“That would be wonderful.” Except, I wasn’t meeting anyone and there was no way in hell I’d be leading Oliver back to my house. My scrambled brain whirred to find a way out of this.
His hand landed on the small of my back, applying gentle pressure as we exited the classroom. It stayed there until we were outside, then he shifted to walk beside me, tucking his hands in his pockets again.
“Tell me how you’re liking college. Is the social game still as cutthroat as I remember it being back in my day?” His tone was light, friendly, exactly as it should have been, yet it put me on edge. But maybe that was my guilt doing that.
“Your day wasn’t that long ago, and no, things haven’t changed. Fortunately for me, I’ve made a tight-knit group of friends, so I’ve retired from cutting throats for now.”
He barked a laugh. “Really? The little Elena who used to hang around our house thought of cutting throats as a hobby, not a job.”
I shrugged, though my shoulder felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Good thing I could fake it with the best of them.
“What can I say? I grew up a little. That’s not to say I won’t cut a bitch if I have to, but it doesn’t have the same panache as it used to.”
I answered his polite inquiries about my parents and my major, all while stifling my blind panic. Sweat beaded at my hairline, and I had to hold my jaw tight to stop it from quivering. I was leading this man around campus like I was giving him a tour. Sooner or later, he’d catch on that I had no destination. That I’d lied. And then what? How would he react?
Like a mirage, hope dawned on the horizon. My feet had directed me to potential salvation in the form of the campus maintenance headquarters.
“That’s where I’m going.”
Oliver stopped midsentence, squinting at the square building with four wide garage doors taking up most of the front.
“You’re kidding.” He turned his head to frown at me. I blinked up at him, doing my best impersonation of guilelessness. “You’re not kidding. What are you doing going to campus maintenance? Slumming with blue collars to get a taste for the real world?”
Oooh, yes. There’s some of that Bergen venom. I knew it was nearby, lying in wait.
Before I could answer, my own personal mountain emerged from the building. I raised my hand to wave at him, trying to keep the frantic to a minimum.
“Hey, Lock. Sorry I’m late.”
His head jerked in my direction, and even from a distance, I could make out the pinch in his brow. Still, he stood there, waiting for me expectantly. Taking off at a fast clip, I hurried toward him, and Oliver kept pace.
“That’s your friend?” he asked.
“Yes.Greatfriend,” I answered breathlessly.
By the time I made it to Lachlan, my heart was thrashing wildly in my chest, and I was having trouble hiding the wheeze every time I tried to take a full breath. I didn’t have panic attacks. Only…I did sometimes. And this was the beginning of one of those times.
Lachlan placed his hand on my nape, giving it a squeeze, and gently pulled me into his space. He peered at me, frowning deeper as he took me in.
Oliver held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Oliver, Elena’s old friend. I was just walking her to you.”
Lachlan shook his offered hand. “Lock. She’s here now. We’re good,” he gruffed.
Oliver chuckled. “I can see that. El, I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
When he was out of earshot, Lachlan took both my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him. He dipped his head, bringing us eye to eye. He didn’t speak or ask me what’d happened. And that was good. Because I was crashing. Instead, he let me hear his breaths, long and slow, long and slow. His hands moved down my arms, then back up again, gently squeezing as he went. All of it was steady, rhythmic, bringing me back to the here and now.
After a minute or two, my breathing slowed, matching his. My eyes were glued to Lachlan’s. He never took his gaze off mine.
“I’m okay,” I rasped.
“You’re not. I have time. There’s no hurry.”
Ripping my eyes from his, I took him in. He was wearing his work boots, laced this time, canvas pants stained with oil in a few spots, a Savage U T-shirt, and a maintenance worker jacket. I turned my head to examine one of his hands on my shoulder. It was dirty, black under his nails. If I looked closely, I could just make out his fingerprints on my maroon shirt.
“You got me dirty,” I said.
“Are you mad about that?”