“It’s just me,” I tell him in hopes he’ll stay, but I hear the bitterness in my tone, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did leave.
I probably would if I were him.
He arches a brow at me but doesn’t say anything, and I turn away to face the trees once again, not really wanting to go into what that was.
The leather of his jacket crinkles, telling me he’s moving, but I keep my eyes trained forward.
“Want to talk about it, Blondie?” His words roll over me like a caress. He’s much closer than he was a moment ago. I work hard to suppress the shiver that threatens to overtake me from his proximity as his fingers fiddle with my hair in a way that feels oddly intimate.
“No. I don’t,” I say with a huff, working hard to keep my cool, at least as far as he can see. “And my name is Wren.” I turn to face him, pulling my braid from his grip. “Not Blondie.”
He seems unbothered by my attitude. If anything, I might say he looks almost entertained, a smile on his lips, and his hand still hanging in the air.
“Oh, I know,” he says, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a puff of smoke.
Smoking isn’t attractive, or at least it’s never been before. Somehow, I get the feeling that this man could do anything he wanted and still make it look good.
I’m so distracted watching his lips and the way the smoke dances from them that I almost miss what he just said.
He knows?!
“How do you know my name?”
He raises a brow at me, his cocky smirk still firmly in place as he takes another drag and proceeds to blow the smoke in my face. My aunt smokes, which is probably why I hate it so much, but her cigarettes stink, and that’s what I expected from him. Which is why I’m shocked when the scent that rolls over me is sweet and kind of spicy.
Maybe clove or cinnamon?
“I told you I just watched you for the last two hours, and you think I didn’t catch your name?” he asks, chuckling and shaking his head as if it’s a silly idea, and honestly, it is. I’m not sure why, but the idea of him watching the decathlon seemed like a joke the first time he said it. But now that I think about it, why else would he be here? I mean, he could be a student; that seems more likely than him watching because, well, he just doesn’t seem like someone who would be interested in this kind of event.
“Why did you watch?” I ask, looking him over more thoroughly. Maybe this is why Jordan usually insists on coming with me to these things, because if this were a horror movie, I’d definitely be the first victim.
He barks a laugh as if he can see where my mind wanders, and I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment this time as he reclines back on the stairs on his elbows, looking perfect… I mean, perfectly at ease.
“Got a brainiac sibling,” he says with a laugh, taking another drag of his cigarette, his lips wrapping around it like a caress that takes the chill right out of the late fall air.
What is wrong with me?
When’s the last time I was so thrown off by a guy? Often, they’re assholes, intimidated by my brains—or that's what Jordan always says, at least. I don’t really believe him, but anything else was depressing to think about.
I just wasn’t what guys wanted.
I’m average, boring, and often come off as a bitch, despite not trying to.
It’s only a matter of time before Mr. Smoking Hot figures that out and takes off, but at least for the moment, I wasn’t alone, and I’d just have to be happy with that.
“Which brainiac is yours?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, looking for any hint of similarities in my opponents. I knew he wasn't related to anyone on my team; I’d remember him.
“One of the poor kids you just beat the brakes off of.” He blows a smoke ring at me, and I roll my eyes, waving it away; clearly, he won’t be giving me a straight answer.
“Fine, how about you? Do you have a name?” He glances over at me, a wicked smile twisting his lips and making my stomach turn with it.
This is the kind of guy my mom would have warned me about—if she were still alive, that is.
Definitely a bad boy.
Suddenly, I’m not so upset that Jordan couldn’t be here; no way he would ever let me near him.
Does that make me a terrible sister?
