AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Right,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I have tissues in my car, if you need.”
There can only be one reason a guy like him could want a girl like me to go back to his car. Just because I’m a pretty blonde doesn’t mean I’m completely stupid, which this guy clearly thinks I am.
“What are you?” I ask, wiping my cheeks. “Some sort of creepy pervert?”
He shrugs. “I was just offering. No need to be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick.”
“Alright. Well, I’ll leave you to it if that’s what you want.”
He nods, turns around and trudges away. Is he playing with my head or does he genuinely not care?
“Wait!”
I stand in my spot, waiting for him to turn around and come back. I already embarrassed myself by running after one boy tonight—I’m not doing it again. Especially not for some townie with a shit job. He stops and turns around.
“You alright?”
I cast him a haughty look. “I’ll take that tissue since you’re insisting.”
He nods. “Come on.”
His car is parked in the staff car park near the dining hall. It’s an embarrassment of a car: a battered old thing with a missing hubcap and the oldest number plate I’ve ever seen. He opens the passenger door and reaches into the glove compartment for a packet of tissues, which he hands me.
I take it with a grimace. “Um… thanks.”
I pull a tissue out with the tips of my fingernails. His car isn’t even all that dirty inside, but everything about this guy feels rough and messy. I daub my eyes and watch him as he loads his things into the boot of his car. When he’s done, he slams it shut and comes to stand next to me, leaning against his car and crossing his arms, his biceps bulging underneath the fabric of his T-shirt.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Do I look like I do?”
“You look like you need a cup of tea and a big hug.”
I open my mouth to make a biting reply, but my mouth remains wordlessly open. His suggestion is so stupid, so off-puttingly British—as if a cup of tea could fix any of the problems I’m dealing with—but for some reason, I’m not put off.
For some reason, the idea of a cup of tea and a big hug sounds pretty good right now.
Tears well up in my eyes.
“Oh,” he says, looking surprised. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you more.”
“Just stop talking.” I wince. “You’re making me feel worse.”
He nods and stops talking. I look up at him. His expression is calm, but there’s a shadow of pity lurking in his eyes. As if a guy like him could ever feel pity for a girl like me. I want to glare at him—I want to slap him across his stupid face.
Instead, the biggest sob swells in my chest and bursts like a bubble. I let out a whimper and melt into tears.
He says nothing. Stepping into me, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest.
He’s warm.
He’s so warm, and his chest and shoulders and arms are big, wrapping me up in a firm yet tender embrace. I bury my face in the dip between his shoulder and chest; he smells of damp earth, cheap cologne and laundry detergent.
I cry with abandon, the way I haven’t cried in a long time. At Spearcrest, it’s hard to find the privacy to cry properly, because crying is a private affair. Like hair removal or masturbation, it’s something everybody does yet would be considered completely vulgar to do in front of anybody else.
This boy, though, doesn’t seem to care. He holds me, one hand rubbing up and down my back, tracing the curve of my spine. When my sobs finally calm, he gently peels my face away from his shoulder. He pushes the wet strands of hair plastering my face aside, tucking the sodden strands behind my ears. Then he swipes my cheeks with his thumbs, drying them. I let him, closing my eyes, soothed by his gentleness. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of someone—I can’t remember ever being comforted like this.
