Even her name is pretty.
She’s the prettiest girl I think I’ve ever seen. Her short, black hair barely falls just beneath her ears, almost the same color as her dark eyes. The same color asmyeyes. Her brows are thick, and prominent freckles dot her nose and cheekbones. Her lips are full, her nose is narrow, and there’s a tiny gap between her two front teeth.
She never noticed me, but I noticed her.
Suddenly, one day four months ago, she started coming to the campus library, sitting in the same seat at the other end of the table from me, and has been almost every day since. We would sit in the same seats every time, but she never even glanced my way until last night. Then again, no one ever looked at me. I was the most socially awkward guy in existence, and I hadzeroexperience when it came to women.
I’m not good with them, or anyone, really. It’s not like I can blame them; it’s probably weird that I’m the only twenty-two-year-old male who’s still a virgin.
Women aren’t into quiet guys who know every detail about quantum theory and can solve every math problem off the top of their head in under thirty seconds.
So, yeah, a twenty-two-year-old virgin genius.
I wouldn’t know how to talk to a woman if they had ever shown interest, anyway. And no one ever had, which was a little embarrassing to admit. That much was obvious, especially if we based it on my interaction with Maeve last night. I mean, who offered a complete stranger a ride across the country and dropped the statistics of someone getting murdered in the same conversation? Me, apparently.
I don’t know what came over me, volunteering myself like that, but a small part of me is glad I did. She had sounded really sad on the phone, but she’d looked that way since the first time I ever laid eyes on her. She probably really wants to go home. I won’t allow myself to get my hopes up too high, though. If she hasn’t figured it out already, she’ll undoubtedly change her mind the minute she realizes how awkward I really am.
It’s an insane offer, I know.
But I don’t have anywhere to go for Christmas. I’d planned to stay on campus during break, anyway. The only family member I have is my mom, but I haven’t seen her in a few years because she’s always too high or drunk to know what day it is.
I divert my attention to the time on my phone.
3:30 PM.
Yes, I got to the library half an hour earlier than we were supposed to meet. I have too many nerves twisting in my stomach to be the nonchalant guy about this. Instead, my forehead is clammy, my hair clings to the sweat, and my palms are damp, so I keep rubbing them on my jeans as I fidget in the wooden chair.
I don’t know how I manage to keep it together when she finally enters the library; I think I just disassociate until she sitsdown in the chair in front of me. Otherwise, I may melt into a giant puddle of humiliation on the outdated, burgundy-colored carpet.
Maeve dons a ball cap today, with her hair brushed back behind her ears, and a black, zip-up workout jacket that’s open, revealing her matching sports bra. I have to clench my jaw to keep it from popping open at the sight of tattoos along her collarbone, disappearing under the jacket, hiding the rest. Holy?—
“Tatum,” she greets.
“Hello.”
I watch as she pulls out her textbooks and how her slender fingers move, drawing my attention to her black fingernail polish.
“So,Tate,” my heart jolts at the nickname, “why would you drive a stranger across the country?”
“I…don’t have anything else to do.”
She nods. “It’s a lot of gas. A lot of hotels. There’s a snowstorm coming next week… You’re okay with that?”
I can’t be honest and say that I’d do anything just to have an opportunity to be around her. There’s no way I can admit that. That definitely wouldn’t help my creep factor at the moment. Plus, I’d probably have a stroke if I tried.
“I have snow chains,” I say softly, “on my truck.”
She’s watching me so intently that my cheeks are on fire under her gaze. Somehow, she’s gotten more intimidating, knowing that she has all of those tattoos, in an attractive way. I feel wholeheartedly out of my league now, like I shouldn’t even bother her with my presence. She’s this otherworldly, ethereal human, and I’m…me. Before I start squirming in my seat, I pull out my own books, pretending to open them to specific pages—even though there’s no point, I have a photographic memory. They’re all already there in my mind, as clear as day.
“How old are you?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Twenty-two.”
“So, you’re a fourth year?”
I nod.
Her eyes narrow in scrutiny at me before they relax again. “Me too.”
