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It makes me glad Kenna didn’t write me back.
I don’t fucking trust myself not to be like him.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Kenna
Scars arelike warpaint everyone can see.
Those words scroll through my mind as I walk to the weight room. This morning, while I put my hair up, I stared at my scar in the mirror and saw something I hadn’t before.
Evidence of a survivor.
The scar represents that tragic moment, but it also goes beyond that, too. The surgeries. The pain. The recovery. The fact that I’m walking my ass to campus so early in the morning just so I can show everyone—especially a football player—that the incident didn’t break me.
Being a badass is sexy as fuck.
I grin to myself, but as I walk into The Hub, it’s not lost on me that West Brooks awaits me. He doesn’t say things as beautiful as what NoOne said to me yesterday.
Actually, what am I talking about? He doesn’t say anything at all.
This is going to be the most awkward workout ever. Last night, I wasn’t even sure I would show up, but NoOne’s texts convinced me. Turning West down would be shooting myself in the foot. I’ll take what he’s offering and use it to my advantage.
The overhead lights in The Hub flicker on as I walk underneath. Soon, the whole hallway is lit, and I stop in my tracks, frowning. A note on the weight room door says Reserved.
What the hell? Leave it to a football player to not realize they’re not the center of the universe. The room is already reserved for someone else.
With a frustrated groan, I turn on my heel and almost walk straight into a wall of muscle…again.
West.
His commanding presence overwhelms me, making me feel small as I barely come up to his shoulders. Blinking up, I can’t help but to take him in. The way his sleeveless tank shows off his shoulder muscles. His corded neck. The strong line of his jaw that gives way to his dark hair and enticing green eyes.
It’s no wonder this guy has girls hanging around him all the time. I bet they don’t even notice he doesn’t talk.
His mouth moves, surprising me. “Where are you going?”
The sound of his voice does something to me again. I swallow. There must be a reason he doesn’t use it very much. It’s like an aphrodisiac, calling women from miles around.
Shaking off all those thoughts, I cross my arms. “The note says it’s reserved.”
“Yeah, I reserved it,” he says simply, brushing past me. “For us.”
Spinning, I watch as he walks toward the weight room and breezes past the sign. My eyebrows hitch into my hair.
Wait, what?
I take off after him, not letting the door close behind his formidable body. I catch it just in time and step inside. “Can you even do that?” I ask, voicing my initial concerns.
He shrugs, making me bite my lip. Frustration nips at me.
“It must be nice to be the popular man on campus,” I snark as I drop my bag inside the room.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his back stiffen. “I thought you’d be more comfortable if no one else was here. You know, so you wouldn’t have to be seen with a dumb jock.”
My muscles lock up. I guess it was a nice gesture. Not only because I don’t want to be seen with him, but because I’m a little rusty and having people looking at me while I suck is not high on my to-do list.
The words taste sour, but I say them, anyway. “Thank you.”