My smile falters. “Requests?”
“Ben takes requests. If you have a favorite pastry, I’ll ask him to make it. He’ll make anything. Scones, Danish, Cookies, Pop Tarts…”
I blink and then shake my head. I’m uncomfortable being put on the spot or asking a stranger to bake me things. “Oh, I don’t?—”
“Just think about it,” he cuts in, reminding me of the way he told me tothink aboutbeing his practice buddy for ourspeeches. I simply nod and face forward again, tuning back into the lecture. I know damn well I’ll never take him up on either.
“I want four potential topics for your informative speech by Thursday,” Markham’s saying, signaling the end of class. “If you’re stumped, think about something you’re passionate about. Hobbies. Skillsets. Fixations. But please, I beg of you, keep it within the realm of school appropriate. I will not listen to another speech that waxes on about the benefits of pornography.”
The class snickers at that, but my stomach’s in knots from a complete lack of topic ideas. Standing, I shrug on my coat and make for the door. I try not to react as Wes saunters up beside me, as usual toting nothing but his massive thermos and leather notebook, his pencil tucked behind his ear.
It’s strange, walking next to someone so larger than life. He draws the attention of everyone within a thirty-foot radius, and I’m hyper-conscious of all the eyes following us. For a moment, I debate slipping away from him, if only to go back to being invisible.
Wes has other ideas, apparently. “So, I’m on the edge of my seat here,” he says. “What happened Saturday night?”
I peek up at him, my brow knitting in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Did you get into your apartment?”
My face warms at the reminder of how I ran away from him like some kind of crazy person. “Oh. Yeah. I did.”
He smirks. “Why am I picturing you pulling some crazy ninja shit and shimmying through a window or something?”
That earns him a snort. “No, nothing like that. Ava got sick, and they went home early.” My nose wrinkles at the memory. “She was throwing up when I got back.”
“That nasty binge-drinking will get you every time, though I’m sure you know from experience. That and the drugs, of course.”
“Of course.”
His steps come to a halt a few paces from the exit, and I stop beside him. Confused, I look up at him only to find his mouth unusually tight, his eyes roaming over my face. “After you left, I was worried.”
I startle a little at his admission. If his eyes weren’t so sincere, I wouldn’t believe that someone likehimwas actually worried about someone likeme, especially after the shit I pulled when he offered me a place to sleep.“Oh. I’m sorr?—”
“DOC!” booms a voice from across the building. Our heads whip in the direction of the sound to see the very definition ofcollege frat boyloping toward us. Well, loping toward Wes. I just happen to be here, recoiling in his abnormally large shadow. “Where the fuck have you been hiding, Tucker?”
“Hey, Rich,” Wes says, doing that ingrained handclap that most guys do to greet each other. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know. Shitty.” The guy jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna grab food real quick? It’s been fucking forever, man.”
Wes nods his head at me. “Sorry, can’t right now. We’re in the middle of something.”
My spine stiffens as Rich turns his gaze on me, noticing my presence for the first time. He gives me a once-over, the kind that sounds the alarm bells in my head, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back. “You’re not Dani,” is all he says, and I shoot Wes a quick, panicked look, unsure of how to respond.
Wes doesn’t notice, though. He’s too busy glaring at Rich, his shoulders surprisingly tense. “Seriously?”
Rich raises his hands in front of his chest. “Sorry, dude! Like I said, it’s been forever. Last I checked it was all about Dani.”
Who’s Dani?I want to ask, but I can’t find my words again.
Rich looks back at me, and those alarm bells turn deafening. “What’s your name, cutie? You a freshman? Must be. You’ve still got that deer in headlights look in your eyes.”
My blood rushes in my ears, and I know that if I open my mouth, nothing will come out. So, I nod, averting my gaze to the collar of his t-shirt.
Rich grins, looking back at Wes. “Cute. She’s shy.”
Shame courses through me at his analysis, and I will the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I can’t even look at Wes because this is why I avoid people and places and interactions. This is why I avoid everything that Wesis.
By some miracle, I open my mouth and manage a quiet, “I should go?—”
