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46
When I refuse the offer of his arm, Braxton reaches for my hand, but I’m quick to pull away from that, too.
“Is something wrong?” The space between his brows pinches with concern. As though he has no recollection of how we ended last night.
But, since I’m not about to humiliate myself by reminding him how he totally blew me off after we nearly kissed, I just say, “It’s—”
He looks at me.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own, that’s all.”
With a brisk nod, he sets off.
“Also, I’m hungry,” I call after him as I race to catch up. “Am I supposed to skip breakfast?”
“There’ll be coffee and pastries where we’re going.”
“You mean in Paris? Because I’m not sure I can hold out that long.”
He stops abruptly, his rubber soles skidding against the stone floor. “You want to be a Blue?” His gaze locks on mine.
I nod. I mean, I’m not exactly sure what that entails, but it’s gotta be a lot less lonely than being a Green.
“Then now’s your chance to jump the line.”
“Seriously?” I stare imploring at Braxton’s back. He’s on the move again, and it’s all I can do to keep up.
After making a series of rights, he pauses before a single black door. “All you have to do is prove yourself,” he says. “Show Arthur he was right about you.”
“But right about what, exactly?” I ask. “Because I have no idea why he chose me, or what he actually sees in me…”
When I notice the way Braxton’s blue eyes burn on mine, like they did in the Moon Garden last night, my voice falters, my breath backs up in my chest, and I force myself to look just about anywhere else.
I have no idea how to respond to this guy. Have no way of knowing what his intentions are when one minute he’s hot, and the next he’s ice-cold. All I know for sure is that I need to be a lot more careful where he’s concerned. I need to protect myself, safeguard my heart. Because if there’s one thing my past has taught me, I’m the only one who will.
Braxton starts to move toward me, but when he catches the wary look on my face, he’s quick to fall back into place. And I breath an inner sigh of relief. The last thing I need is to give him any reason to think that near miss of a kiss actually meant anything.
Or worse, that it might happen again.
“Don’t worry about it,” Braxton says, pulling me away from my thoughts. And at first, I think he’s referring to us, but then I realize I was the only one thinking about us. Braxton is still talking about Arthur. “All you have to do is be yourself and try your best.”
Braxton turns away and presses his right thumb to the keypad. A buzzer sounds, the door swings open, and I follow him into one of the rooms I saw yesterday—the one with a circular stage in the center and theater-style chairs arranged all around it.
Since the other students are at breakfast, it’s just me, Braxton, Hawke, Arthur, and another person Braxton introduces as Keane.
My first impression of Keane is how far my gaze needs to travel before it meets his. He must be at least a foot taller than me, possibly more. And if his biceps are anything to go by, this is a guy who does not miss a workout. He has gleaming dark skin, medium-length hair styled in multiple twists, and beautiful dark eyes that taper ever so slightly at the sides. When his lips pull into a grin and he presses his palms together in greeting, I awkwardly do a version of the same.
Before I can lapse into my usual routine of asking him where he came from or how long he’s been at Gray Wolf, I’m directed to a table loaded with coffee and pastries, as the rest of the group speaks privately. After I’ve inhaled a muffin and finished a latte, Braxton motions me over, but it’s Hawke who explains what I’m in for.
“I’m assuming you took notes on yesterday’s lecture?”
I self-consciously flick a crumb from the corner of my mouth and confirm that I did.
“Uh-huh, good. What we’re going to do now is a simulation of sorts.”
I stare at him blankly, and though I have no idea what that means, my stomach clenches as my palms start to grow clammy.
“You’re going to make that trip down the fourth dimensional road, only virtually.”
“A virtual wormhole?” My voice cracks, betraying my nervousness.
“We’re jumping right in here,” Hawke says. “Skipping the usual progression of modules. Think of this as a crash course, encompassing a series of lessons that usually span several weeks.”
His tone is encouraging, but a quick glance at the others reveals Keane looks doubtful, Braxton hopeful, while Arthur is completely unreadable.
“Ignore them,” Hawke whispers. “You’ll do fine. You wouldn’t even be here if Arthur didn’t see something special in you.”
I study Hawke, wondering if they’re all in on the ruse, if Arthur specifically tasked him with telling me that. “Yeah, well, joke’s on him,” I say. “Turns out, there’s nothing all that special about me.”
Hawke regards me for a long, steady beat. “You better hope that’s not true,” he says, his voice edged with an unmistakable warning.
