“But not for saying it,” I finished for him. I knew it. We both did. “I get it.”
“It's not like that.” His blue eyes pleaded with me, but I had no energy for it. I took my hand out of his grasp and left.
Feelings were stupid. Even the little ones, the ones you didn't want and the ones that crept on you. I wanted to put them in a little box and lock that shit up.
But, no. I didn't have that choice. I had to go on a date with a guy who was the wrong height, missing my favorite mix of soft and sweet, and didn’t have amazing sea blue eyes.
Chapter Nine
I preferred working.
I had enough to focus on that had nothing to do with the opposite sex. They made my head spin and my heart hurt.
My date sucked. His comments about my appearance should’ve bothered me, but rather, I counted the seconds until I could leave.Too athletic. Too driven. Not like my picture.Steven was a loser—and to get over the sting of a bad date, I threw myself into my homework.
But, the universe liked messing with me. It was probably my mom, bored out of her mind and wanting a laugh, who sent the massively built, perfect haired, gorgeous eyed Brock into my favorite coffee shop. He had done his best to avoid me all week, and I was okay with that. I rubbed my temples.
He held a laptop bag over his shoulders, the combination of his glasses and messenger bag almost too much to handle. Be still my heart. Nerdy glasses, thick rimmed. I about melted. I accepted I would never be able to control my heart and brain at the same time, so my heart went bonkers. I told my mind to shut the hell up and went back to studying for my two incredibly hard anatomy classes. I had to get A’s to continue one of the scholarships I got. So, I was nerdy, broke, alone, and sporty. I’d clearly RSVP’d to my own pity party and had no plans to leave early.
“Grace?” Brock’s voice had an element of surprise. He seemed just as uncomfortable as I was. Shit got weird between us. Thanks to my mouth. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Studying my face off,” I said, enjoying his small smile. “What about you, Clark Kent?”
“Oh, these.” He touched his glasses, blushing slightly on his upper cheeks. “My contacts dried out. Didn't pick up more.”
“I hate when that happens.” I ran my finger over the mug of coffee, waiting for the end of the conversation.
He lingered then motioned to my book. “I hated that class.”
“It’s definitely not my favorite.” I laughed and showed him my notes. “One day of class and I have hours of homework.”
“Wait, I thought your internship replaced your classes?” His head tilted, a little bite to his tone now.
“Typically, yes. But, I had to sign up for two on top of the internship.” I scrunched my nose. “It won't affect my work. I promise.”
“No, I know that. You kick ass. But, how do you manage that? What time are your classes?” He frowned, pulling out the chair across from me. Oh. Okay. He was joining my table. Cool.
“One is Tuesday, the other Thursday. Four until Seven.”
“You stayed until four today,” his reply was curt, pissed off. A spark of happiness shot through me that he even noticed I was there today. But, not the time I left. “What's going on, Grace?”
“Hmm. Well. I worked it out with my professor to let me arrive late, and stay late, so I wouldn't have to ask you to leave early.” I stared into my coffee mug, like the words to stop this uncomfortable conversation to end were in there.
He blew out a breath, another verbal slap to come from him, I was sure. “God. Grace. You're killing me.” He put his laptop on the table, shaking his head with a pained expression. “I'm getting some coffee. Then, we need to chat.”
He left me alone, unable to focus on anything at all. I read the same paragraph three times, not getting anything from it. I tried making a grocery list, but I wrote salad four times before giving up. I didn't want to chat. It wouldn't end well.Keep it work related. That’s it.
Brock came back and smoothed down his vintage baseball shirt. “This place has the best coffee.”
“I think so, too. What do you get?” Coffee was a safe topic.
“French press. Only way to drink it.” He raised his mug. “What about you?”
“Roast of the day.” I thought of a random article I read and blurted out, “Did you know if you drink three cups of black coffee a day, you're less likely to get Alzheimer's or heart disease?”
“You know, I might've heard that before,” he said, smirking at me. “Now that we have the awkward small talk out of the way, can we talk?”
“Ugh. Fine.” I closed my book, notes, and put them in my backpack. “I can't focus at all right now anyway.”
