He’s taller than my brother, or maybe it just feels like he is because he’s towering over me, close enough we’re almost chest to chest.
There’s a faint smile on his face like he’s amused.
My eyes narrow. “Why are you here?”
“I was looking for the bathroom.” He lifts his shoulders innocently.
Ugh, he’s cute.
His hair is a little messy, coming out from the sides of his baseball cap, and for some reason, it’s really doing it for me.
I glance at the open door across the hall. “You didn’t look too hard.”
He smirks again. “No, I really didn’t.”
Heat creeps up my neck as he leans against the wall again, openly checking me out. But he’s not creepy—not like how some guys can be.
It just makes meveryaware of how I look.
My skirt feels like it hangs all wrong, and I tug at the hemline, glancing down at the rest of my outfit.
Ripped black fishnets with black crew socks over them because I just kicked my boots off and I can’t stand how fishnets feel inside of shoes without them. My thrift store band tee’s three sizes too big and ripped at the neckline so it hangs off my shoulder. And my hair—God, let’s not even talk about my hair. I can’t remember if I brushed it this morning, and the pink peek-a-boo pieces underneath are beyond faded from doing them myself over a month ago.
As though he can read my thoughts, Gareth’s gaze flicks to my hair. He tips his chin. “That’s surprising.”
“What is?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “The pink. Dylan mentioned you have an alternative vibe to you. I wasn’t expecting the cotton candy.”
My nose wrinkles at what he’s insinuating. “There’s plenty of people who are alt and like the color pink.”
Gareth cocks his head. “Put your claws back in, Trouble. I wasn’t saying anything negative. I like it.”
Immediately, my head spins over his compliment. But the last thing I want is for this guy to know he has an effect on me, so I steel myself, placing my hands on my hips. “Do you always throw compliments around in stranger’s hallways or am I just lucky?”
He grins, and those pesky butterflies in my stomach come back to life. “Just lucky.”
“Great,” I groan, crossing my arms. “Well, now that we’ve established that you like my hair, why don’t you go back downstairs. I’m sure my brother’s wondering where you’re at.”
Arching a brow, Gareth crosses his arms, copying my own stance, but makes no move to leave. Instead, he asks, “How old are you?”
“Why does it matter?”
Since when did this turn into a question and answer session? Is it just me, or is his cologne strong?And smells really good.
“Well, Dylan said you’re his younger sister, but he didn’t say how much younger. I assumed you were ten or eleven.”
“I’m thirteen, almost fourteen,” I snap defensively.
“Eighth grade?” He pushes off the wall, towering over me again.
As discreetly as possible, I wipe my sweaty palms along the sides of my skirt and nod. “Wow, I bet you get straight A’s with how smart you are,” I quip.
There’s a silent pause as we both stand there assessing each other. Me, with my thundering heart, nervous energy I’m tryingto suppress, and an outfit I wish I’d put a little more thought into this morning, and him with his cool as a cucumber demeanor and confidence he naturally oozes.
It’s annoying.
“Gareth! You good? Find the bathroom up there?” Dylan calls from the bottom of the stairs, not bothering to come up to check on his friend.
