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My eyes darted around, searching the crowd for anyone who looked as nervous as I was.
My gaze landed on Isaac Pearce.
He stood against the back wall, alone, hands jammed inside the pockets of his leather jacket. Instead of nervous, he looked bored, like he was waiting for the bus. His handsome, chiseled face was expressionless. Then it turned toward me and stared. A flicker of disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe I was there. Then he blinked and his gaze darted away.
“I see you, Isaac Pearce,” I muttered under my breath. “Time to share your wisdom with the newbie.”
I got up and went toward the back of the theater
. As I came closer, his stormy eyes flared with surprise before shifting back to neutral.
Holy God, he’s beautiful.
Looking at Isaac Pearce was like window-shopping: sighing over something you desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And yet…the impossibility of my being with him—or any guy—made it easier to be bold.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” he replied, looking straight ahead.
“I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Willow.”
He glanced at me, then away. “Isaac.”
“So.” I put my back against the wall, mirroring his stance. “Last time I saw you, you were punching that asshole, Ted Bowers.”
“Sounds about right.”
“That was two weeks ago.” I lowered my voice. “The rumor mill says you were kicked out.”
He shifted against the wall. “I left. My decision.”
“You weren’t expelled for punching Ted?”
He glanced down at me. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Ted was getting all up in my space and you made him back off. I feel a little responsible.”
Isaac shrugged. “No big deal.”
“It was to me,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to thank you.”
“Okay.”
I blinked. “So…Thanks.”
“Sure.”
I sniffed a laugh. “Has anyone told you that you talk too much?”
His gaze slid to me slowly. “No.”
The blood drained from my face as I remembered why Isaac had been held back for a year.
“I’m sorry. Bad joke. I’m just nervous as hell.”
