She’s not wearing a bra.
My cock twitches, and I shut my eyes when heat erupts through my veins like I’ve guzzled gasoline and swallowed a lit match.
Her hands tremble through the bandage as she walks a full circle until she’s at my front again. I feel her breath coming out in soft puffs against my bare chest.
“One more time,” she whispers before making her way around me in another painfully slow loop.
This time, I look down. I watch the top of her head as she dips beneath my arm again. Watch the empty space when she disappears behind me. Then angle my chin to watch when she reappears on my other side. She must feel my focus on her because she lifts her chin and looks up at me too. Her eyes do that glittering thing again, then she smiles. I don’t return the expression.
I’m not like her. Smiles don’t come easy to me. Not anymore.
We both start at the sound of the garage door opening, and I whip my head to the window. “Shit.” I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Blue follows my gaze.
She glances between my face and my wounds. “Here,” she says, quickly securing the bandage around me.
My heart pounds in my ears as I watch her. No one’s fixed me up like this since I was a kid.
“Okay,” she whispers, smoothing out the edges. Then she looks up at me, flashing another smile. “All set, Joshua.”
My pulse jumps at the sound of my name on her lips for the second time. My real name. Only one other person still calls me Joshua. My eyes move over her face as I contemplate correcting her. She has no business calling me that. But as her soft eyes stare up at me, the words die on my tongue.
Instead, I tip my chin in thanks and snatch up my T-shirt, slipping it over my head. I move toward the exit, and Blue’s already holding the back door open for me when I get there.
I don’t look at her while I cross the threshold, but after a few steps, I stop. Scrub a hand down my face. I turn back, and she’s closing the door.
“Hey, Blue,” I call.
She jerks in surprise, but she pulls the door back and tilts her head. “Yeah?” Before I can answer, she says, “Oh! Your notes. They’re, um, they’re probably not the most helpful,”—she blushes—“but I’ll slip them under your door later, okay?”
“No, I, uh ...” I glance away, clearing my throat. “Thank you.” Fuck, I’m no good at this. Reaching behind me, I grip the back of my neck as if the motion can keep me from making an ass out of myself. “For, you know. All this.” I gesture to my stomach with a wave of my hand.
When I look back at her, she’s grinning. “Anytime, Joshua.”
Blue
The next morning, while I’m pulling my hair from the back of the loose white shirt I just slipped on, I spot a folded sheet right outside my window, tucked into the windowsill. I recognize the paper the second it’s in my grip—my notes from Mr. Lancer’s class that I slid under Joshua’s door last night.
But now there’s also a blue Post-it on top.
Blue—
Thanks.
Think I did them justice?
Practicing for my essay.
Below his message is a sloppy scribble of a sunflower, a swirl, and a heart. I snort out a laugh, feeling heat rush to my cheeks when I unfold the sheet of paper and scan my notes—which I decorated with drawings of sunflowers, swirls, and hearts.
So Joshua Hunt has a sense of humor. Who knew?Still smiling, I bite my lip and retrace his scribbles with my finger.
At least I took actual notes in class yesterday. They’re broken up and some don’t make any sense since I was weaving in and out of daydreaming when I wrote them, but it’s still a huge step up from my first day. I’m pretty pleased with myself.
I peel the Post-it off and stick it on the wall beside my window, then slip the sheet of paper in a desk drawer for later. Wait ... how did Joshua reach my window in the first place?
When Kimmie’s door slams, I grab my backpack and make my way into the hall, trailing her down the stairs. “Morning, Kimmie.”
She looks over her shoulder and glares at me. “Look who knows how to sleep in. I thought you set your alarm to wake you up before the sun rises.”
