The antithesis of Cillian with his messy locks, juvenile sneakers, and heavy-framed glasses.
Yet as we run through the Commons, my lids keep getting assaulted by flashes of my fake boyfriend. Of his irises that are a shade of gray-blue so cool it flirts with silver. Of his ears that stick out, tipping through the tangle of brown. Of his white skin that’s quick to color, and his fingers that are rough with calluses and small burn scars.
Since calluses come from hard manual labor, and burns from fire, I can’t stop myself from wondering what he does in his downtime. Weld pipelines? Fix cars? Build houses?
“Elle?” Malachi slows before stopping completely.
“Yeah?”
“I just asked you the same question three times.” He says this with a smile, even though I can tell he doesn’t love my distractedness.
“Fourth time’s the charm.”
Malachi hoists an eyebrow.
“I’m listening,” I say, grabbing my ankle and pinning it to my ass to stretch my quad before repeating the movement on the other side.
“You looked into him, right?”
“Diego ran a background check before Fiona invited him over for private sessions at the house.”
“And?”
“You think he’d be in our lives if he were some ill-intentioned asshole?”
“He’s a human.”
“So? Humans aren’tallbad.”
“I never said they were. Just be careful, all right?”
I cross my arms. Why did he have to say,be careful? Why couldn’t he have said,Don’t date him?
“Do you think my past ever slips my mind, Mal? Careful is my default setting. But by all means, you’re welcome to investigate him further.”Please do. Please take an interest in who I date.
Malachi snaps his phone out of his pocket and dials a number—Dorian’s. “The guy your sister’s dating… Apparently, Diego has a file on him.” Malachi’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean,which guy? The dance instructor.” His navy irises slit as he listens to whatever my brother has to say. “Huh. So, you weren’t aware Elle was seeing him…”
“That’s because Cillian asked me out last night,” I murmur. “Thanks for telling Dorian, though. I was reallynotlooking forward to that conversation.”
“Yeah. Send me Diego’s findings.” A beat of silence. “Interesting. I’ll tell her…” A dark smile curls his mouth as he hangs up. “He wants you to call him after your run.”
“I bet,” I mumble. “So, what was sointeresting?”
“The kid?—”
“Cillian’s in his mid-twenties, Mal. Not exactly a kid. Or if you considerhima kid, then what do you consider me? An infant?” I roll my neck. “So, what did Diego find out?”
“He found out that the guy has no bank account, no credit score, andnoemployment records with the gym he supposedly gives lessons at. Lucky for you, Diego already did all the legwork. Apparently Cillian trades teaching time against use of the gym’s amenities and parking, because your boyfriend”—Malachi taps his cell phone against his hip—“lives in his car.”
I suppress my shock and affect nonchalance. “Good thing homeowner isn’t on my list of prerequisites.”
Malachi’s jawbone sharpens, pressing against his run-flushed skin. “He’s a fucking bum, Elle. The guy you’re hooking up with is unemployed and lives in a fucking car.”
I don’t know why I bristle from Malachi’s censure since I wanted him to care, and he obviously does.
I end up saying, “The sort of person I date is none of your fucking business, Mal.”
“Why would anyone choose to live in a car?” Malachi snaps, garnering attention from a group of power-walking, middle-aged women.
