I shook my head, clutching my pen tighter. Of course I didn’t mind. He could sit anywhere, even if it made my stomach twist in that nervous, fluttery way it only ever did around him.
I tried to go back to my notes, but the words blurred. He smelled like clean soap and something citrusy. His handwriting was fast, neat.
Every few seconds, he’d push his hair back with his hand, and my brain decided to memorise that motion even though I told it not to.
From the corner of my eye, I could still see the field outside, the faint blur of movement that had become too familiar. Joshua.
I told myself I wasn’t looking for him anymore. That I was focused on my work. On Miles. But somehow, I still found myself glancing past Miles’s shoulder to the field below.
Miles followed my gaze, twisting a little in his chair until he could see what I’d been trying not to.
“Ah,” he said, low, almost amused. “Lockhart.”
My eyes widened, and I shook my head quickly, signing small and frantic:No. Not looking. Working. Shadowing from here today.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Shadowing from the library, huh? Smart idea.” His tone turned quieter, almost cautious. “After he almost hit you with the ball, I wouldn’t… get close to him.”
The pen slipped in my hand. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
He didn’t say it cruelly. He said it like he was looking out for me, like he knew something about the world that I didn’t. His voice held that easy calm that usually made people feel safe.
But somehow, it didn’t make me feel safe.
It made me ache.
Because I remembered that day too. The blur of the ball. The sound of it smacking against the bleacher right beside my head. The way my whole body had flinched, frozen, waiting for his voice that never came after.
I should have listened.
I should stay away.
So why did part of me want to tell Miles that maybe—just maybe—Joshua didn’t mean it? That maybe he’d just lost control for a second?
Instead, I just nodded and lowered my eyes back to the paper.
Miles sighed softly, flipping another page in his textbook. “You’re too nice, you know that? That guy doesn’t deserve your time.”
My throat tightened.
Miles leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. “You deserve a nicer guy.”
I frowned, blinking up at him.A nicer guy?
He tilted his head, watching me closely. “Yeah. Someone who doesn’t throw balls at your head for fun.”
My shoulders stiffened, and I shook my head quickly, signing:No. Not like that. It’s just work. I’m doing my job.
He chuckled under his breath. “You’re getting defensive, Campbell.”
I hesitated, biting my lip. Then I wrote it down instead, because my hands were trembling a little too much to sign properly.
I don’t like him like that.
Miles’s eyes dropped to the words, then back up to me, one brow raised. “Oh? So you like someone else then?”
Heat rushed straight to my face. I shook my head fast, too fast, and he laughed, low and teasing, that stupid dimple in his cheek making it worse.
“Wow, that blush says yes,” he teased, leaning forward across the table. “Should I guess who it is…? Me?”
