“Oh.” He picks the cup up again. My heart clanks in my chest and a shrill warning makes my ears ring. “I don’t remember that.”
He takes a sip, keeping the straw in his mouth for a little longer than usual as I search his eyes for signs of suspicion. I find none. His lips bow, curling around the straw and forming a prettyOas he takes a sip.
I know I should look away, but I don’t.
His bottom lip shines in the center, glistening from his drink. He releases the straw from his lips and clamps it between his teeth instead. A glint of an incisor hits me between the eyes and almost makes me miss the color rising on his cheeks.
“I’m not meeting Georgie today,” he says, dipping his head and breaking eye contact.
Oh.
Interesting.
I wonder why not?
Nope. No. Take the win. Change the subject. Move on and do not ask any questions.
“How come?” I ask.
He looks up again and shows me everything. Heated cheeks and a hint of embarrassment. A bashful dip of a dimple that spills his secrets. Green-blue eyes that favor the truth.
“’Cause I wanted you all to myself.”
It’s a ridiculous statement that should kill the conversation stone dead, but it doesn’t because Connor is in the same mood as me. The kind of mood that makes things that aren’t all that funny hilarious. A mood that hears nonsense words and rolls them into balls that swell in our chests and froth out of us in a quiet rumble. A rumble that grows bigger and deeper. Louder, until people nearby turn to look at us.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” he asks, when our laughter dies down. “I’ll stop with this shit if it does.”
The fact that he thinks to ask makes everything slow down. The air around me. The air leaving and entering my lungs. Havi never asked questions like that. He didn’t seem to think he needed to. Never. Not once. When Connor does it, it makes it hard not to think about how different life would be if he had.
I’m tired of thinking these kinds of thoughts, exhausted beyond reason and measure, so I push them down as hard as I can and return my full attention to Connor.
It’s not as hard as it should be because he has a lightness about him that draws me in. I don’t mean around him. I don’t mean the sunlight bouncing off him. I meanabout him. In him. A lightness that chases bad thoughts away.
“Why would it make me uncomfortable?” There’s a dash of humor in my voice and a low whirr in my words. A very specific combination that I recognize dimly.
I’ve heard it before. Lots of times.
Where have I heard it before?
Out. I’ve heard it when I’m out. When I’m leaning in, talking loudly so my voice carries over loud music and raised voices.
Fucking hell.
It’s how I talk to girls when I’m out.
It’s how I sound when I flirt.
Wait.
Am I flirting with Connor Lockwood right now?
Later, I watch as he walks to his car. Not from the shadows, but from where we stood when we said goodbye. His outline grows smaller the farther he gets from me. Dark jeans. Blue Henley. There’s something infinitely familiar about the way he moves. His arms and legs work in concert with each other. Like instruments. Like music. Like a song I know well.
The swing of his arms, the lyrics. Long, certain strides, the melody.
30
Connor
