“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” I whisper, stroking the length of her spine, silently cursing when she doesn’t tear through the crash barricade keeping us apart.
Something treacle-thick hangs in the air above us, like an answer that can’t be phrased. God, I’d give anything for her to just let me in all the way, but the sad, sad reality that excavates a crater in my chest reminds me she doesn’t owe me anything. In fact, our acquaintanceship shouldn’t go beyond tutoring hours.
I’m half-expecting her not to say anything, so color me shellshocked when she hinges that metaphorical door open just a sliver—enough to lodge the tip of my shoe in. She gives me an inch, and I don’t ask for a mile.
“Leif and I…got into a fight,” she laments, the quietest pre-sob hiccup wracking her frame.
They got into a fight? Shit, it wasn’t about me, was it?
Don’t be so self-centered, dude. Not everything is about you.
I know it’s in both of our best interests for me to stay levelheaded, but I can’t help the growl that sits hot and heavy in the back of my throat, my anger eddying into an unnavigable whirlpool. “What did he say to you? Did he hurt you?”
Oh, I’m gonna kill him if he hurt her. The desire was already there, but if I have a reason? Leif Kennedy won’t ever play basketball again.
She doesn’t care to remedy my rage. She doesn’t care to answer me at all, really. Her fingers just curl against the back of my slightly damp shirt, as if to anchor herself in the veneer of my own unsteadiness.
“We’ve never fought like that before.” She sniffles, force-feeding me every ounce of her pain, and my belly sours in an automated response.
I feel fucking sick. My plan has already backfired, and we’reonly at stage one. I wanted Leif to realize how great Staten was,notdrive a wedge between them.
I pull back gently, my hands smoothing down the outside of her arms. “I’m so sorry,” I console, my heart capering with a wounded gait. The shower should’ve cooled me down, but heat still combs through my muscles.
Staten shakes her head. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to fix things.”
The loudening of voices behind me has me scooting Staten out of the way as we narrowly dodge a pack of my teammates exiting the locker room, completely oblivious to the turmoil that befalls the girl who tries to please everyone but herself. I can’t imagine the emotions she carries on a daily basis. I’m out of commission when I get too comfortable with the most superficial of feelings.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, my fingers still clenched around her limbs. Touching her is a balm that slows my galloping pulse—that whets the carnivorous appetite of my wrath.
Not a peep.
I want to respect her boundaries, but I also have this terrible fix-it gene that rears its head in the worst situations.
Staten blows out a pent-up breath, readying herself as if she’d just stepped foot inside a confessional, sacred wood caked in sin, abandoned pews stewing in the mugginess of a secular summer.
“I just want to forget about him. I want to stopthinkingabout him,” she reveals.
Is it wrong that a little part of me loves that conclusion?
Muzzling what I’m sure is about to be some egotistical comment waiting to dismount off the diving board of my tongue, all I do is nod in understanding, mentally fossicking through a list of possible distractions that would reap the best Leif-free diet.
A light bulb goes off in my head, and I let my arms fall away. “There’s a taco truck that’s always parked down the road on Friday nights. Why don’t we grab a bite and walk around campus? It could get your mind off things.”
Honestly, I could n’t care less about what we do as long as I get to spend time with her.
Her brows furrow like carne asada is another word for “trap.” “Isn’t it a little late for dinner?”
As if to veryloudlydisagree, my stomach lets out a monstrous growl that echoes in the hallway, and I cringe. “Sorry, I’m always starving after a game.”
Staten’s lips unsheathe a faint smile, accompanied by a butterfly-inducing chuckle. “I could be convinced.Ifa sweet treat is involved.”
“That’s it?” I exclaim.
A noncommittal shrug. “I’m a simple girl.”
You’re anything but.
“Deal. Name your price.”
