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Fuck.
Way to go, James. Well played.
CHAPTER FIVE
Len
My body flusheswith inferno-level heat, embarrassment pricking at my skin. Zaiah knows no boundaries. Showing up at my work, shaking Clark’s hand, and asking me to write an article for him? What the hell?
I’m glued to the seat, making sure my eyes don’t stray from my laptop to do something stupid like glare at him walking his jock ass out the door.
The entrance door finally snicks closed. My shoulders relax but tighten again when quick footsteps approach. Judging by the way the person leans into my chair and the smell of Bath & Body Works enveloping me in a cloud of fruity perfume, it’s Candice. “Who was that? I don’t recognize him.”
Knowing her, I won’t need to answer. She has more thoughts to share than anyone I know. Like those clickbait articles on the internet, she spits out useless information repeatedly.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I nearly choke.
It must echo in here with my own thoughts because two distinct voices answer at the same time with a resounding “No.” Peering up, I spot Flora first. She’s not looking at me, she’s eyeing up someone else over my shoulder. I hesitate to glance that way because I’m pretty sure I know who it is, and I’m already mortified enough if he overheard anything Zaiah said to me.
My brain tells me to get it over with—like ripping off a Band-Aid—so I meet Clark’s horrified stare.
My heart starts to beat faster. His nose scrunches up. Another “No” flies out of his mouth like Zaiah and I dating is the worst possible scenario.
He likes me. I knew it.
I practice my calm breathing exercises to quit freaking out, but my brain still works in overdrive. How do I tell him I like him too? Should I say it now? PerhapsHell no, I don’t like Zaiah James because I’m already crushing on someone else.Then, I could peer deep into his eyes until his analytical brain figures it out.
“No?” Candice continues. “You two looked cozy.”
Some sort of weird noise escapes my throat, but again, another voice answers. I stare at Clark, and I swear literal hearts come out of my eyes. He’s making sure everyone knows there’s no way I could date someone else. Staking his claim like Clark Kent would, only slyly. He’s not showy or dramatic.
Except…
He laughs. “Len? Date? She’s not really…” He pauses as if he’s someone who doesn’t work with words all day. “I mean, Len doesn’t date. Look at her. She’s the type of girl who’s not worried about stuff like that. No makeup. Hair thrown on top of her head every day. She’s married to the job. Everything about her says she doesn’t care about the opposite sex. She cares aboutthe stories. Really, Candice, if you’re going to be a reporter, you should work on your observation skills.”
My gut twists. Horror fills me. A Godzilla-sized footprint tramples my heart. He doesn’t think I date. Or care about my appearance. Or—
Flora nudges me under the table, but I can’t look at her. Shame washes over me. Of course I would never be able to attract a guy like Clark. Or Zaiah. Or anyone. I’m nothing like Trish. I’m the sidekick. The hanger on. The—.
“Clark,” Flora calls out to get his attention, and I can only count it as a blessing because he’s continued his analytical tirade over me like I’m a specimen under a microscope. “I have a question about my article.”
The smell of Bath & Body Works dissipates, and Clark walks to the other side of the table, leaving me with my tiny thoughts. I’m about the size of an ant. Even pebbles and dirt and discarded trash outshine me.
Slowly, I pack up my things, throw my bag over my shoulder, and walk from the newsroom. When the glass door closes behind me, I run. All those feelings I thought I overcame six months ago slam into me once more. Shame. Being an outcast. Being not good enough. I had no idea the old wound remained, festering, waiting at the surface to be ripped open again.
Once I step outside, I stop for a second, peering around wildly. The first tear falls, and red-hot anger fills me. I take off for Knightley, cutting through the quad. I thought I could fit in around people who don’t know who I am or where I came from. That was the beauty of college. No one knows your story, and you can remake yourself. I—
My legs buckle beneath me, and I sprawl. I land in the frost-laden grass, embarrassment adding to my shame. Worse yet, whispers rise up, and when I glare that way, I realize I’m right outside the cafeteria.
I pull myself to a seated position, keeping my gaze on the grass while I work up the courage to block everyone out, stand, and run. I’m never coming out of my dorm room again.
A bag drops next to me, and then someone sits. I peek up to find Zaiah, and I immediately look away again.
“Hey, you okay?”
The tears come faster now. What is it about my stupid body that reacts to people asking if I’m okay? I have enough strength to hold back until someone utters that ridiculous question and then the waterworks are inevitable.