Page 100 of A Wreck, You Make Me

I feel that sound in my tummy as I once again say lame stuff. “Babies, huh.”

“Yeah,” he rasps.

I stare at him then and he stares back at me. I notice a hunk of his hair has fallen down his brows during our conversationand somehow his jaw has hardened even more. I notice his high cheekbones, flushed with even more color now, and the curly eyelashes. I notice his stubble, thicker than it was this morning, and that bump on his nose that always somehow makes him look even more perfect.

And I realize what I’m doing. It’s the same thing I did when I saw him at the club after that disastrous night. I’m checking to see the signs. Of his pain. Of his heartbreak. I’m checking to see if he’s okay now that Isadora is engaged to his twin brother. Although, I can’t find anything on his features or his body except intense need and desire. For me. Aggression because I won’t give him what he wants.

I don’t know how I do it but I take a deep breath and duck my eyes down, severing our connection. It’s for the best, even though I can’t really remember why. I can hardly remember my name right now, so it makes sense. I grab the doorknob and close the door. Or try to, because just as it’s about to shut, I find it won’t move anymore. My heart drops to my stomach because I know why.

It’s him.

I know it before he forces the door back open, his hand splayed wide on the wood, and reveals himself. I know it before he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Sitting way low in my belly, my heart starts to pound even harder and I’m already moving away from him.

“What… What are you doing?” I breathe out

His response is to lock the door with a click. It’s a really loud click. I feel it echo around the small space, and I flinch and keep moving back. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Not that there’s a lot of space in here to go anywhere, and my back thumps against the opposite wall pretty quickly. My bare back, my bare legs scraping against the cold tile, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

Standing by the door, not leaning though, but completely blocking it with his large body, he watches my retreat with his dark eyes and only speaks when I stop, or rather am brought to a halt because of the stupid wall. “How’s school?”

“What?”

“How are your classes?” he asks.

I stare at him for a few seconds. Because he already knows. About the classes I mean. I’ve only been to a few so far. Since the semester is already on, there weren’t a lot of classes available. I’m not a full-time student or anything but I did manage to enroll into a couple of courses, all theory and boring but it’s still early to say anything.

He knows all of this because I told him—or rather texted him since he was at practice—right after I came from the registrar’s office. And of course, I did the same when I came home from my first class. So I’m not sure why he’s asking but I reply anyway, “Good. Kinda boring. But I’m excited about the next semester when I’ll actually get to dance.”

His eyes turn slightly liquid with admiration. “And you’re going to be fucking kickass at it.”

Despite the situation, my chest warms with pleasure, and I smile. “Why are you?—”

“Still no one bothering you at your school?”

My heart races and I shake my head. “No.”

This is also something he knows because he always asks. If some guy bothered me or said something to me. And I always tell him I’m fine. That I’m having fun. I don’t have very many friends because I’m not really good at making them—Callie and our girl gang is an exception—but the more I go to school, the more excited I get. I don’t know what my future holds or if I want to be a professional dancer or not but for once, I want to live in the moment and not worry about anything else.

“Any reporters fucking with you?” he asks then.

At this, I shake my head too. “No.”

“Not after the last guy.”

“No one.”

So apparently, there’s a thing called Redhead Watch on one of the sports’ websites. The first one that broke the news of Thornes’ stepsisters. They keep posting my photos for some reason. Coming and going out of school, my job, around town. I don’t even know why. But thankfully Snow isn’t in any of those photos but it’s enraging enough that the team is planning to sue the website for invading my privacy. On Shepard’s insistence. Because he absolutely fucking hates it.Hates.That people are posting my photos everywhere and that my privacy is being invaded.

As much as I hate taking further financial and legal help from the Thornes—although the team is footing the bill—I think it’s a good idea. Because it’s creepy and scary. It makes me afraid of what they might find if they keep up this obsession with me. And if what they find can hurt him and his career.

Speaking of, I ask, “Are you… feeling okay? About the season, I mean.”

Ever since Stellan and Isadora’s engagement, the articles about their supposed love triangle have grown. And thereby speculations about his performance and the upcoming season. I’ve tried to cheer him up as much as I can, but I really don’t know how he’s doing. I don’t know how his game is going or where his head is at. And I wish he would just tell me. So I could help.

“If I said no, would you give me what I want to make me feel better?”

My heart starts racing and I open my mouth to say something, anything. I don’t know what and I don’t get to find out when he says, “You don’t need that.”