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7
LYNDI
“What, are you following me?” Beau asked after a second, his smooth voice a total contrast to the flustered look in his eyes as he stared down at me.
“No.” I looked at one of his hands as he still held the tops of my arms, quirking a brow at him. “Mind letting go?”
He opened his hands and I stumbled back, not realizing he’d been holding me up at an angle until my heels hit the floor.
Beau winced as I steadied myself. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“So, if you weren’t following me, what are you doing back here?”
I scanned the long, dark hallway. Then I pointed to the sign depicting an outline of a girl in a triangular dress. “Bathroom.”
“Right, right.” He scratched the side of his head. “I’ll… uh, see you back at the table, then.”
Something in my face must have interested him though, because he started to step away, then stopped, stepping backwards until he was in front of me again.
“What?” I asked with a laugh.
“What was that face? You don’t want to go back to the table?”
Man, had Beau always been this freaking observant? Giving in, I sighed. “I just needed a minute.”
“Everything okay?”
The notable difference between the noise level here and the one inside the main room of the bar was not only soothing the loudnessinsidemy mind, but it also allowed me to clearly hear the concern in his tone.
Why was he suddenly so concerned about my well-being? First taking me home from the hospital when he could tell I was having a rough time, and nowthis?
“Layla and Shelby are talking to a teacher from their school,” I said, hoping it was enough.
Sadly, it only seemed to pique his interest even more. “And you don’t like her?”
“I don’t really know her.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t really know her,” I said again, chuckling at his confused expression. Apparently, he didn’t get it. “I’m not good with people.”
At this, Beau stood straighter and crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked at me with almost humor swimming in his dark eyes, but his lips were set in a determined frown, like he was low-key disappointed in me.
“There you go again,” he said, finally.
“What?”
He shrugged, eyes holding mine. “Saying you’re not good at something youaregood at. Not good at talking, not good with people. These things simply aren’t true.”
“Beau, come on.” I brought my arms up and crossed them, holding myself together while also trying to appear tough. “You barely know me. How could you possibly know those things aren’t true?”
“I know enough. And I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you talk with your friends—as long as you don’t have a book on you, of course.”
“I always have a book on me,” I mumbled under my breath, not looking at him.
He dipped his head so he could catch my gaze. “Tell me you didn’t bring a book to karaoke night.”
