I laugh a little. “Okay. Yeah. I don’t.”
“So why are you asking me this?”
I roll my eyes under the night sky. A girl passes by clutching books tight, fingertips red since she’s not wearing gloves, her gaze flicking to me briefly before she looks away.
I found people in this area standoffish when I first moved here. I thought it would be impossible to make friends. But they’re actually genuine for the most part, just not that fake syrupy Southern kind to everyone. I don’t think either is better than the other; sometimes the syrup turns into real sugar.
Speaking of… My stomach growls.
I suddenly feel a little dizzy and decide I need a proper meal when I get home. I’ve earned it. This morning I went for a long walk around nearly the entire campus, and aside from caffeine, I’ve been fasting all day.
“Why aren’t you answering?” I counter as gratitude fills my chest at the sight of a big pool of lamp light ahead.
It’s not that I’m scared.
I’m not the only person out here this late.
But it is a little unnerving.
I glance over my shoulder at the same time I hoist my giant, puffy silver and black bag up higher. I like to change them out depending on my mood.
There are a few girls chatting by the library which oddly makes my skin crawl. A guy video calling someone on his phone, showing them the snow in the air as he complains with a smile.
“I dated someone in Buffalo once, if you must know.”
“What?Why did I never hear about that?” We give each other most major life updates. Or maybe it’s just Nolan forcing his way intomy lifeupdates, major or not.
But as my brother starts to answer, I turn back around and collide hard with a figure all in black.
He shoulder checks me and I stumble backward, my bag slipping down to my wrist, which hurts, and my phone pitching from my fingertips, clattering on the slushy, salty sidewalk a foot or so from me.
“What thefuck?”The words leave my lips in a half-shriek, and I whip my head around because the guy is still moving.
But even as he walks away without an apology, he’s glaring at me, like it’s my fault, although he was on my side of the sidewalk.
“You fucking asshole.” I can’t bite back the hiss as I stare at him.
Black toque. Oddly bright amber eyes. Pale white skin. His nose is petite, sharp, and he has a tattoo on the side of his neck, exposed because he’s not wearing a scarf. It looks like a badly done American flag.
His brows pull together but he says nothing. Bag still swinging from my wrist, I continue to stare him down.
Ice snakes down my spine, even beneath my warm coat.
He looks menacing, narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.
Then he breaks eye contact and looks away, and I realize I need to grab my phone because no doubt Nolan is shouting through it now asking what the hell happened.
I shift my bag back up my arm, swoop down and snatch up my phone, rubbing the screen on the outside of my jacket to clear the grime.
It doesn’t look cracked, and I see I’m still connected to my brother.
My pulse is fast and even though I know that collision did no lasting damage, I feel strangely shaken.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I hear Nolan say my name in worry. “Dropped my phone.”
“Did someone run into you?” He’s angry, his voice a snarl, and I can picture him tugging at his dirty blond hair, pacing around his sleek, Manhattan apartment. “What happened, Neve?”
I clear my throat, the crisp air biting at my exposed skin as I try to get the expression the guy wore out of my head. “I’m good. Just an accident. Anyway.” I swallow hard. “We were talking about this clandestine lover you had in Buffalo.”
