It’s insane to feel guilty that I didn’t want him to stay for dinner.
But somehow I still do.
—
I sit in class, anxiously pulling at the creased corner of my red notebook. I’m waiting to see who drops into the seat beside me—Cody Miller, or Vince.
Cody comes in first. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
Then he cruises right past the open desk beside me to the one he’s been sitting in for the past two days.
Vince gets there, just before the bell. He takes a seat, not looking at me, but I can’t stop looking at him. I could barely sleep all last night, going over and over and over our interlude at dinner. During one of the rounds, I realized he hadn’t actually threatened my siblings. He hadn’t even confirmed that was why he followed me, though I couldn’t imagine why else he would.
But he left when I said I wanted him to. If he wanted to threaten and intimidate me, why leave? It’s not like I could’ve made him leave. Even if he would have threatened me, right to my face, I would have still had to sit at the table across from him, in the company of my siblings, if that was what he wanted.
As absurd as it is, I can’t shake the idea that maybe I hurt his feelings.
The fact that he won’t look at me, even though he has to feel me staring a hole straight through him, is doing nothing to ease that guilt.
The bell rings and the teacher launches into her lecture. I steal the occasional glance at Vince, but he never looks my way.
It feels like the longest class ever. At the end, the teacher finally hands back our assignments and the bell signals our temporary freedom.
Vince is up and out of his seat before I can shove mine in my binder. That’s not a problem, I know that rationally, but inexplicably, I launch out of my seat and hustle out to the hall to try to catch up to him.
“Hey!”
He slows, glancing back over his shoulder with a confused frown.
He’s really cute when he’s semi-glaring, but that’s totally inappropriate, so I shove the thought away. My face flames anyway, not because of that, but because he does look mad at me.
But he stops. I guess he wouldn’t ignore me though, given our little secret.
My books slip, since I was in such a hurry to leave class. I smile a little awkwardly, shifting their weight and readjusting. He’s still watching me expectantly, and I have no idea what to say, so I settle with an inane, “What’s up?”
Both dark brows shoot up as he stares at me. “Nothing?”
I feel utterly ridiculous, but I decide just to spill it. It’s not like I’ve been shining my brightest around here up until now. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings yesterday. I didn’t mean to.”
He rears back a little, clearly surprised, but doesn’t immediately respond.
“I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to put your mind at ease about me, and it makes me really nervous and fearful when I think you’re threatening me. Which, I realize, is the point, but—”
He looks around the hall, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me into a nearby classroom. It’s dark, closed for this period. Once inside, he backs me against a brick pillar, so people walking through the hallway won’t see us. Bracing one arm against the pillar and leaning in, he asks, “Want to say that a little louder?”
“Sorry,” I whisper. It doesn’t feel like fear, but having him braced on the wall like this, so close to me in this dark, abandoned classroom… I’m definitely feeling something.
I can’t read his dark brown eyes, but after a moment, still hovering near me, he says, “I didn’t follow you to intimidate you. I didn’t even consider that you’d be driving to their schools.”
Swallowing, I ask, “Then why?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just wanted to see where you were going.”
It’s still not normal, exactly, but I get the feeling I can’t expect that from him. “Why?” I ask again, still holding his gaze.
Another shrug, but nothing verbal this time. His eyes are so intense, his gaze unwavering, but there’s something in the depths of his warm brown eyes, something unexpectedly… sad. It hits me harder than I expect it to, that hint of vulnerability. I don’t know if he’s showing it to me on purpose or not, but he’s been far better at controlling facial cues than I am, so I have to imagine it’s intentional.
I try to remind myself of the dark knowledge I have about him, but it doesn’t make it through. Right now, I’m not afraid of Vince.
I’m attracted to him.
And I think he’s attracted to me.
He leans away from me, his arm no longer on the brick pillar behind me, and a strange jolt of disappointment shoots through me. I don’t want him to move away—that’s crazy, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t, but…