But I know better than to harp on what-ifs.
If I could forgive this new, sober version of my father, accept him back into our lives and our family when he and my mother got back together a few years ago—if Sammy could…eventually, anyway—then who the hell is Brian? If there’s one thing I can do, it’s let go of the past. I love my dad, I can move on from an old, schoolgirl crush on David, and Brian Falco is just an ex—someone I dated back in high school. No big deal.
Lani sighs, long and dramatic. “Oh, B, sometimes you really are naïve.”
Truer words were never spoken. And they make me question myself. Is it possible that Lani is right? Could Brian really be here for me?
And more importantly, do I want him to be?
* * *
Abnormal Psych passes in a rush. That’s the thing about things that actually hold your interest. But despite my focus on the lecture, it’s impossible not to be distracted when eyes bore into the back of your head.
From five minutes in, I can feel them. It’s less eerie this time—that sense of being watched. Now that I know where it’s coming from, I’m more exasperated than unnerved.
I glance back and my stalker looks away. I roll my eyes, allowing him to see that he’s not frightening me. He is a nuisance, and I want him to know it.
When the feeling doesn’t go away, I turn and stare at him. My gaze issues a challenge. Subtlety abandoned, I narrow my eyes, warning him that I am not some little girl to be fucked with.
But instead of backing down, his murky blue eyes glow with amusement, and the corner of his mouth lifts into an unmistakable smile. But only for a beat. His gaze never leaves mine, and when I have no choice but to break eye contact first to return my attention to Professor Bowman, it feels like a devastating defeat.
My anger only builds through the remainder of the class, and when Bowman dismisses us, I fly from the room before the rest of the students are even out of their seats. But once in the corridor, I pause.
Why the hell am I running away? He’s the one acting like a total psycho.
So I don’t run. I wait.
I wait as my classmates file out of the lecture hall and disperse in their respective directions. And I wait for my stalker.
As soon as I see him, I pounce.
I charge forward, ignoring his shocked expression as I back him against the wall. “What the fuck is your problem?” I growl.
His eyes go even wider.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“Uh, a student?” he phrases it like a question—like I’m the crazy one, attacking him for no apparent reason.
My hostility rolls off me in waves, but while the creepy stranger still looks surprised, his deep blue eyes dance with mirth, and I’m afraid I’m falling short of the desired effect.
Yeah, he’s far from intimidated. In fact, he seems to be battling a smile.
And why should he be intimidated? I doubt he’d be put off by a fucking biker gang. He’s all tall and looming, arms and neck covered in ink, muscles bulging so prominently they stretch his T-shirt, precariously taunting its seams. His scruff is obviously the result of not giving a single fuck what anyone thinks of him, and he practically screams bad boy.
It hits me again that he could actually be dangerous, and I wonder what in the hell I was thinking coming at him like this.
I huff out my anger, sinking slowly back into defeat. “Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you need to stop staring at me all the goddamned time like a fucking stalker.”
His eyes bore into mine, just as strange and strangely familiar as they first appeared. “And what if I don’t want to?” His lips quirk and a small dimple peeks out. Not only is he not intimidated by me, but apparently he finds me to be a complete joke.
My shoulders deflate, and my gaze drops to the floor. “Who are you?”
When he doesn’t respond, I meet his eyes again, and for the first time, they’re missing that amused glint. He actually looks concerned. “My name’s Brody,” he murmurs.
Brody. I don’t know a Brody. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
He quirks an eyebrow, as if to say the answer is obvious, but it’s a lie.
