“It’s not okay to be blind to it, Diana,” he teases. “I’d suggest getting glasses so you can see better.”
I scoff. “My vision is fine.” I shove another book in between two paperbacks and wince when I see the covers fold slightly, leading me to mend it as best as I can.
“If it helps, I also need glasses.” When I raise a brow, he responds with, “To help me notice all the red flags that I should avoid at all fucking costs.”
We bust out laughing before Lottie shushes us from her desk. That woman has superhearing or something.
Roman and I get through the final two hours of my shift before I sign myself out. He still has to work a few more hours. I don’t envy him.
Once I’m out of the breakroom, I head up the stairs and immediately spot Carson at a table nearby. The common study area of the library is—for the most part—empty and unsettlingly quiet for a Thursday night. This is actually when I find most people pulling all-nighters to finish papers.
As I approach Carson’s table, I notice one thing and one thing only: he’s asleep.
His head rests on the table, strands of hair in front of his eyes. I inch closer to the table, careful not to wake him up. As I quietly sit down on an empty chair, I quickly become aware of his soft breathing patterns. It’s almost peaceful.
He looks kind of adorable when he doesn’t notice.
Dammit, Diana! You should not be thinking about your tutor like that.
I don’t think about anyone like that. It’s not that I have anything against crushes at all—I’ve had them before and even a couple of fleeting relationships—romance was something I’ve never put my all into. I’ve come to accept that I’m just not a hopeless romantic, and there’s nothing wrong with it.
Something on his right hand catches my eye. As I inspect, I notice it’s another Claddagh ring. I’ll admit: I may or may not have looked up Claddagh rings after Carson dropped me off at my house. Only because I was curious—no other reason behind it.
The band is much thicker than his sister’s was that night I found it and the band is rimmed with silver, with the hands-holding-a-heart symbol in the center. What I learned from thatimpromptu Google search is what it could mean, depending on how you wear it—specifically your relationship status.
If Carson wears his the way it is now—on the ring finger of his right hand with the bottom of the heart facing outwards—then it means he’s single.
I shove that tidbit of information towards the back of my head as his eyes start to flutter open. He takes a while to come to his surroundings before his eyes settle on me and he smirks lazily. “You checking me out,Just Diana?”
I can’t resist an eye roll. “In your dreams, Ryder.”
“Don’t worry, I know how handsome I am.”
“And you’re humble, too,” I mutter. This guy…
Checking his watch, he grabs his notebook and bag and we stand up at the same time. “You ready to go?”
I nod and follow him down the stairs. Normally, on walks home, I play music to fill the silence and avoid talking to random people but it would be rude of me if I pulled out my headphones and started listening to Frank Ocean or One Direction.
So we walk in silence, which doesn’t seem to bother me at all. It’s quite comforting until I feel my wrist tense up as we cross the street.
Ugh, why now? It happens way too often these days. Granted, I spent the entire day taking notes and shelving books with my dominant hand. It didn’t like that.
Stupid, stubborn bones that never healed properly and refuses to.
When this happens, I just carefully massage it. It may not be the right thing to do but it helps alleviate the pain.
This is the exact moment Carson glances in my direction. More specifically, my wrist. “It still hurts?”
I shrug. “From time to time.”
We arrive at the front porch of my house. The lights are on inside, which doesn’t surprise me—all of my roommates are night owls—but I don’t move to the front door.
“Thanks,” I tell him before walking up the steps to the front door.
“Wait one second,” Carson tells me before walking towards the gate that separates the front year from the back and disappears.
Okay, what?
