustrated breath. “Drunk assholes looking for a fight. Sober assholes looking for a fight. Pickpockets. I can’t control what goes on out there. ”
“I don’t think anyone would mess with you. ” And my stomach automatically sinks. That was a crappy thing to say. “Not that you’re scary or anything. ”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not?”
“No,” I say quickly, and grow hesitant as I spy a playful spark in his eyes. Even though every sane part of me screams to drop the conversation, I decide to follow the small amount of amusement in his face. “Now if you drove a Camaro, I’d have to reevaluate the situation. ”
And he laughs. Not the heavy laughter from before. It’s a great laugh. A deep laugh. One that makes my lips lift. Isaiah, the guy who an hour ago carried himself like a jungle predator, now has the content aura of a lazy cat bathing in the sun.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Just turned seventeen. ”
“Senior?”
I shake my head. “I’m a junior at Worthington Private. ”
Reminding me he’s still lethal, a hint of the panther reappears when he pops his neck to the right. Guess he’s heard of my school.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Seventeen. ”
/> Air catches in my throat and I choke, coughing into my hand like I’m dying of the plague. Not that I thought he was ancient, but how he acts, talks and moves. . . I thought he had to be older than. . . “You’re seventeen?”
“Yeah. ”
For a brief, startling few seconds, his forever-roaming gray eyes meet mine and I see it—seventeen. Within them is a small shred of the same vulnerability that consumes and strangles me. Just as fast as it appears, it’s gone, and he’s searching once again for some unseen threat.
I like that we’re the same age, at least physically. Something tells me his soul is much older.
The lack of conversation creates awkwardness so I force us forward. “And?”
“And what?”
“You are a. . . ” Is he going to make me draw every answer out of him? I motion with my hand in the air for him to continue. “This is where you fill in the blank with your year in high school. ”
“Senior,” he finishes. “And I don’t go to Worthington Private. ”
“You don’t say. ” I let the sarcasm flow. “I thought for sure you had run for student body president last year. ”
He scratches the stubble on his jaw and I swear he’s covering a grin. “You’re too brave for your own good. ”
My eyes widen. Did he call me brave?
