“Ah,” he said, nodding and looking off into the distance. “I get it.” He held up his hands in the air and let out a sheepish smile.
I sniffed. “Do you? Do youreally?”
“Not personally, which I assumed you knew that,” he said, his eyes narrowing a little bit. “My sister was very vocal about all that fun lady bullshit—her words, not mine. She’d cry into a bowl of ice cream before watching a war movie. I never asked questions, just stayed clear of her.”
“Wise man.” My mood improved just a little bit. “I feel like my life is out of control right now with all these emotions, and this fun lady bullshit amplifies it.”
“I can relate to the out of control feeling,” he said, softer this time. “That was me at twenty. Playing on a hockey team that won a lot. I got a ton of attention on campus, but being back home was a dark cloud. Dealing with the funerals, with my younger sister who needed to finish high school. The house. The belongings. The only thing that kept me sane were my teammates and the game. That spinning never really stopped, to be honest. It just lessened. Even now, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time or why I’m doing it.”
“I thought you wanted to be a coach?”
“Sure, probably. I chose sports management because it made sense. I came here to get away from the memories and the stifling feeling that I couldn’t escape my past. Talking about it pisses me off because am I really away from it when it’s still on my mind?”
“Michael.” This time I reached over and wrapped my arm around his trim waist. I squeezed him, hoping to offer some comfort any way I could. “There’s a difference between escaping your past and healing from it. It sounds like you might be confusing the two.”
“Wow, pot meet kettle.”
His words stung. If he wanted to push me away, it worked. I dropped my arm from him and hugged myself. We continued toward my place, and I shivered, unsure if the air got colder or the mood between us did. His face was tight, and his jaw flexed every other second, so I focused on the sidewalk and not tripping.
I successfully made it to my unit when he shoved his hands in his pockets and offered a small smile.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I said.
“Sure thing.”
He stared at me with the same intensity he did that first night at the bar, and it would’ve been easy to get lost in those sky-blue eyes. To run a hand over his jawline and kiss him again.
Instead, I waved. It was better this way. My emotions were a mess, and ‘just friends’ was our safe zone. “See you around then.”
“Goodnight.”
He waited there as I got out my keys from my bag and let myself into our place. After the door was shut and locked, I peeked out the window to see him staring at the door with longing on his face.
It caught me off guard, and my breath hitched. I had to be misreading that look, the lowering of his eyelids and tight jaw. He was pissed. That had to be it. I shook the image of Michael standing there alone out of my mind and didn’t even brush my teeth before diving headfirst into my bed.
I could overanalyze it all tomorrow. Sleep came first.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michael
Cinnamon bagels and coffee could most likely fix anything. If the world leaders sat down with these warm pastries and a fresh brew of hazelnut roast, I think they’d all be in better moods. I wasn’t sure how I went so long without enjoying carbs, but baby, I missed them.
I carried the pastry box and a large to-go box of coffee as I walked toward Naomi’s place. Not only did I owe her an apology, but I had this driving urge to see her today. To make sure she was feeling okay, to see if she needed a friend before seeing her dad tonight. Or maybe to see if she wanted help with the data profiles for the project.
I could lie to myself and to her, but the truth settled deep down that I liked being around her. She made me feel less alone. Now, I just had to get her to answer the door. There were no sounds on the other side after I knocked, and it was after ten. She would probably be up already.
Frowning, I took one more shot at knocking before coming to the realization that she was allowed to not be home.
Michael: Hey, I’m leaving some ‘I’m sorry’ breakfast gifts outside your door.
Naomi: Gifts? Breakfast? Sorry?
Michael: Yes, those are words. Good job, LOL. Are you home?
Naomi: In ten seconds.
What? I scanned the building and didn’t see anyone walking up or even a car approaching. Soft footsteps came from the other side of the door, and with a small click of metal, the front door slid open. Naomi squinted up at me, and it took all my effort to not drag my gaze down her body.
