On top of it, maybe.
Why are we talking about her skin again?
I clear my throat. “Usually, yes, but not tonight. I’m just doing my dad a favor.”
I thought that would make her less angry, but if anything, it just makes her . . . anxious. For the first time in my life I watch as Scarlett Voss bites her nails. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, but her gaze drops to the ground as she brings each one of her fingers to her mouth in a distracting pattern.
“What’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out,” I say quietly. I reach out slowly and place my hand on her arm,justgrazing my fingers against her until her eyes meet mine.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m just . . . I’m doing a speech tonight, that’s all.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Cool? There are a million people out there.”
“More like a thousand, but sure.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Do youwantmy help?”
Scarlett’s pink lips pop open, but no words come out. My eyebrows furrow and I flick my gaze between each of her eyes, searching for an answer I’m not going to get.
My thumb grazes against her skin again. Heat travels up from my fingertips, shooting along my arm and exploding deep in my chest. My heartbeat quickens.
I know after the other day things shifted slightly, but I didn’t think it got this bad. What was once childish bickering has turned into something . . . more. And I don’t think either of us knows what to do with it.
A part of me wants us both to keep pushing each other. To see what could happen if we stopped arguing and actually got to know each other. And as much as it intrigues me, it’s also making me very uneasy.
Eventually Scarlett shrugs off my arm, giving me my answer when she opens the closet door and storms out.
She manages to avoid me for the rest of the night. Even when she presents her speech, she doesn’t look in the direction of where my dad and I are sitting. I don’t know what she was worried about. It was a good speech, professional, witty, perfect for the tone of the event.
I don’t mind, though. I’m lucky that I’m even in this room tonight and my dad agreed to let me come after he’s all but barred me from the company. He’s said more than once that this is a one-time thing for now, and that he still hasn’t seen me really embracing my college life.
I don’t know what else I’m going to have to do to prove to him that I don’t need whatever it is he thinks I need. I’m more than happy going to class, playing piano in my spare time and trying to put myself out there by going to Miles’s games and working with Scarlett on the project.
That’s more than enough for me right now.
I just wish he could see that.
CHAPTER TEN: SCARLETT
The networking weekend in Denver couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Phase one of our class project has been completed and set aside for Lawrence to grade. He’s not allowed to tell us anything about anyone else’s projects until our presentation, and the anticipation is eating away at me. This isn’t anything new, but it still puts me on edge. When you’re inside a little bubble with someone, working closely on something you both think is great, the reality of it not being as good as you thought is terrifying.
I don’t know why I’m doubting myself. That’s never been something I do, but apparently it seems to be all I’m doing these days.
Maybe it’s because the list is still burning a hole in my pocket and even though my speech at the event last week went well, there’s still four other things I need to complete if I want this job. I’ve been doing what I can to work on the winter line, but trying to find a distant relative to interview isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
I drop my head against the cold window, grateful that I got first pick of the seats on the bus that is taking our class to the airport. The weather has gone from confusingly warm autumn evenings into constant drizzle and sharp breezes in the morning. Raindrops race each other down the window and the wind slightly rattles the bus every few minutes. The soft music that plays through my headphones does its best to calm my nerves and the cool pressure of the glass soothes my stress headache.
Just as I expected, as other faculty members board the bus so does Evan. He’s not wearing a shirt and a loose tie like he usually does to class. Instead, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, a green University of Vermont sweatshirt, messy blond hair tumbles down his forehead, hands shoved into his pockets as he walks down the aisle. He looks . . . good. Somehow even better than he did in the suit at the charity gala. Relaxed. Handsome. And it pisses me off.
He’s not allowed to look like that. Not ever. And especially not when I rolled on the first pair of clean leggings I could find and an oldTwilighthoodie I got from a convention when I was a kid. My hair is tucked away under the hoodie and I’m going for the no-makeup look. On early travel days like today, I usually wouldn’t care what I look like, so I have no idea why I want to curl into a ball and hide until we get to Denver.
When Evan catches me looking at him, he takes it as an invitation to sit beside me. I’ve hardly seen him since I pulled him into that closet at the gala, and his proximity makes me stiffen. I get a sharp whiff of his rich cologne; a distinct woody smell that makes me feel strangely comfortable. He’s always smelled like that, even when we were kids. And I wonder if it has anything to do with the sweatshirt that is clearly from his dad’s college days. It’s endearing as much as it is annoying how close he and his dad seem.
